When I was a boy, I looked at an eclipse with my bare eyes in The South Bronx of burnt out buildings.

A strange thing happened afterward.

A bright light appeared in front of my bedroom window, as did a hurricane inside my room that scattered my comic books around, among other objects.

I was being pulled into the light.

It was sheer force of will that prevented the little boy I was from disappearing into another dimension.

I wasn’t ready for a new reality.

This is the persistence of my memory. 

I recall being gifted in childhood with photographic memory and creativity.

I remember doctors that wanted to administer a new drug designed to dissolve a gland in the head of the little boy I was.

 I stared into the eyes of a doctor. He didn’t give me the drug.

The place where it happened was destroyed.

Today, it’s a parking lot of sorts for The New York City Police Department.

In The New Millennium, a young American man tried to get inside the building my mother has resided in for decades.

 He identified himself as Mark Wilson, a reporter for The New York Post.

He wanted to interview eyewitnesses to several bright lights across the building that hovered for a few seconds before taking off at unbelievable speed.

I studied pictures on his cell phone. 

Mister Wilson, I am sure you are reading this, as I am sure of scientific evidence to prove aliens have been on this gem of a planet for thousands of years.

One of the aliens is called poverty.

Make with the mild mannered reporter thing and help change the world for the best.

I am transmitting this final message from a public library in The South Bronx.

Afterward, I will go out into the street and look into the eclipse.

I wasn’t ready to leave the world when I was a kid.

I am ready

Now

My Re@l Life @s @ Comic Book

New York Radiology made MRI of my brain. Conceptual art and text by

D@niel @ngel @ponte

Copyrighted 2017

http://admericaintechnicolor.blogspot.com

 In the time of urban devastation of the late 1960s and early 70s, an elderly English teacher, who survived the prison camps in Europe decades ago, gave the diary of Anne Frank to one of his Hispanic fourth graders and inspired a new journal.

 

Later on, a homework assignment creates a tour book that draws tourists to the creative spirits of children living their dreams in the shadows of abandoned buildings. This musical is about being gifted and overcoming abuse in the South Bronx of America.

 

It makes a wish to live life like a great novel, one that reads like the science fiction of a Super Man comic book, to become reality in cyberspace.

 

Once upon a time at The Public Library, the boy I was found A Winkle In Time.

 

Chapter One: It was a dark and stormy night…

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks

 

By Danny Aponte of P.S 161

 

Copyrighted 2014

 

http://poetfolio.blogspot.com

http://thegreatamericantweet.blogspot.com

I built a shoeshine box and made money in my creative childhood.

 

I shined shoes next to The White House supermarket and the newsstand on Prospect Avenue in The South Bronx of America.

 

One day, three older well-dressed Puerto Rican kids made fun of my two-dollar sneakers in front of pretty girls sitting on the hood of a car.

 

I looked at their expensive shoes and gave up pride in working for a living.

I wish my mother took a welfare check like your parents do, I said quietly.

The girls burst into laughter as the three boys turned red with shame.

 

They tried to beat me up but the girls protected me from the bullies.

 

I was like the kid in a fable that said the king has no clothes on.

 

I learned that telling the truth could get me hurt in the USA.

 

I’ll be lying if I said I didn’t mind dying for the truth.

 

In the city of illegal guns and roses, I lived opposite a funeral parlor. The block is like death row because down the hill and across the river is Riker’s Island Prison. 

 

 There’s Jesus and the Apostles on the face of a clock in my mother’s little kitchen.

 

 Every night, I ran of time.

 

But more often than not, I used to get a last supper unlike some other kids.

 

I escaped by looking into the mystery of the universe. I craved higher education. I wanted to build dreams and make them reality. I wanted Bronx School of Science.

 

Then it’s off to M.I.T.  It’s hard to believe what happened to my life.

 

Now would be a good time for you to be scared of me.

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks

 

By Danny Aponte of P.S 161

 

Super hero at last! Yay!

 

LOL

 

http://poetfolio.blogspot.com

http://thegreatamericantweet.blogspot.com

 

I'm So Glad To Have Connected With The Better Alien Of My Nature

I built a shoeshine box and made money in my creative childhood.

 

I shined shoes next to The White House supermarket and the newsstand on Prospect Avenue in The South Bronx of America.

 

One day, three older well-dressed Puerto Rican kids made fun of my two-dollar sneakers in front of pretty girls sitting on the hood of a car.

 

I looked at their expensive shoes and gave up pride in working for a living.

I wish my mother took a welfare check like your parents do, I said quietly.

The girls burst into laughter as the three boys turned red with shame.

 

They tried to beat me up but the girls protected me from the bullies.

 

I was like the kid in a fable that said the king has no clothes on.

 

I learned that telling the truth could get me hurt in the USA.

 

I’ll be lying if I said I didn’t mind dying for the truth.

 

In the city of illegal guns and roses, I lived opposite a funeral parlor. The block is like death row because down the hill and across the river is Riker’s Island Prison. 

 

 There’s Jesus and the Apostles on the face of a clock in my mother’s little kitchen.

 

 Every night, I ran of time.

 

But more often than not, I used to get a last supper unlike some other kids.

 

I escaped by looking into the mystery of the universe. I craved higher education. I wanted to build dreams and make them reality. I wanted Bronx School of Science.

 

Then it’s off to M.I.T.  It’s hard to believe what happened to my life.

 

Now would be a good time for you to be scared of me.

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks

 

By Danny Aponte of P.S 161

 

Super hero at last! Yay!

 

LOL

 

http://poetfolio.blogspot.com

http://thegreatamericantweet.blogspot.com

 

Read This First

 

My sixth grade English teacher believed I would write the next great American Novel.

 

Just write what you know, she said.

 

I know movies.

 

One day, I was given homework to draw tourists to The South Bronx.

 

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and jumped off a bridge.

 

 Some people believe if a good kid died then Heaven has another angel.

 

 Some scientists believe if a human being travels light-years into the future he or she will meet up with his or her past. I landed on a freight train to see what I missed seeing in life.

 

This is my last déjà vu before moving on to a new reality.

 

I dream that my story surprises God.

 

I know Albert Einstein would be.

 

LOL.

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks

 

By Danny Aponte of P.S 161

 

Copyrighted by me infinity!

 

So why is China LOL?

 

http://poetfolio.blogspot.com

 

http://thegreatamericantweet.blogspot.com

 

It’s déjà vu late in the night. It’s difficult to keep my eyes open.

 

I’m bleeding out words. I have close up this account.

 

I died in 1993 after the bombing of the WTC.

 

I was held down on the floors of higher education and beaten on the back of my head. I had much to live for in the moment I met a painter who wanted to marry me. Her love made me feel like a tourist on a honeymoon in a city I saw through her bright spirit.

 

Her birthday is 9/11.

 

 Before final explosion took away memories, I experienced a phenomenon of reliving life in a blink of an eye.  I’m a schoolboy again who carried Ann Frank in his arms while shadows of burnt-out buildings and bullies fell over us in The South Bronx of America.

 

 I found A Winkle In Time.

 

I read The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury who also wrote Fahrenheit 451.

 

I loved reading at night in my bunk bed near cloud white ceiling.

 

I loved bringing to life King Arthur and his knights because the end of a righteous realm was scary to my idealistic childhood. Be a man for God’s sake.  Get a life, I was told, before it’s too late. Stop crying over what could have been and grow up already.

 

I learned everyone has his or her time to tell a story.

 

I’m not telling my story in a New York minute to you as much as I have to rehearse what to say before God and angels or extraterrestrials or to my own self be true.

 

It was time to let go of my homelessness and move away a winter of inhumanity.

 

I was sick of staring at the silent funeral parlor across an empty street. 

 

I was weary of waiting for miracle to change history for the best.

 

The End begins a memory of a bedroom and fireflies of Saint Mary’s Park, a former home of a Founding Father who wrote the words We, The People.

 

I’m home with family. I’m home in my Wonder Years.

 

There’s my pillow.

 

Time to sleep.

 

”May God bless everyone of you on the good green Earth” said an astronaut across all distances of time and space to future readers. Thank you for bringing us to life to tell our stories to children of all ages at libraries in centuries to come. From the boy I was in Camelot once upon a time, good will and peace to all on Earth.

 

Good night among mysterious fireflies.

 

Murals For Ourselves In The South Bronx of America by Daniel Angel Aponte

 

In memory of my little brother, Alvin, and children taken before their time

 

Dreams are never forgotten in The City That Never Sleeps.

 

http://poetfolio.blogspot.com

 

Copyrighted 2014

 

Arigato to Grave of The Fireflies

 

I remember grief.