a drink in the night time

blissful, in this cup of lukewarm
red wine. divinely finding its way
down my throat and into this
growing pool of fecklessness
that sits, passive and distrustful,
in my belly. and i am getting drunk.
watching for shooting stars behind
electrical wires that hang
over the backyard, blocking any real
view of the sky.
the summer sky, found only within
the city limits. limitless in how little
it affects the soul.
i’ve lost sight of my shoes and,
wait, is that a fly swirling inside
my glass, drawing muddled circles
on the surface of that crimson nectar?
the grass pokes at my soles.
and i drink deeply of the wine. so
deep, i can hear the fly, flapping tiny
wings against the inside of my stomach,
ask me for the wine’s vintage.
and i tell him, i’m sorry little fly.
you have been lost to the ages, forgotten
in this grander scheme of backyards
and cheap drinks and dry grass
and, i should really find my shoes
before the ants, hearing how shamelessly
i imbibed their fly cousin, attack my feet.
because i know of the viciousness of
ants when slighted.

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New Chapbook!

This post is a little late, but please check out my latest poetry chapbook “Just Another Love Poem”, published by Flutter Press! Buy your copy here!

This short collection of love-inspired poems came from reflecting on my ten-year relationship with my wife and on our four-year-old son. I wanted to collect the poems I’d written together into a small journey from first meetings to last laughs. Like the poem “how i know she loves me”, love poems don’t have to be full of metaphor and caked in sugary lyricism. Love encompasses so many everyday things. There are 18 poems total.

New chapbook from Red Bird Chapbooks!

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My second chapbook “Yes I Know You Can’t Drive Across The World” was just released by Red Bird Chapbooks. Pick up your copy!

“Daniel Pereyra’s poems capture the wonder and delight of everyday life.  In “afternoons in the backyard,” the author and his son play in a kiddie pool, and fight demons like bees. [Life] As a father, “i am his hero and he my apprentice.”  Billy Joel shows the narrator that it is no longer his life, it is his now son’s in “a lesson from the piano man.”  The son “…tells me about his day / and how he colored an elephant yellow / because he really likes yellow.” Pereyra’s poems also reflect on rainstorms in the desert, treasures left behind in attics, and the dynamics of married life. A spider decorates the porch and a fly critiques wine choices. The author speaks for many of us in the final lines of “some honesty on a tuesday” when he says,

that i think, with sincere clarity,             drinking my coffee with eyes closed /

damn, i’m tired.”

how i lacked imagination

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we play rock-paper-scissors
and i lose

not because i let him win but
because he’s beaten me
with a well placed dinosaur;
hands chomping
                    at my fingers

                    / at three years old he’s figured
                    dinosaurs should no doubt

                    beat rock paper and/or
                    scissors every time

                                        which is true /

when i try to explain that the game
is in fact not called
rock-paper-scissors-dinosaur

he shakes his head as if
pitying me my lack of imagination

readying himself for
                    another go

some honesty on a tuesday morning

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there is that time in the morning when
bird songs mingle with the
sound of the sprinklers coming alive /

            < beads of silvery water cascading
            in succession down single blades
            of grass >

the gurgling of a percolator floats
through the still air;

watching the sun break
through a distant horizon, scaling single
story houses like an olympic hurdler –

the music of a coming day waiting for the
brass band of daily living to start up and
get us marching

i can think, with sincere clarity, drinking my coffee
with crust in my eye:

            damn, i’m tired.

A Process

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submitting work
to be published
       / like stepping into a downpour

is to submit yourself
to the elements

       in a way not
       felt since the first
       people leapt

across the high grassed plains
towards sustenance
and survival

       and away from the waiting
maws of a lion

una observación desde el patio

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la luz toca mi cara –

                tan fuerte, yo parpadeo

 

cubriendo con mi mano lo

que hace que las plantas crescan

 

            lo que crea la vida

bloqueado por mis pequeñas manos

con un suciedad todavia abrazando

 

mis palmas /

desde trabajar en el jardin

 

mis manos

deben tener un poder

/ desconocido

 

                para parar

                el sol de brillar