Moth Poem (2004)


A moth swallows

the lump in my throat

and lets out a burp

then smiles

at my astonishment.

A cat licks

roughly on my hands

and purrs into my loneliness

as if it isn’t real.


A snake slides up the cuff

of my jeans hissing

into my pockets of woe

relishing the flicker                                                    

of his split tongue.



A mosquito suckles

the warm blood

in the cheek

of my understanding

as if time lives

only a bite away.


Blue beetles nibble at the hem

Of my best purple

Without a care

Without a care.

Manuela Thiess Garcia Poetry (2017)

Missing the Point of Connection


At our nimble fingertips:

The last beat of a melancholy heart,

The beginning of a whim,

The world opens to our wondering eyes.


At the last beat of a bleary heart,

Crashing against past and future shores,

The world dances to our saturated eyes

At a serendipitous landing

Or somewhere by design.


Crashing against past and future shores,

At the cost of touch to touch,

By design or serendipitously,

From minimal dusk to maximum dawn.


At the loss of touch to flesh,

Our illusions preempt our prudence.

From maximum dusk to minimal dawn:

Only our nimble fingertips.











Manuela Thiess Garcia: poems (2003)



Home: a stage

The walls: a crumble


The players: themselves


The need: security

The want: attention

The confusion: chaos, as far as the eye can see


The scene: a succumbed landscape anxious to renew itself

The action: forced

The resolution: no joining


The dream: fulfillment

The frustration: no change


The feelings: the feelings,


   ...the need

The agony: postwar remnants

                            of postwar remnants of


                            of remnants

And the children

               of the children

               of the children

Is what happens to


               the children.

The Whole Picture (2008)


Sub-rosa, I heist

stealing a sidelong glance, a secret smile -

capturing a cloud, a rainbow, a watermelon toss in a supermarket

a dirty look from an ambushed pedestrian


while willing to risk falling or drowning

after a slip in a river,

or being charged by an angry bovine,

while nearly getting run over by a passing motorist.

The compulsion to click

dictates my fortunes.


Launching the shutter, I intercept time

in its relentless destruction of the moment:

the shocked expression on a bucked-off cowboy,  

a pelican in mid-flight as he shores up his wings for a dive,

a seagull’s rape in choppy waters,

a donkey mother chastising her young,

midair planes, balloons,

kites flying and gliders gliding

surfers waving, dolphins leaping, 

breaching whales, renegade livestock,

seals swatting and spatting with only their flippers -

and multitudes of people laughing,

crying, resting, and fighting,

action frozen in time and space.


And imprison images:

the fragility of fading petals

bugs and rodents on the prowl,

museum goers going,

grocery shoppers shopping,

street walkers and walkers walking,

parks and industrial parkways,              

muzzled dogs, and burned out forests,

from places familiar and foreign -

musicians, beggars, and coin-tossers,

crevices in the pavements, and paved over crevices:

secret gateways to understanding.


Abstract or representational visions

(all in mini megapixels – tiny squares

as responsive to manipulation

as a synapse is to electrical impulse)

stored in the vast annals of my hard drive

where they drive hard to incite

my digital darkroom

into releasing  impressions

hidden in raw files.