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Best Nicaraguan Poems

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The Best Nicaraguan Poems

Details | Nicaraguan Poem | |


                                         CRACK WHORED

                                           crack whore 
                                        broke my spell
                                      Played her game of
                                   Kiss and tell 
                               Reads cheap tabloids 
                            with letters understood
                         and uses her tongue 
                       like a mama should
                     Dirty toga stained slave
                  ripe woman's thighs
               Hot sweat rivulets 
             entice my hungried eyes 
          She fingers me to come 
        be her boyman
      Inches my inches 
    delicate for greedy wants
  My Nicaraguan lady 
treats me to her crack....


Copyright © Ian Guyler

More great poems below...

Details | Nicaraguan Poem | |

Conversation with Crack

Crack on my corner but its grown overseas
Grown in South America and made from cocca leaves
From overseas to the corner from the corner to my house 
momma using daddy using when will he get out?
He stuck around for years and showed me what he was all about 
He gave me a history lesson as we sat on my couch
I asked him, how many other homes did he invade? He said "far too many to 
even count"
Then I asked him, how much is made off of you? He said "a large amount"
Then he went on to say he was sponsored by political clout 
And its because the Regan Administration had an agenda to fight a cause that 
made us look like losers instead of winners
All because he despised the Nicaraguan group Sandinistas
Because they were not built on capitalism but instead had socialist features
And supported guerrillas in El Salvador
So on Nov 23 1981 they initiated war 
It was secret and such 
a covert operation
The public didn't know that much
The CIA recruited contras that were trained and funded by us at around 19 million
thats hush
Aid was interrupted by the Boland Amendment that forbid action by U.S. agencies
funding the cause
So Regan and his administration pulled down their draws and pissed on the 
And started acquiring funds from trading guns thats firing
Funds from the drug trade was supplying them 
And now we got kilos of coke thats flying in 
Distrubted to the dealers,they cook crack your parents buying them
It started an epidemic to fund a cause 
And now the ball is rolling 
There is no pause

So I pause 

You could get mad at the dealers but cocca leaves don't grow in L.A.
And you could get mad at the crips for shooting bloods but you have to wonder 
"Where did they get those Ak's"
There are dealers,behind the dealer 
Shooters behind the shooter
In your house you see two addicts but there is a bigger supplier supporting the 

Copyright © Paul Williams III

Details | Nicaraguan Poem | |

The Chubby Banana

The world was yellow. When I stepped off the plane –
The bright blazing sun beamed the tarmac and I was for some moments blinded.

A native child welcomed me.
She handed me a leaf’d crown, a banana and leant up to kiss my cheek.

That evening I slept.
In the morning I woke to a dazzling array of tropical bird song and aromas of 
Nicaraguan coffee, melons and mango, fried yummy banana . . . . and the warm 
sea –

I took a dip. Naked.
Something swam with me. Below me. Near me. Even, I think, right above me.

It began to rain bananas –
Astounding yes, indeed, but it hurt. One hit me on the back as I tried to swim 
away and one hit me on the head.
They fell into the turquoise sea like rain drops .  .  .
I ducked under and dove beneath the yellow hail –
Swimming beneath a sea of yellow bananas that pelted my waves.
I thought that I would never eat another banana again if I could only stay alive.
Then I thought that perhaps it was good to rain bananas.
If that was so, sharks might wish to feast on the plethora of floating raining 
bananas and not on a chubby limb that I use to swim –

I swam naked toward a dock, whilst being pelted still on my back and legs.
I finally reached the dock. 
The native child was there.

Where is your crown, she asked.
I threw it away.
I don’t wear crowns, I told her. And I don’t eat bananas –

Copyright © Juston Barrett