Poem | |
I sit here alone...wondering...how much longer this...and in hearing
the question a silent icy fear blankets my body...the answer would
come wearing both masks...tragedy...comedy...this is my life. with
freedom comes death...it hangs over me like a Mexican piñata filled
with chocolate covered blades...so each day firmly slipped into
neutral I exist...barely a choice to live...so I ask myself...how
did I get here...the answer comes thundering from up above...
a dead poet speaks...son that is the path you chose at your fork
in the road... you don't argue the truth...you just throw cold water on
your face...no...you step into a frigid shower...cleanse your thoughts
...stand in defeat happy to feel something even if it is just the pain of
your nerve endings screaming...soaking wet and naked is the only life
you presently afford yourself...there is no one to hear your tears...
what little sound they make rolling down your cheeks...they are not
self pitying but rather wanting...of a loss so deep...what in your own
self appreciation defined you...you want back your art...it...that so
often led you back to the promised land...still you are not that hot
headed fool you once were...you will not stand on the mountain only
to shatter the tablets with their ten commandments...a cooler head
prevails...so you think...like a soap opera...these are the days of my
life...I am strong and vibrant...yes I am and I will walk as slowly as I
must towards my light and yes I will come out the other side a better
man for this.
More great poems below...
Poem | |
I feel privileged.
I have been chosen by the Government
as part of a group testing something called
Edible Clinical Marijuana.
Honestly I half expected it to look like a Burrito
because the name sounds sort of Mexican.
It actually looks more like a brownie.
I’m am about to take a bite so hold on.
So here is the point
I am suppose to consume
one half of a brownie
then fill out this sheet
giving them my feedback.
I am going to have a few more bites.
milk would go great
with these babies.
I’ll be back.
(after a long while)
OK, sew sorry I was gonna while
I was staring inside my fridge\
for a while'
tying to remember
I think I wanted a glass of ink%
aktiually I’m dinking from the bodle@
I am eating my forth brownie
as I was instructured to do;
Did they say four or? ate
cause these. are tasty
a program on my compuwhatyoucallit
keeps underlyning my words
with read squiggles=
but it diidn’t underline squiggle#
wel dats stoopid
squiggle isa perfect lee
good underlying word*
stoopid Bill Gated^
sorry I ment Will Gated~
so watt was I saying ]
fill the sheet)
I don wanna sheet,
tha is gaross[
heeres a pen
ansir; yes- please)
?why m i bein so polite
oh wow Blues Brothers on my TV
what was I spose? to do
oh yeah watch tv
why am i so angry hahahahahah++
i mean hungary
h u n g r y
those look good
i con't tipe with mai mouth
full dats rood/rood
i'll get bak too dis later..
sew as they say
two bee contitnude<
hay lookk browniies
Mo Rice Why Vone
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Poem | |
at the break of dawn
a Hummingbird starts his rounds
Morning Glory sought
flaunting a red hue -
Mexican Sunflower tempts
looking hot, hot, hot
the Don Juan of birds
sucking nectar from Beardtongue. . .
drunk on French kisses
Goldenrod at noon. . .
Zephyr carries a sweet scent
beneath a gold sun
between Rose bushes
the Flower Kisser gets lost
in Blue Infinity
Sweet Pea and Bee Balm
entice with purple petals. . .
Bees join the orgy
Monarchs swarm in droves
when blue Hummingbird alights
on Butterfly Bush
waving in the dusk’s last breeze. . .
the proper lover
the Flower Kisser
leaves his harem sated as
white Moonflower glows
By Andrea Dietrich
*The capitalized names for flowers
represent some of the most popular
flowers visited by hummingbirds.
Poem | |
I like El Paso...the heat, the dust, the heat,
I like the cars and the hats the cops wear,
cowboys in a rusty B movie,
but most of all I like the people, the
janitors and doctors and newsreaders,
who don't care if they're American,
Mexican or both...
and the bars are cool, so cool... some
smell of menthol and others like a clean
but that's OK..it's alright and I don't judge,
and the girls are single and friendly and they
like you 'cos your'e tall and white, with dollars
and tooled brown boots
but most of all I like the warm wind that blows
in sweet guitar music and shimmering light
from across the big bridge, tussleing the hair
of the janitors and doctors and newsreaders,
who don't know if they're American, Mexican, or both.
Poem | |
The New Mexican Sky...
so fragile, and the color of a Robin's egg...
fought for visibility, against the gathering clouds.
Slate Grey, and billowing,
as if to menace the rich Sienna, desert Terrain below.
Turquoise tipped mesquite, like ancient Anasazi warriors,
stood guard, over wildflower maidens,
bracing at the promise of rain.
I watched quietly from the cover of the thicket.
A lone eagle rising slowly,
as not to give away his mounting trepidation...
over the coming threatening storm...
just before he crossed over the mesa,
he looked back, with an air of regal scorn.
I then waited patiently for the rain to cease.
Then stood witness to the enchanted New Mexican light,
breaking through the clouds...
Illuminating the wet, but still thirsty desert...
in a wash of brilliant color.
Here was my shot...for a brief moment...
I humbly thought...but no, not even 'VanGogh'...
with all of his genius, brilliant palette, on mere canvas...
could not have done justice,
To that instant haunting splendor, unfolding before me.
More great poems below...
Poem | |
My car is equipped with maps and a GPS
With a great fear of getting lost I am obsessed
Men seem to have a different navigation system
Asking for directions is too far beneath them
Tony and I embarked on a cross-country tour
Didn’t start out that way, just took multiple detours
Tony didn’t like the GPS talking voice
Rather than listen, he turned it off by choice
Each time we stopped for gas, I wanted to seek help
But if I approached someone, Tony’d let out a yelp
The White Mountains should have been a hundred-mile drive
With two days on the road, I thought I’d not survive
“Turn right now, make a left, heck just keep going straight”
Commands from the King of the Road did not abate
But it wasn’t until we saw the first palm tree
That I’d had my fill and let out an urgent plea
“Huh,” he replied, “guess YOU drove just a bit off course
Those Canadians will want to see our passports”
“That’s the Mexican border patrol up ahead!”
I screeched, turned around and away I quickly sped
*For Francine's "Whatever You Say, Dear" Contest
Poem | |
I wake up to my TV blasting episodes of Woody Woodpecker.
I wipe my encrusted eyes, which had a field day in that dream I had
Involving two Swedish women, a Latin princess
With curvaceous hips that could save me if I ever fell from mountain climbing,
A Sony boom box made in 1984 playing Duran Duran,
And empty boxes of Junior Mints, M&M Peanuts, & Cool Whip.
I walk to my front door to discover hundreds of blood lettered Post-It notes
Slid under by my friendly Mafia neighbors,
“Turn that crap down or say ‘HOLA’ to my little friend! Woody sucks! ”
So, instead of apologizing, I grabbed my power drill
Which I bought off this Mexican guy named Bob
Standing in front of my local Home Depot,
I thanked each of my neighbors by drilling Wal-Mart smiley faces
Smoking Cuban cigars & holding Shotguns
Into their doors
At this point, I popped in some Belgian waffles & French Toast sticks
Into my Cookie Monster toaster oven and turned on the news.
What was I thinking?!
News reports on Sugar Daddies being harassed by stalking gold-diggers,
Another asinine Final Destination movie,
More teacher-student scandals,
Celebrity break-ups & pregnancies
Oh, how the sheep live vicariously through them
Where’s that damn noose I bought off Bob?!
To remove my early morning frustrations,
I turned on my Xbox 360 and popped in Guitar Hero
In which I jammed out to Stevie Wonder’s Superstitious
While performing Riverdance on my hardwood floor
The neighbors below me added a nice, rhythmic sound with their broomsticks.
After my Pilates workout, I decided to strip off my clothes
So I can feel FREE like a Tree-hugging barn swallow
And fill my bathtub with a bottle of Tickle Me Elmo Bubble Bath liquid,
Which I also bought off Bob
Shortly after, I yelled “THIS IS SPARTA!” and performed a belly flop into the tub…
After waking up from my concussion, I laughed maniacally
With my face underwater
My laughs were heard through the popping bubbles rising to water’s surface
I passed out again with a drumming thud against my porcelain dreams.
Second attempt at recovery, SUCCESS!
I gathered all my utility bills
A filled, plastic gas tank, another purchase from Bob
And a Jerry Garcia branded lighter
As inferno warmed my screaming loins,
Blasting John Lennon’s “Imagine” on my 8-Track,
The local Fire department sliced my front door
With titanium axe and an inscription: “Here’s Johnny”
As hundreds of angry firemen & neighbors stampede into my child-like day
3pm, Day Unknown:
I awaken with lines imprinted on my Latin cheeks
From wooden office desk
Strange stares from coworkers
With “I’m all out of Love” playing on the faded, company radio
And a post-it note, “Come see me in my office”,
©Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
; -A NOTE- ;
***DO NOT ATTEMPT TO***
***FIGURE THIS OUT*******
***JUST SAY HELLO : - )****
***or WHAT?? is FINE*******
***If you are here to make a comment!!*
My towel is made of silk
That does not make sense at all
I can drink bitter sour milk
Once again no sense at all
My busted line holds a stronghold
Confuse are we
A thieve breaks and leaves me gold
Leaving my thinking incomplete ???
In my dream he cut my head
My dreams have a path of a flowerbed
Still puzzled ???
White winter shelter when it comes to snow
a riddle, a riddle
Black the night all over covered by coal
this I do not know
I walk and I have no feet
I speak and I have no mouth
a breathing exercise, wrong as it went
the stick walking got bent
understanding this a bit
My boat is flipped upside right at the end of all weathers
The grave is empty with dirt, full of feathers
wise not to ask
((Last but not least))
The grandmother is tall
The mother came short
The father is black to recall
Some white child of sort
Why the Mexican???
Poem | |
Dimly lit, I sit
in a Mexican kitchen
near the Tropic of Cancer.
A TV is tuned
to inane noises;
dogs at my feet,
oranges in a bowl
on a table:
a specific place and time.
And I am dreaming --
dreaming of Louisiana
in twilight hours --
dreaming of short winter days and
summer's green, bright mornings.
Country time, mostly empty,
was quiet, seldom interrupted
by human utterance;
but my busy brain
was full of fantasy
The world was new, was big,
was yet to be explored;
possibilities seemed endless.
Oak and cypress,
willows, pines -- and magnolias --
were all around, and cane fields
stretched for miles.
The bayous that had always been there
were there still.
Change was slow in coming
and childhood lasted long.
I dream now of Louisiana:
poignant vignettes... dreamy glimpses...
and all those slowly fading
of the past...
Poem | |
Where do I come from? Well we all come
from somewhere. I was born in a small
town, here in in good old U S of A. South
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission
Texas is the town's name.
My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said - she came from
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
On my father's side, never knew too much,
only that the grandmother died kind of
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.
My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.
I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had
something to eat. My mother made my dresses
so that I could go to school.
I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School.
I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree.
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
My parents taught me good values that have helped
me through out life. I am not ashamed of my
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...
Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.
written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Poem | |
A din ensued
my imaginary brood
with a good dose of misapprehension
hauled out their toys
and with a deafening noise
held band practice to demand my attention
My head resounded
I was astounded
as my voices insisted space be freed
then took up position
for a spit competition
unless their demand I would heed
"Spit all you may
I refuse to be swayed
back to your cupboard, skeleton folk
all was well hitherto
with my self-made crew
till my head friends you chose to provoke."
"Dear host, you're unfeeling
to your good sense we're appealing
repeal the bones' non grata status
or your imaginary crew
will hold a coup
assisted by our posse comitatus."
"Skeletons and friends
your logic transcends
admittedly you've much courage and clout
I'll have to engage
with our very own sage
the inimitable Shadow of Doubt.
"After due consultation
and much deliberation
Shadow and I decision had reached
you may rant; you may rave
do the Mexican wave
yet still be punished for my rules you have breached.
"The imagineries and Hubbard
to inhabit the cupboard
access to my head is forever denied
you skeletons will hoard
keep my secrets well-stored
in my head where you henceforth will reside."
There's no happy ever after
my world is now dafter
cramped, the skeletons keep knotting their chains
with more space at hand
my imaginary band
multiplied. I'm now doubly insane
Poem | |
I live in Tucson, in a trailer court on the South side
All Mexican, except for me the old Gringo
I speak Spanish, can get along with most anyone
With all the Mexican border drugs, things can get wild
I am getting old and taking things slow
Was sort of a paradise in the Arizona Sun
The owner has lights, security cameras, claims to be drug free
Even claims to be a heavy duty born again
Not like us old folks and sinner on the South
After a couple of years of watching, seemed counterfeit to me
Said by him last weekend, "This land is blessed, sin cannot get in"
He is one of those feller, born with a silver spoon in his mouth
There has been a murder conspiracy after me for years
By the Old Witch and the Mexican Mafia that continues
Severel months back I could feel a change in the atmosphere
It was the old witch had moved in, with her bucket of fears
Trying to scare me and make me sing the blues
Make me think that my end was near
But then last weekend I saw it all, a crystal ball view
The owner lives in California, was in town
Fell on hard times and the park is empty
Went to the witch and money people, "Anything that is what I will do"
But soon the Devil will let him down
Only to add to his up coming misery
He sold his soul to the Devil, just for a little gain
And maybe when it all comes down, will end this conspiracy
A long story made short, to the court I will report
Set me free, for him will be eternal pain
For a man that sold his soul, God can give no mercy
There are no troops in his fort
Tried to take my last dime, leave me down and out
But I knew that God would not let me fail
I can over come this evil pair
With God, the Devil cannot run me out
You see if have sort of left a "Paper Trail"
"Joe you have sold your soul, you don't even have a prayer"
Poem | |
Folks avoid that spooky place 'specially on dark and stormy nights!
Heard are eerie moans and shrieks and seen are mysterious lights!
A driftin' hoss thief by the unlikely name of One-Eyed Buck LaHore,
Was strung up on the 'hangin' tree' way back in '72, accordin' to local lore!
Now, ol' Jedge Stern, renowned as the 'hangin' jedge' in them there parts,
Owned the hoss that Buck stole, showin' no respect and lack of smarts!
Buck vanished in the night a-high-tailin' it fer the Mexican border,
Trailed by a posse to bring 'im back dead er alive upon the jedge's order!
He was found carousin' in an El Paso cantina havin' a grand ol' spree!
The sheriff said, "Son, come with me! You've got a date with the 'hangin' tree'!"
There was little Buck could do with a dozen forty-fours starin' 'im in the face!
"Boys, you got me! Don't make a scene! Let's git outta this here place!"
Hauled before the jedge, Buck admitted he'd been a hell-raiser all his life.
"But, jedge" he pled, "I didn't cause no harm like molestin' a feller's wife!"
Judge Stern saw things diff'runt 'specially since 'twas his hoss he stole!
"Son, you're to be strung up on a tree and may God save yer rotten soul!"
To this very day on moonlit nights Buck can be seen swingin' in the breeze,
Clawin' at the noose about his neck yellin', "Jedge, have mercy on me please!"
That stern ol' jedge has shown no mercy as is evident from all indications.
Alas, the ghost of that wily thief will haunt local folks for many generations!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Poem | |
The unsung heroes of the open plains
The outlaw bandits like Jesse James
Cut throat thieves and black jack hustlers
Green horn Cowboys and long horn rustlers
They all stood the Cowboys test
A stetsons man a broncos best
Leather chaps and leather vest
A real man's man a cut above the rest
Blazing saddles and blazing guns
Long trail ride and mountain runs
Chuck wagon chilly and camp fire sites
Hot sweaty days and long cold nights
A Cowboy sits on his faithful steed
Quick draw fingers based on speed
Bandanna mask and whiskey flask
A Cowboys job is'nt an easy task
Tabacco chew and cow beef stew
a Cowboys gang and Cowboys crew
They did work from dusk to dawn
round 'em up and brand 'em all day long
Gee!!! and haw!!! right and left
Yee and haw out of breath
Cowboy slang and Cowboy lingo
even Mexican Cowboys that say Gringo
Greetings y'all and howdy stranger
long lost wranglers and lone rangers
Ruff and rugged with no frills
Ask questions later shoot to kill
Yellow belly buckaroos and snake oil peddlers
wanted dead or alive outlaws and frontier settlers
From the California gold rush of 48
to the 13 colonies of this great state
Cowboys lived and Cowboys died!!!!
Cowboys give for Cowboys pride!!!
Poem | |
It was 1999
2000 green mustang
My sis, always beside her
Landed the same job
Only Mexican restaurant in town
Put gas in our car
Kept our wheels going round
All dolled up
Kissed our parents goodnight
Pretend to go to bed
Cruising feeling right
Idiots with wheels
License to drive
Dr. Pepper and cigarettes
Never felt so alive
Introduced to Mary Jane
She was a silly lady
Laying on the hood of our car
Listening to Slim Shady
Hungry for boys
Just a tease
Looking fly in our prime
The birds and the bees
The dawning of 2000
Life as we knew it, about to end
Eyes met at 12:01
We both began to grin
Cheers to a good year
Twice as old as I was then
Thinking of my sis today
Missing my best friend
Poem | |
This is my first slam poem.
In this society, in this world, in this day.
We say, we separate, all based on what others think.
We see that girl who looks like a guy,
Or that boy in touch with his feminine side..
And we view them badly, treat them terribly.
We shun them from their own society.
There's the black kid, the white kid, the Mexican, the Asian..
& we focus on nothing more than the tone of their skin.
Hating and discriminating, all we're doing is separating.
We point and laugh, cuz that's boy's too fat.
We talk a lot of shit, like her clothes don't fit, then laugh a little bit.
In this day and time, who you worship determines if you're good, bad, wonderful, terrible.
But when we shake our heads, it's hypocritical.
Cuz all that's going on is separation.
We go behind a persons back and rub their name in the dirt,
He's a player, she got jumped, he's a liar, she's a whore..
& Make their name something to laugh at & Nothing more.
All to fit in, to be liked.
But, did we ever stop to think about those gay kids who need love just like us? About the fact Martin Luther King Junior was shot years ago, but from segregation, he saved us? About those kids just looking for a way to express themselves? About the person who's lost in life, just looking for a savior? Or the one who has his suicide planned out, cuz he's just so sick of holding on?
We never stopped to think, and at this rate we aren't going too until it's too late.
Stop shunning that gay kid.
Stop denying that kid of a different race.
Stop messing with that kids image.
Stop judging ones religion.
Stop spreading and starting rumors.
Just stop, and open your eyes.
Poem | |
I can already hear the whispers
Before I open the door
Walking down the corridor
Fluorescent lights beam down
Illuminating, my faults
“Look at her, she think she’s bad, doesn’t she?”
High heels clicking on linoleum tiles
Hips waving regardless of assaults
Lips uncurled into a blank expression
"How the hell am i going to get through this hall
without slappingone of them?"
Head up, eyes open but unseeing the ugliness of it all
It happens everyday
“I can’t believe all those guys like her, what the hell do they see in her?”
“She’s just another whore”
“I heard she’s not as smart as they say she is”
“I knowww, she probably slept with the teacher to get into the A.P classes”
“Yeah, that’s the only way, there’s not possibility of her having a brain,"
"she’s too cute”
“She’s not that cute you know”
“she’s probably just easy, all of those pretty girls are”
“I wonder where she got all her clothes, probably from the 99cent store”
“nah, too good for the 99Cent store, she probably stole it, stupid Mexican”
“Haha, I know, she’s so poor, I bet she stole that purse too, it’s too nice for her”
“She’s so straight-edge, tree-hugging, boy-friend stealing, attention hog..”
“Stupid ugly slut”
Oh PLEASE, they don't even know me
Lord, spare me from these Barbie clones
That spawn over generations
Bleach blonde hair
With purses as big as their bodies
Hollow heads with a button nose
These, Sharks, beady eyed, immense jaws yawning
Try to eat victims alive
In a single gulp
Flock together like vultures mercilessly to consume
Girls worthy of attention
I laugh when I hear them whispering
Are bent on bending
Twisting reflections in the mirror
When really, it’s beautiful
Inside and Out
I know what I am and could care less
About what they think
Keep talking about me, your making me Famous
Movie Star Status, I have what they Want
I let them feed on my inner glow
It’s what attracts them, you know
Until they get so full of me
Poem | |
out in the county and up the highway
anger hangs like lost voodoo over Miami
dances on bumperstickers
floats on airwaves
scars faces with perpetual glares
colors perceptions darkly
alters moods and
drives young men to football coaches
then army recruiters
anger that beats stepchildren
hunts coyotes for pleasure
and hangs corpses on barbed-wire fences
anger that asks
have you seen many Mexicans today?
just my wife and kids so far but it's still early
i hope to see more
he calls me a race traitor
he's to old to hit and i'm to old to hit him
so i suffer a fool
he tells his old wife only a homo would marry a Mexican
middle-aged men in Ford 350's
scatter brown children at bus stops and crosswalks
then pull guns to protect themselves
from the older brothers of the children they harass
and... hey why did you do that to my little sister?
can get you shot in "self defense"
it gets to me too as anger leads to fear
fear for my Mexican son and daughter
who have records but have committed no crime
but out in the county and up the highway
the police put up roadblocks
issue tickets without cause
and brag, every Mexican in town will have a record
they told my son "what's the big deal everybody gets pulled over
everyone has to pay their share"
even if they
come to a complete stop
obey speed limits
use their blinker
tell it to the judge, my son and my daughter
the judge who gives out four month sentences
for a third non-offence
or you can pay the
take it off your record fee
we lost your paperwork fee
you live in the wrong neighborhood fee
you drive an old car fee
we don't care if you did it or not fee
then after you pay and pay
re-arrests because the clerk didn't enter the payment
and retracted scholarships
my children are Mexicans
Poem | |
Como’ Si’ Yama’, Senor’
Como’ Si Yama’, Por Favor’…
… for Below That Embroidered Sombrero’
Shone Eyes Like El Dorado
He Was A Tall and Handsome Hombre’
Like The Range of Sierra Madre’
…Now, He Sat Center The Cantina
Surrounded by Bonita – Senhoritas
He Smiled, “Buenos-Dias Senora’”
Por Favor, Por Que’ El-Hora’ ?...
If So, Have A Seat, Mi- Amiga’
And Mercedes, Bring Over More Cerveza
He Was… Rodrigo Reyes-Pacheco’
Best - of The West, of Vaqueros’
He Came to Compete in The Rodeos
And Win Fame and Fortune in Pesos’
He Came Thru El Paso De’ Tejas
Thru Dusty Rancheros and Mesas
To Ride on El Toro Rojo
Who Has Never Been Ridden Befo’…
La Viva’… Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’ !... Rodrigo
Now, El Toro Rojo, Was Dangerous
For Killing Men, El Rojo, Was Infamous
His Horns Had Pierced Many A Corazon
Ripped Flesh, Like It Was Piñata’ Hung
I Informed All of This To Rodrigo
The Hombre, Was Bent on Being Macho’…
… He Would Ride Toro Rojo, Manyana’
Said “Gracias”… But My Cares Were Por Nada’ !
La Viva’… Arriva’… Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’!... Rodrigo
… Now, He Wasn’t Loco in La Cabeza’
I Just Didn’t Comprehende’ … “Que’ Pasa”
But I Saw Rodrigo Atop… El Rojo
… ! He Rode Like A Latino – Tornado ! …
He Rode El Rojo, To The End…
Then, Turned ‘Round and Rode Him Again…
Rodrigo had Won… Just Like He Planned…
Because El Toro – Rojo … … Was Mexican !
La’ Viva’ … Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero
Champion Bull Rider from Old Mexico
Vaya’ … Con Dios ! … Rodrigo….
Vaya’ … Con Dios !... Rodrigo o o o o o
for Ruben Ortellao...
I Don't Really Know
What Your Branch of Humanity is...
(Spanish, French or Other)
But I thought You Might Like
This Whimsical Poem...
Oh... And Thank You For Your
Most Generous Comments...
(Cause I Know You Are A Fantastic Poet...
I've Read Several of Yours
and I Love Them Too...)
(P.S. Excuse the Spelling...
I'm Spanish Illiterate (Smile)
Poem | |
The Scots, by God,
They drove them out,
With a single Yorkie
At their heels a' yappin'
The Hobyahs tried to fly
Their arms they were a flappin'
Some managed to take to sea
And landed in Hamptonshire,
But the British Navy would have none of this,
Big battleships they did send
The Hobyahs saw their doom,
Their plans they did amend
They sailed on to American,
Landed at the New Jersey coast,
The hobyahs could find no better host!
They ate their way from Newark
All the way up to Camden
Avoiding kennels and dog warning signs
There was always people on their roast
Now, much of America
Might applaud this you see,
For most of Jersey's citizens
Were as useless as a rubber tree
Then the Jerseyites came up
With a plan,
They bribed the Hobyahs with
16 barges overfilled with McDonalds
Quarter-Pounders with Cheese-
With big sign saying-
And Infant Limb Fries!!!!"
Now this was not within
the Hobyah's realm of understanding,
But it sure sounded good....
So on the barges they climbed,
Till each and every one of these fiends
Took to sea, gorging themselves
On what they thought was fast human food
Once out in the bay, the barges were sunk
by remote control
On shore, a Mexican Beach Police Patrolman
was heard to ask Humphery Bogart,
for his beachcomber permit...
Humphrey barked back, "What?- Don't you see the history being made here?
If you're the beach police, let's see your badges!!"
The cop sneered, "Barges?....Barges?????.....We Don't Need No Sinking
(See "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre")
With the kind permission of Marnie Memis (Oh, I Love that name!)
Poem | |
For my days fall away
But I remember you
I want to touch the memories
I just don’t know what to say
As my days fall away
I vaguely remember the chicken pox
And my first grade made
Robotic cereal box
The hen and the fox
I remember wanting a fire truck one Christmas
The marble red paint
The glass window in which it stained
I remember my foster mom saying it’s this one or nothing
I remember being too stubborn to accept the smaller version
Its these memories I daunt
It’s these reflections that constantly haunt
These were the highlights of my life
These were the only happy moments I knew
Yet I left them, moments so few
I remember where the wild things are
I remember marshmallow peanuts
Trick or treating and roasted pumpkin seeds
I remember visitation days
The beach-less sand the way we as children once played
I remember the door that never closed
Mexican casserole and never getting enough
Being afraid to swim
Yet finding my way to the roof of the house
With no way of getting down
I remember my first field trip
The dinosaurs and wanting to be an astronaut
I remember my San Francisco 49ers jersey
Number eighty, jerry rice my favorite player
Now days I tend to only clash with the mayor
It seems that images follow a window of time
And after it’s exhausted
We summon them our memories
Poem | |
Too much evil
Yes this world is evil
It's corrupt by hate & envy
Removing crist anti crist?
**** the world
People never believe
But when tragic happenes
Everybody suddenly calls to god
**** this world
**** the hate
All this envy
The devil is tryna destroy the world
It's easy to tell where living in hell
U can't judge me
Hate it or love it
But I'm just speakin the truth
Too much ignorance
Soiceity is being misleaded
Soiceity is brainwashed
The devils puppets are here to destroy
I see it
People trapped in this world
Sucked into it
It drives me nuts what can I do
Once u expose the evil
U get silenced
It won't happen to me
I have god with me
This is my way of making it up to him
I can't fail him on this poetry rampage
I have to wake these people up
They are being told lies
The media will tell u what they want to tell u
And that's lies
Robbin our hard earn money for war & supplyin the Mexican caretel
Police FBI CIA the government
They are organized legal criminals
They can kill & get away with it
But us we will probably be sentenced to life or death row
These political thugs
It's soo funny to me
Yes I'm brave I'm never scared
The government spies
Where's the bills of rights?
Lord have mercy
What is this world coming too
Hell is real
If u can't tell
Where livin in it
I wanna go to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven
But the devil man
He won't leave me alone
I fear no evil
No fear runs in me
I don't fear u satan
I can't fear u
Tell me if u feel where I'm coming from
I hope so
Wake up people
Don't watch the news or any of that bs
I see the tricks
Hiding the governemt illegal doing
One day they will be exposed like a bad date
I hope to god I'm part of it!
Poem | |
Indigenous woman—rarely accompanied by their
white sisters—or their men enter
through the side door
of St. Peter’s Church.
Here they are boxed in cool stucco,
and stained-glass. A flock of Mexican
Madonna’s shift today to encompass
their fairer sister:
Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo.
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es
el fruto de tu vientre:,Jesús.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros,
pecadores, ahora y en la hora ...
drones on—and on—and on
within the heavenly heights of gilded frescos—bleeding—
rainbows prism the room in false light, kaleidoscoping upon
the walls—murals of brocade, gold-threaded catch random rays.
Woman anchor the pews with their desires—
Pliant and pleading these mothers beseech Mary to intercede:
for first class citizenship (inside and outside the Church)
for work, for health, for a better life for their children.
Voices of the lamb bleating; dinner for the wolves, they pray.
SHORT SHRIFT-little or no attention or consideration
Poem | |
I went over to my friends house last night.
I love it when he smiles with a grin,
He holds the door open, and welcomes me in.
With a style of a gentleman.
"MI CASA ES SU CASA" ~~~~~~(he says)
At first I did not know what he meant.
I don't fully speak Mexican.
I never got the hint,
when he called me his brown 'DULCE' medicine.
Funny how I thought he was a *WhiteSican* ~~(lol)
Always offering me 'TORTILLAS' with rice and beans.
OH! Now I now exactly what he means.
On Thursdays when we play 'CHALUPA'. ~~~~~(aka*bingo)
He'll remind me not to forget-
my 'GUACAMOLE JALAPEÑO' dip.
We'll talk and laugh and,
oops there he goes again with the gas.
Blames it on all them beans he eats.
Than he'll talk me into dancing "LA CUCARACHA," ~~~(with him)
Dancing and jumping to the beat,
he always steps on my feet.
MMM I love it when he makes "ENCHILADAS!" ~~~(all for me)
We sit and watch Spanish 'NOVELLAS' on TV.
I never complain, thinking he knew what they where saying'
It's not the right time to tell him I'm a silly Texan,
with a poor excuse when it comes to a 'MEXICAN!'
I'll keep it to my self and enjoy the cute things he does for me.
I love the words he speaks before I leave.
Like a gentleman he opens the door.
He hugs me and calls me his "AMOR!'
He waits for me, as I get in to my car.
Than he'll yell~ 'ASTA LUGO MI AMIGA!'
I'll smile and turn back and say,
~"ASTA LA VISTA BABE!"~
Poem | |
Notes: I am putting the notes upfront, suicide is no laughing matter, however, anything that makes it something that can be discussed I think is a good thing. Humor really is an aid to many an illness. Note the poem starts with a reason, when someone is at the point of suicide, there is NO reason. It is an illness like any other. Also inside humor and innuendo is meaning. Enough said.
I went to the casino of love last night
I placed a bet on romantic seven
Lost all my chips, ain’t going to heaven
Broke me heart
Lowered head, I walked back to the car park
Next morning I woke up
Put a gun to my head
I can’t even win at Russian roulette
Need a change, to get away
Mending the pain or soul, some might say
Took a plane to Bengal
Ended up in beuruit
Walked right into the middle of a war or 2
Explosions all over, around me head
Thank god, soon I shall be dead
I saw a terrorist with a real mean look
I waved hello, shoot me, shoot me!!!
I am sure he would have given a chance
But someone else tossed into him a lance
Seems even in a war I can’t make myself dead
Sadly I lost at even this deadly dance
Then an explosions tossed me sky high
Was i going to heaven, was this my grand demise?
No, I landed in the sea and just on time
For a cruise ship to save me, soul and all
Off too Florida it seems
Death sure has some gall
I was walking along a sunny beach
When all of a sudden two gangs appeared
One Cuban, one Mexican, they sure looked mean
Two gangs known as killing machines
Here is me smack in the middle
My lucky day, for how could I lose
Suicide was assured, come on, you know it
I yelled to both of them
I am DEA, and I think all of you queers are very very gay
That out to get me the bullet I wish
What the hell, they all dropped their guns and surrendered
I admit I was starting to be mighty offended
So now I have this Medal of Honor
For saving a community of drugs and plunder
I just can’t win at the casino of life
I can get myself killed no matter the plight
So back home I go
What the hell
I’ll fill the bathtub
And give that a go
You think I’m bragging or boasting of death
I am serious, this will work, why drowning for sure
What could go wrong? with such a fine plan?
All I want to be is a dead dead man
So yes, I fill up the tub with water and suds
I down some pills, some booze and some bud
I am drifting off, to my purgatory bliss
When I hear an alarm the wakes me
What’a darn bitch
The buildings on fire, ok I can burn in my sorrow
Except the bathtub collapses and doses the fire
I am a loser, this is for sure
They gave me Medal of Honor again
For saving all the seniors by making it rain
I am not dead, and I am not happy
Seems I can’t accomplish
Even my death
Even this task I make a mess
Now I am curious, I have to ask
Have any readers killed themselves yet?
This tale that’s a mess, being alive is giving me stress
If not read on, it’s gonna get better
Someone I will succeed at this suicidal adventure
OK now a bridge I hear is a good place to die
Not to hard, you jump and say good bye
I can do that, doesn’t seem hard
So now I stand on a Golden Gate Bridge
Happy at last that life will be over
All of a sudden a huge shaking occurs,
An earthquake , oh lucky me maybe the bridge will collapse
Not to be and you know that now, it tosses me infront of a car
The car brakes and halts and honks its horn
Till it sees the crack in the road just up ahead
If not for me falling right right there
That car would be the one drowning in the ocean of despair
They jumped out and hugged me and kissed me with thanks
Apparently I saved an ambulance full of pre mature babies
You know what happens next, and don’t you go crying
Another Medal of Honor for me, a hero without trying!
What the hell I give up
This suicide profession is harder than you think
Hell I might as well go back to my whiskey and drinks
Live in the darkness, and pray that one day
Life has enough meaning that I wish to actually stay
So now that these ideas so dark and so deadly
I have discarded without hope, so now I will be friendly
I will join the world of human souls and laughter
Even if inside I still lack such basic character
No more silly ideas of death
I need to move on and make life the best
So off to the store, to get me some groceries
A new leaf I have turned and I confess to a smile
When I am crossing the street, I see to my horror
That I am hit by a bus, and finally no damn tomorrows