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Best Puerto Rican Poems

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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

More great poems below...


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

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

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Untitled

When you are sleeping in the bed, with the bible god be my witness
I don't know if I can love every again.
I mean I try to date but something just keep hold me back hold me back, 
self confident is not even the worth trying found words,
word, this type love could bring a grown man to their needs- 

I never reallie got it when they said but your had on the bible,
and swore the oath for better or worst,
or when you hear music at a wedding and you dance the night away,
what are school proms for?
I though I better night would be resident evil and game cube
only if so one would clue me in-
 
Self consciously years later you question your action in school,
why was she the first I ask if she would buy a key chain from fbla 
and the first time she said uh and then maybe the sentence 
didn't even make sense so natural like
natural selection like we was sync- 

Why in the world am I going to a baseball game another county over she was their,
and I did not realize I
was good at baseball in till I got older a simple sport I sware but I am part puerto rican it come natural
what am im saying it is to early for this like five in the morning-

but oh my god that dream a dream dream,
I don't even think I was on earth and 
then two year later on mother day at western sizzle before
they shut down she came out no where like a ghost 
and was sitting behind me with her family,
but why aren't you eating but texting-

but the real question is because im like slow is did they 
reallie write me straight out of high school, 
I mean I am like a street fighter the alpha type,
but a vibe like that 
you gone have ask her because im shock when she took my sit in first period 
like what are you doing?-

I don't know if im lost my mind or if she playing mind games? 
They say it is the end of the world I say so what is she doing?
I guest the world will never know-

I got the chills and it not because of the weather all I want to know did he cry 
when he walk you down the ally,
people always say you know when know but,
what am I saying I have never experience love like this before-

and im usually shy and word on the bird is uh right cause you took my breath away- 
I don't think any one going get this
what was she doing at that ice cream store 
I didn't even know that was a ice cream store 
I did but I never notice it in till it was gone-
 
dream a dream dream still shaking up,
first thing I did was hit speaker on the phone 
and hit every number it was it was scary but it beautiful,
a beautiful nighmare it was indeed,
I can not catch my breath let me go get the bible
this would be a reason to go back to church every 
Monday Wednesday and Sunday-

All I can say is A-m-e-n , A-m-e-n, A-m-e-n
Cause world felt like it  has already ending,
Friday thirteen J-a-s-o-n!!! and "Jason is my nickname"-

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!!

More great poems below...


Details | Puerto Rican Poem | |

Cool

Oh how memories fade, 
and cats play with shades.
like a slideshow uh....

Echoing like past deeds and shadowing winds, 
Echoing like time frame, and time that have chance, 
just playing it save thought....

For those that wait is for those that know to be haste, 
Just paste this picture next to the puerto rican paradise.

Because children that is how all became, a, memory.
Give your mom this picture to place in your child future that has chance.

Faith be the keeper

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.

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


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

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

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

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. 

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.

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.

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....

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

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

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.

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!


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.
 


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.

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