This photograph captures Dr. Ricardo Bogaert-Alvarez in a moment of true conviction. He is mid-reading the poem "Oh Americano," his hand raised emphasizing the urgency of his words. I took this photo during a Su Teatro's WordFest, which I attended as a CALMA intern. I witnessed how storytelling can serve as both a reflection and catalsyt for social change. During the event, I heard "Oh Americano" for the first time. This poem calls for courage, unity, and responsibility in th

Authors Karen Gonzales, Manuel Ramos with Kimberly Sanchez, Teacher/Author & Latinos in Action Students - February 2024 Author Sanjuanita Mendoza and Kimberly Sanchez, Teacher/Author - April, 2024 Author Frank Davila presenting to students at Gateway High School Library - May, 2024

Presenter Dr. Irene Blea, 11 CALMA Authors and Aspiring Writers in Attendance in discussion to network and share tips to begin or finish writing a manuscript.

Platicas Student Discussion Event Bilingual Poetry Gateway High School In Partnership with CALMA & Latinos In Action April 19, 2024 CALMA Guests Ricardo Bogaert & Ricardo LaFore

Ricardo LaFore and Ernesto Alvarado, Musicians and Poets at St. John Frances Chapel Regis University

Life was a whirlwind, never enough arms to haul and carry groceries, babies, and books. I seldom had enough time to hold and play with my little girls, cuddle my baby, or cook. The meat and vegetables I threw in the old crockpot were mush when I got home in the evening. I ate on the run rushing to college, I could barely taste it as I drove gulping my food, One day I read what the children had contributed to the Head Start cookbook. There were all kinds of cute dictations li

In 1965 I was seventeen, about to enter my senior year at Harrison High in Colorado Springs while I chased good times in the city of Pueblo with pals from my hometown Florence. Good times meant parties, dances, and admission to clubs with live music, even if we were underage. I’ve written before about how I was into soul music -- Motown or otherwise, including Chicano bands and singers from Pueblo who did their best to emulate the style and sophistication of groups such as t

Recently, I was asked how I decided what to write and how I approach the subject. I had never given this much thought but it appears I write about what is happening where I am. During the height of the Chicano Movement, I wrote and presented my poetry at rallies, meetings, and evening sessions with other poets. In the 1980s I worked on a Ph.D. and wrote three thirty-page term papers every three months to fulfill the requirements for my doctorate. Before I retired as a tenured

Two women who lived with several Mexican states between them found themselves in a common place and time in a breath-taking setting, El CREFAL (Regional Center for the Education of Adults in Latin America) in Pátzcuaro, (Michoacán,) México. They shared an experience they had in common. The two women had been sent to prepare to go to the United States as exchange teachers. I had hosted these ladies in past years at my Colorado home for these programs of which Colorado and Mexi

I don’t know what today may bring, yet, I rejoice that I have life and eyes to see the priceless marvels God so gracefully gifts me. In this mid-winter season, I gaze at the majesty of the Colorado Rockies in all their splendor. The noon-day sun illuminates their summit to sparkle like diamonds. Yesterday, many moons ago, I faced these same mountains with a heavy heart. What I faced seemed insurmountable. I wiped my tears and kept climbing. I will not dwell on yesterday’s pai

Even though I’m thousand of miles away from you I cry for you Kyiv Even though I was not born in your wonderful city I cry for you Kyiv Even though I can’t fire a rifle for you I cry for you Kyiv Even though I can’t stop the damn Russian tanks I cry for you Kyiv Even though they bombard you and may conquer you

Writing to me is like making tortillas for the first time. You must have the right ingredients and utensils: Ingredients Needed: Writing Tortillas Craving Four Hunger Salt Desire Baking Powder Persistence Shortening Momentum Hot Water Pride Heat Imagination Dreams Utensils: Pencil or Pen Rolling Pen Paper

My heart was pounding, not from fear like in these present times, but with excitement. No companion necessary, I had no worry of being hijacked by the cartel. The only delay, a quick stop, the driver opened the door and a line of thirsty, desperate migrants walked into the bus and quickly sat on the empty seats. My heart raced, not knowing what was going on. I stretched my neck and stared toward the driver, the other passengers behind me, and in front of me. No one said a wor