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Best Puerto Rican Poems

Below are the all-time best Puerto Rican poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Puerto Rican poems written by PoetrySoup members

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In Puerto Rican Skies by Halling, Carl
UNDER MY PUERTO RICAN SUN by Terrero Rivera Rincon , Jen

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The Best Puerto Rican Poems

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Before I go home

8:00 am

I listen to hums of 70 degree air conditioned whispers.

Playful, chirping birds swing across damp meadows
Under humidity’s gentle fog

‘Tis a silent morning, 5 days in the making

A gentle reflection upon my minutes,
Absorbing breaths of home

So much laughter
So much joy
So much food

Even a miniscule side of frustration’s true colors,
Amusing attempts to sludge my momentum

My friends made themselves known.

The others become answered insignificance.

My beating heart couldn’t be more grateful. 

My pupils reflect upon final nights’ splendor,
While they write lessons upon life’s chalkboard

Fury of Salsa & Disco beats
Pulsate across my spongy cerebellum
Holding hands with my Mother in proprietary motions

The whites of my eyes become silver injected pools of serenity.

What more could I ask for?

I listen for 8 & 4 year old footsteps to silently speak
Exacerbated adoration, filling my smile with electric permanence

In these silent, reflecting moments before I pack my bag, my soul’s window
Prepares…

…I await aromas of a Puerto Rican brunch
Before I go home

I await touches of a gentle waterfall against my cheek
Before I go home

I await exemplary wishes from roots of family tree to return tomorrow
Before I go home

And, after these shedding tears & resilient smiles are embedded within,
I await the reckoning that will shake foundations into Ionosphere grins

When I
Return home

8:30 am

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

i am

i am from you have to work for it
from worthless and invisible
i am from hatred.

i am from 7
from black and white
i am from not begin accepted for who i am

i am from you are who you are for a reason
from depression to anxiety 
i am from i want to be happy

i am from Spanish
from puerto Rican to dominican 
i am from slang

i am from Michigan to Indiana
from drugs and alcohol abuse
i am Tiffany (12.22.11)

i am from grandmas house
from Christmas tree to scary costumes
i am from big celebrations

i am from don't talk back 
from sleeping in
i am you fend for yourself

i am from the heart and soul
from beat and rhythm
i am from hip-hop and r&b

i am from jeep music 
from slow jamz to gospel
i am music

i am from Illinois
from small town
i am bloomington

i am from two human begins 
from the womb inside my mother
i am Ayanah

Copyright © Ayanah Edwards | Year Posted 2014


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Felony Money

True definition of a hood love story,
They called him Felony.
Skin was as smooth as a shot of Hennessey.
He made a lot of other men envy.
His style was particularly different from the rest.
No gold chains around his neck, but a simple rosary lies on his chest.
Underneath his Sunday best was a solid bullet proof vest.
His pockets had a secret treasure chest.
Steepness with infinite thickness,
But every man has a weakness.
She killed him with kindness.
A righteous lioness,
His royal highness: his positive guidance.
She was the offspring of the titans.
 Exceptional of importance to his reputation,
 She was his foundation freedom from his everyday discrimination.
A safe haven like a wave equation, her name was Money.
Half black and half Puerto Rican,
Skin complexion of an Egyptian he nicknamed her Isis.
Dipped in gold went perfectly with her skin tone.
She was an overgrown precious stone.
Foreknown Money was working with the federal bureau of investigation.
 Deeply in love with a convict but yet victorious triumphant.
Stunting on everyone’s judgments Money is Felony movement.
A step ahead of the government,
Never seeing a seal indictment
Money was his antidepressant.
Felony was her significant participant.
Both of them reaping the enjoyment,
Bonded by each other’s fulfillment,
Seal their delinquent intimate commitment.
In love with a codefendant left them with a Bonnie, and Clyde ending.
Love testimony of Felony and Money

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2014


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Skin I'm In Part Two

 Only little black girl at  school and her white friends admired her ‘tan’ 
–“I'm brown all over” she told them, proudly motioning to all her body.  
But skin color can be an issue
 I remember the back of the bus-
although we rarely rode it because of that.  
I remember for colored only water fountains 
segregated schools and lunch counters for whites only.  
I remember the caste system at my high school- black step back, brown stick 
around, white you all right. 
I think Langston Hughes captured the cadence of it.  
Bright skin girls were queens and princesses, beautiful and fair.  
Black girls were well, BLACK and that was supposed to be a negative.  
And then a funny thing happened on the way through the sixties-
BLACK was beautiful and the skin color dynamics began to change.  
It came out of the closet and was addressed by white, black, brown, red and 
yellow people.  
Now skin color is celebrated in all shades and hues although 
I still hear teenagers at my high school (I'm a teacher now) say things like, 
"I'm not sitting out here in no sun, I don't want to get any blacker than I am."  
And of course prejudice has not disappeared it has mutated and we do have 
stronger defenses against it in some cases.  
Interestingly even skin color defines some of my "brown" students.  
They react to the "darkness" of each other and their parents, relatives and 
friends.  
"My mom is real dark, Miss, she don't look nothing like me."  
"Miss, do you think I look like a Mexican?  I don't look nothing like a Mexican."  
"I'm a Latina." 
"There's no such thing as a Chicano, it's something people made up, either 
you're a Mexican or you're not."  
"What does that mean-Hispanic?"  
"I'm Cuban, Puerto Rican, and El Salvadorian, from Belize; Honduran (We got 
black Hondurans, Miss)” That’s the color of skin thing.

Copyright © Rhea Daniel Dear | Year Posted 2007


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

IMMIGRANTS

There has been such a backlash against immigrants
that I decided I would put out a thought.  
Do we remember the immigrants
Who for our country fought?

Starting with our revolution
when this country was born in 1776.
There were immigrants who fought by our side
Von Steuben, Kosciuszko, and Pulaski were among the mix.

What have they done since then you ask,
to keep our country great ?
There are those who battled oppression with us
even up to the present date.
 
I do not know of particulars in 1812
or even in WW I.
But if immigrants didn't fight for us
They joined the 'Melting Pot' that eventually made us one.

WW II is another chapter
of immigrant oppression we let go awry.
How long could we have fought that war
Had the Nisei not gone to Italy?

I have had great kindness in my life
by two different immigrant cultures shown.
One was Puerto Rican;  the other Chinese 
who accepted me as one of their own.

It was more than kindness.
It was a true caring and love in their way.
One gave me the confidence to move ahead in life
The other became my family.

Without the strength of these diverse immigrants in my life
I don't know where I might have gone.
I would certainly not be here writing
but somewhere else...lost and alone.

So when I hear people loudly rail
about an "Immigrant Crisis of State",
Remember, We all came from roots elsewhere
This is what makes our country Great!




Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Jersey

Yo, Hoboken Bars and a couple cat fights,
Yo, takin’ the path to the Palledium and Limelight,  
Giants games,
Getting drunk and goin’ insane,
Never stressin, just professin’, Wu Tang Lyrics and a little Smith and Wessin’,
Yo, I hung Irish, Italian, Black, and Puerto Rican,
Weekend trips to Spanish Harlem, girl watchin’ and sight seein’,
Visitin’ fam in Flat Bush Brooklyn, and a quick stop to the Bronx,
Playin’ a little b-ball back when I had less junk in my trunks,
Liftin’ at the Y, and hangin’ tough in Parsippany,
Are you hangin’ with me?
Shot out to the Randolph Crew,
Hangin’ with Asians and Jewish cats too,
With dreds on my head, ladies sweatin’ the phat do,
Winnin’ state championships and duckin’ bauer Junia,
Sportin’ my Miata with shiny Rims, and a boomin’ tuner, 
Rollin’ through Montclair and scopin’ females on the upswing,
Showin’ off my letters and  #1 rings,
Though I’ve lived all over, I still claim Randolph and Dover,
I still claim, West Orange, Lauren Hill, and Fushiknins never sober,
Jersey, baby Jersey, there is no other,
With Red Alert on the horn kickin’ the overweight lova,
And yeah, we kind of dirty,
True dat,
 I’ll grant you that,
But there is none like Jersey,
The Garden lounge of adventure,
And when you visit the homestead,
Just tell em Woody sent ya,
So shot out to the Jersey Crew, 
It’s been a while, 
Lost my style, 
And my pants are a little bigga,
But yo, it don’t matter, cause Jersey yeah I miss ya!!

Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2009


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

If I tell You

If I Tell You, 2011
Vickie M. Ortiz Vazquez

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
What comes to mind?
Morena of “el barrio” or Blonde woman of “el barrio”
Better yet, pale skin-blonde from up north
That one, the straight English-speaking wanna-be
“Con su pelo lacio”

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Could you describe who I am?
Woman controlled, subjected by Welfare
Carrying on the poor women cycle
You know, the one imposed by the few rich white men
Shackled
Would you think of me in a bright light; dim light?

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Do you envision an immigrant, alien?
A woman once taken and brought at age 15
Beginning of her womanhood
Tormented by loneliness, isolation, ignorance
Frustrated by the never ending question, “Are you mixed?”
Misunderstood by her citizenship
Seen as unfair by many
Slaved island, unrealized
Are you able to narrate which Puerto Rican woman am I?
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am

Puerto Rican I am
“Café con leche,” Afro-hair, big lips, small nose
Distance between what I was and inspire to be
Clinching to her African heritage
Searching

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Can you explain the injustice my hair endured?
Constant search for assimilation
Assimilation
To break free
Impacted by those with similar skin color, Afro hair, big lips
Different

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Do you paint two contrasting siblings?
Light, dark complexions
Tall dark father with short light mother by his side

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Do your pages bleed from inspiration?
Disgust?
Stereotypes?
Would I read between the lines, a woman becoming her own?
Struggling between many worlds
Or, do you spell the notion of loud, submissive, sex symbol
You know, the one portrayed in the media

If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Can you decipher, WEEEEPA

Copyright © Vickie Ortiz Vazquez | Year Posted 2011


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Diner Dash

A Poets Dozen Fried stirred put in the Oven
Breakfast Lunch Dinner Dessert they Love it

Your own private Diner a blended Fatata
Served with coffee chocolate makes it hotter

Its your cup of Tea brewing the pot screams
With a bit of Raw Honey melted a throat eased 

Butter Bread A Puerto Rican Dream
Melts in your mouth the simple things please

Now if you would like eggs over easy
The yolk in the center would run dreaming

With a side of bacon maybe a piece of ham
To dip in the center would be a grand slam

How about some scrabbled eggs with Cheese
Or a lovely danish hard boiled preferably

Have you ever had punch made with grape juice
Eggs whipped with sugar enhancing a favorite fruit

Maybe a poached egg perhaps an omelette instead
Stuffed with a filling ingredients run to your head

French Toast pancakes hashbrowns at last
This Diner is cooking take a plate don't pass

To swallow it down orange juice take a glass
Your ready to pump iron enough protein you've had

See you next time it was a pleasure to entertain
This diner now closed hope you enjoyed your unconventional first date

12/28/2015













Copyright © Tiffany Diaz | Year Posted 2015


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

the Curry man from trinidad

 I leave my home in Trinidad
 And I come to live in America
 And now I working at Kmart
 Whole day at a cash register

 But I do have a lot of problems
 Every time I get hungry to eat
 all it has is a bunch of junk food
 Or bread with some artificial meat

 So I decide to take all my money
 And invested it in a food van
 Is about time I introduce to America
 The tasty cooking of we Trinidadian

 And I though for the first few days 
 That business will be real slow
 Boy, but I was so wrong
 now I see people line up for so

 So I open up with trini breakfast
 Smoke herring with tomato and roti
 Baggi, Pumpkin, baigan and aloo 
 Fried bodi ,doubles and fever grass tea

 It’s the first time they tasting Doubles 
 The chutney burning some of them nose
 One guy look like he from Russia
 Drop some curry channa on his cloths

 I get all the recipes from my brother
“naz cuisine” The best food in Trinidad’
Some people start complimenting
 Saying, it’s the best they ever had

 A white man faced turns red
 Eating the double with plenty pepper
 But he says how he likes it
 It has a very nice flavor

 And For lunch I roll out the big guns
 All different kind of talkari
 Goat, duck chicken and fish
 Bake and shark, bush up shut and dhalpurrie

 Two Puerto Rican girls
 One looks like Mariah Carey
 They order dhal, rice, and goat meat
 Saying how they love the curry

 And every body line up
 They love the curry real bad
 And every body talking about the curry
 the curry man from Trinidad

 From my stove comes hot roti
 Tomato choka and fry plantain
 Since morning people line up
 Waiting for the Trinidad cooking

 And now is evening everything sells out
 I didn’t even keep one roti for me 
 And now I feel real hungry
 So I guess I will buy a bucket of KFC

Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2013


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

fingers doin' rap (in the key of m&m)

A dip fat go-figure
Find some in between finger
Chicken plukin’ t-shirt white boy walkin’
Waitin’ on his gotta go
Ya this be a walk ‘yall Yop ‘bout
D’at be what a daddy don’t talk now ‘bout
Tiny bits ‘bout what he don’t show now
f. . . the guns and the collars can’t colour white or blue
what???
you thought this was modern, ni-gah?
f. . . you wht-blk man
you got only one leg to stand on
and I got you a’lrgiht. . . here
Italian. . . grabbin’
Puerto. . . rican
Whatever there brother. .  your time’s done here
Follow this t – I- - n- - - y bit
Did you finally learn to write “bi-a-ch”?
Take that fat ass MTV you’ve been shoveling up me, and
Scare some other toilet bowls, ass h...ole
What?  You dropped a couple G’s and you got caught on that bad form of long lost 8mm
I feel for you
The dip fat go-figure
Take your time colored finger
Ain’t no collar comin’ lookin’ for me
Ya. . . I’ll give you MTV. .  Much Music too
Ya, you all got all that
But I’m quiet in the ‘hood
We’ve been waiting for you. . . near gah

Copyright © Gerry Mattia | Year Posted 2010


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Chiaroscuro Choreography

A light mist of ethereous rain falls 
silent on his thin, sharp-angled
face. He lengthens his stride and 
leans toward the wind. He walks 
through plundered poverty; crumbled
by the weight of exodus. Abandoned
to the blood-rough nails scratching
on the concrete diasporas of multiethnic
history.

Past the playground echoes of PS #59, 
as they drift along the faded asphalt 
haze of time. Echoes still ring true with 
elemental bones of hope: the children
break out and through gunmetal gray, 
graffiti covered doors, outside to the 
saturated heat of inner-city rage. 

Past gothic orthodox cathedral 
mausoleums which sit like ancient 
stoics and stare through burnt-amber, 
azure, crystalline-blue stained glass 
eyes; focused out with a kernel of 
eternal mustard seed hope: souls will 
come again and warm the sacred pews. 

Past the Puerto Rican market 
where the pig's head led the 
carnivore parade of mastication 
promise every day. A meat-market 
window of letted-blood and death 
reminiscent of Amsterdam whores 
with their wares on display for the 
dead-eyed stares of the men outside. 

He comes to the dust and 
grime of an empty lot covered 
by old and broken concrete slabs. 
He stops and lets his mind drift 
back to watch a woman who wears 
a ratted fox-tail wrap around her
neck. She holds a long, un-filtered 
cigarette, loose, between her two 
bright, fuchsia painted lips. She 
wears a black velvet hat with veil 
to her nose and a straight black 
dress that flows below her knees, 
mid-calf, above her shiny black, 
high-heel, patent leather shoes. 

He can almost see through the blur 
of a chiaroscuro choreography his 
mother,  visiting with the Kazakhstan 
neighbors, in this dreamlike memory. 
The multi-plexed, subsidized project, 
where he was born, once stood just 
beyond his vision of a mother's visit in 
high-heel, indigo, tangerine, sibilant 
sounds; lit with electric light smiles 
of denial. 

She would hold her cigarette between 
fuchsia lips and wear that ratted fox-tail 
wrap until the cancer cough began to spew 
Chesterfield blood on the molted fox-tail 
head of her beloved fur. 

Then she went to bed. Went to sleep. And died. 

Pigeons cooed quietly on that New York City night. 

Copyright © tom mcmurray | Year Posted 2010


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Labels

Labels, 2010
V. Ortiz Vazquez

Girl, teenager, young adult, woman
Hispanic, Latina, Puerto Rican
Sister, aunt, godmother
Lesbian, woman of color
How important are these labels?
Why use them to define myself?
Better, use to be boxed within brackets
Brackets many times use to oppress me and those a like
Box me
Reduce at time, close to nothingness
Trap within groups
Recycling stereotypes, unfairness
Idiotic
Other times, forgotten

I am a woman
A Puerto Rican woman that is
I am a daughter
A Puerto Rican daughter, know this
Born to privileges that do not really exist
I am a Puerto Rican woman who loves another woman 
Rights denied
Ignorance still prevail in 2010
I am brown skinned
How important is this? I don’t know, Do you?
Yet, I will not trade the following:
Daughter, aunt, godmother, woman of color, Puerto Rican
They provide an experience taken for granted by many
At times an understanding that others dream off
A strength given, passed down
Not forced or taken 
I am the labels you love to hate
I am the labels you hate to love

Copyright © Vickie Ortiz Vazquez | Year Posted 2010


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

JAMAICAN VOODOO PRIEST

Draped in all black 
identical to a backwards funeral
she switched her slender frame down Nostrand ave 
entered the well disguised voodoo parlor sitting
between Kennedy’s Fried Chicken and Lucy’s Nails
walked over to the occupied mahogany table 
placed her Gucci knock-off on the center of mahogany
“You that African nigga people be talkin’ bout?”
stern faced
the “African nigga” rose from the shadows
his vocals heavy with bass
carrying with it an organic accent 
“Who tell yuh fi shout 
tek out ah chair 
and shut up yuh mouth.”
her unpolished Brooklyn attitude quickly receded
She was not expecting authenticity
“Yu si di egg dem pon di floor 
tek out tree 
and leave back four,”
the “African nigga” instructed once more
wide eyed
now regretting ever listening to Marisol
the Puerto Rican co-worker who had talked
her into getting her future read from a 
“Real psychic, African nigga”
she lowered her insecure frame to the ground
and retrieved the three, brown eggs
"Yuh nervous?" He asked
“Yeah,” she confessed.
“A wha mek yuh nervous?” 
“Your face is scary,”she replied.
He moved further from the shadows 
looked her dead in the eyes
“Hey bloodcloth gyal,
yuh nuh have nuh grace?
Yuh com fi mi wisdom 
but yuh ah diss mi bout mi face?
Tek up yuh bloodcloth, cheap bag and
com outta mi place.”

Copyright © BLUE33 NailahBaniti | Year Posted 2015


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

UNDER MY PUERTO RICAN SUN

Slice that ripe green Avocado
Love it with my rice and beans
Oh it looks so ripe and yellow
Slice it like a tangerine

Let's make love under La Palma
Lay out our blanket on the clean
Luquillo sand - allow the Puerto Rican 
Sun to bath us with its warm Latino hands

Soothe our bodies, comfort our Souls
Heat our blood as we become one under
La Palma and Puerto Rican Sun

Excerpt from "The Big Apple Turns Brown When 
You Slice It - selected poems and essays of my 
Nuyorican Culture." 2002 www.authorhouse.com

Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Rap Rage

It doesn't have to rhyme, in time
its all semantics anyway.
The words to play
into other words and every thing
doesn't need to ring
in rhyme.
Write about how it be.

C-span gobbldegook of terror
committes sit as souls pour out of poverty
services unprovided while
building bombs.
Who cares about the conspiracy
of greed and machismo to
keep us in our place?
Race to the bottom line:
I'm a bank and your black and back off
I'm a mortgage company and your puerto rican
with credit stinkin
have we killed all the Indians yet?

Without the news the blues
is mindless sitcom cons
or
when the polls close the winner will be named
before the count
you is out.
Show me the beef 
stay obese for spiritually
priestly pedophiles.

A perpetration of a preponderance of b.s.
reigns in the land of the
locked in
locked up
bondage of souls
dreamin' the great dream of a house
to be blown away in a storm,
or run over by a Free Way.

What's mine ... ? 
Rage.

Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

In Puerto Rican Skies

Faces smiling, nodding politely 
At words they don't seem 
To understand,

Show me pictures,
Showing the richness of
A faraway distant land,

Multicoloured motor cars,
Brown apartments 
Rising high in Puerto Rican skies.

Copyright © Carl Halling | Year Posted 2015


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

She's Like...

She's like beautiful....nice pretty smile....
She's like a dream....I'll sleep for a while....
She's worth a milion....product of God's work....
She's like everything....everything she's worth....

I sit in my room and picture this fine black....no caramel....no puerto rican....no 
venezualian female walking about and around my home like she bought it, HA! 
Her eyes green maybe hazel, doesn't matter, because everytime I look at her our 
lips touch, hands interlock, and bodies intertwine like vines on a tree. She's like 
the best cook, fried chicken, sweet cream corn, candy yams, and the sweetest 
red koolade even the hardest ghetto would love. She's like a piece to my missing 
puzzle she's like something I'd love over and over again until again is over.

She's like....beautiful....
She's like....sexy....
She's like....untouchable....
She's like....the best thing....

She's like everything I think about when I'm not thinking about thinking about 
anything. She's like what matters most when nothing matters at all. There's "I 
Love You's" when she's mad and "F--- You's" when she's happy. Plus she knows 
I don't like dealing with the drama, but her attitude is automatic, she get it from 
her mamma.

She's like....my support....
She's like....my Queen....
She's like....my motivation....
She's like....my dream....

Copyright © Bakari Wright | Year Posted 2006


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Anything Is Possible

Flying through the breeze of an obstacle experience
Puerto Rican connection is beyond the word "serious"
Put my two hands together and let emotions speak
Eyes are always stressed out and never time for sleep

His heart beats with rage and fear
Bad images that i want to disappear
Strong emotions for life that will represent tears
My soul and life; anything is possible

Rubber and steel is always damaged
Mind is always stressed out and no one can manage
3 seeds that he planted that will grow in pride
I don't want to lose him because my soul will always hide

Words always express to show how he feels
Our thoughts love to spin like the rubber on his wheels
Like an invisible line on the map that never seems to stop
Our love stays strong forever together locked

Let his gurdian angel keep him safe forever.

Copyright © Anderson Torres | Year Posted 2006


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Roots

Boricuuuaaaaaaa pa que lo 
sepa. White rice and beans on 
the dinner plate got yelled at 
by your mom for being 10 
minutes late . el coqui you hear 
at night the coquito you drink 
during Christmas time . Los 
timbales hasta La conga musics 
in our blood el ritmo nos 
Levanta. Familia Es todo and 
when times are rough we count 
on each other . From el morro 
to el yunce Los boricuas 
sabemos hacer arroz con dulce 
.frankie Ruiz to Marc Anthony 
all these salseros will go down 
in history .the beautiful 
beaches in San Juan sipping on 
that Puerto Rican rum , 
dominoe games with the old 
timers yelling CAPICU ahora 
ganas tu. Puerto Rico se llama 
la isla del encanto y cuando 
muere alguien rezamos a 
nuestro santo. La mujeres son 
bella y los hombres son guapo. 
El orgullo de ser boricua. No es 
tu nacionalidad tipica. Sabemos 
cocinar y bailar hasta la muerte 
será boricua

Copyright © Jennifer Cardona | Year Posted 2013


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Freedom From Deception

"So what are you now?
Arabic and Puerto Rican or Irish and African American."
I do not know and I have not known for eighteen years of my life.
And I do not care if I go on to another nineteen  to twenty years.
Nobody ever  cared and they are never going to care about who I am, or who I am 
going to become.
I was raised by demons summoned from the depths of this earth to rape me of 
my innocence.
I always asked myself what have I done to deserve what I have suffered in the 
hands of the ones, who were supposed to love me.    
But even those whose task is  to  love fail in their duties, and only live to cause 
pain and suffering in an individuals life.
Then as I thought freedom had come to me at last, it was the worst of my worries.
With this freedom came deception and displacement in a family that were not 
sure if loving me, and accepting as family, was the right thing to do. 
A family that like the other destroyed me.
I had raised myself like a savage cub on it’s own; surviving was my prerogative.   
Pleasant memories I do have; memories I keep within me like a pirate’s treasure 
of love. 
These memories are what help me to keep constant hope and survive in my 
world.
A world so immense and no time to waist; a world filled with streets of demonic 
influences that anchored me down.
To walk alone was what seemed as my destiny; but  there within this despair I 
met love.
Love that reigned in the inner most part of my heart. 
Touched by your mystery and beauty I was caught in an unbearable trance.
You showed me the way to heaven and you gave the plea of a second chance.
 

Copyright © Annie Olano | Year Posted 2006


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

This Is Me

Green eyed
And hard headed
Beauty lies in every man’s eyes
Five and 7 high
And pride of might
Puerto Rican running through my veins
And the pain of Hitler buried in my brain
Unable to be changed
I’m set in my ways
I’m a minority woman
Get out my way
I won’t explain
This Is Me
I won’t take no shorts
I know what I want
And what I want everyone needs
I’ve been screaming “f--k the fifty-states”
Since the day I was conceived
I walk with my head held high
Eyes open wide
And my legs closed tight
Trying not to mask the beauty that’s inside
Praying I’ll get wise
Even with these lies
I can’t continue to try
One day we all must die
I can’t “live”
I’m too busy trying to survive
This Is Me
Don’t try to confuse me
With what I don’t need!

Copyright © Erikah Rae | Year Posted 2005


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Memorial Day

Framed by the white plastic
of the kitchen window,
a portrait of feathered friends
bathing together 
in the waters of life.

Blue, red, robin, and wren
sharing a statuesque perch,
each drinking from 
the shell-shaped reservoir
filled by the gift 
of a recent hard-spring rain.

“Red or yellow, black or white,
they are precious in His sight…”
ripples of Sunday memories
disturbed the surface
of my stillness.

A Black gunner,
A Puerto Rican NR2 commander,
A Caucasian driver, and
a young Sergeant
of Vietnamese heritage…
a photo framed by newsprint.
Roosting together in their heroism
atop an armored vehicle -
birds of a different feather,
flocking together,
where storms of lead reign
and reservoirs fill with blood.

Sacred moments of reflection - 
my silence rippled
by the melody of the cell phone.
A Cherokee friend,
calling to sing 
the birthday song.

Copyright © Kay Caputi | Year Posted 2006


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Who am I

I may not be Perfect but I have one of the purest Heart of Gold, I carry my Heart on my sleeve and like this I shall be until I grow old.

I'm not a bookworm or Original Gangster I do however have an old-school mentality an original Latin Flavor.

I can be as humble as my upbringing allows me to but don't be fooled, I can easily tell it like it is become a Puerto Rican Iceman with a cold tongue and cut you with brutal truths.

I love the day yet I find more tranquility at night embracing it's Gothic vampiric presence, Just lay back count the stars and be entrapped by the Moonlights essence.

I am a vested individual with many earned patches you can try to figure my world but there are many methods to my madness.

I am no poser I am who I am I Love my Family and cherish true Friends my name is Shawn Munoz I say this with a thunderous shout you can choose to stay a part of world or simply get out. ™©

By: Shawn Muñoz

Copyright © Shawn Munoz | Year Posted 2016


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Let Tambourines Begin

Let Tambourines Begin

Puerto Rican girl
thin, thin, 
street lights pour

bourbon on your hair,
anise on your skin.
Puerto Rican girl,

thin, thin, 
gin one white smile for me.
Let tambourines begin


Donal Mahoney

Copyright © Donal Mahoney | Year Posted 2010


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Sisterhood

Hey girl, what's up?
just called to check on you,
Cuz when you're part of the sisterhood ,
that's what sisters do!

Be times good, or be times bad, 
rather you woke up happy,
or rather you woke up mad, 

A sister will listen,
she doesn't always give advice,
she's thoughtful in her responses, 
thinking it over twice. 

Night or day, 
it really doesn't matter, 
she'll say girl, let's have some ice cream ,
and get a little fatter. 

Be it the kids, the husband,
the job, or another issue, 
sisters sit down and grab a box of tissue.

What I have is yours, 
and what you have is mine.
Have you ever seen three sisters,
share a single dime? 

Well as sisters, that's what we do, 
I wouldn't say it ,
If I knew it were not true.

In the sisterhood, 
We leave the crabbing, the backstabbing, and
vindictiveness behind. 
For it takes too much effort,
and we have too little time!

So sisters, 
Let's  build each other up, 
not tear each other down, 
Let's greet one another with a smile, 
and forego the nasty frown.

Each one teach one, 
is what I say, 
let's make empowerment the word of the day! 

Let's promote the positive, 
or say nothing at all.  
Let's lift each other up,
not make each other  fall. 

Let's be truthful, thoughtful, 
and prayerful of each other. 
Let's strive to take each other, 
just a little bit further. 

I'm brown, your tan, she's dark, she's light, 
One sister is Puerto Rican, 
and the other sister is white. 

Our complexion, our race, doesn't play a part,
because the sisterhood, cares not about color, 
or status, it's all about your heart! 

We won't always see eye to eye,
or always agree, 
but I've got you girl, 
and I know you've got me! 

Storms  may come, 
but we weather them together, 
trying to stay dry, 
beneath one umbrella! 

So ladies, 
When things are bad, 
and you can find no good, 
there is always comfort to be found ,
in the sisterhood!

As women, we are often misunderstood,
So ladies, 
I thank you, for promoting sisterhood!

Copyright © Bonita Mercado | Year Posted 2016