Best Guatemalan Poems
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New Guatemalan Poems
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by HAYNES, Samantha
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The Best Guatemalan Poems
saw my bluebird girl
in her Guatemalan dress
sunshine in a flash
brighten my whole day
nothing like a mother hen
all her chix about
papa so relieved
that mimi no longer grieves
loss of family
flowers can now bloom
cause we know who hung the moon
2 lil grandbabies!
thank you for teaching
me how to be patiently
waiting over here
Copyright © kristi hayner | Year Posted 2010
Hidden Beneath the Rainbow
Guatemalan villages have rainbows of dreams.
Magical thought whereupon each soul gleams.
Locked by a culture engraved on the soul.
Harvests where births’ golden customs unroll.
Living antiquated amid pompous brochures
Sleeping upon mats on plank beds or hut floors.
Boys and girls may not date or co-mingle.
Marriages arranged without knowing lust’s tingle.
In homes of adobe an empire is stayed.
Within those four walls, the future is laid.
Bounded by mountains and winding footpaths
Encroached by the world, walking different paths.
Families stay warm around a hearth of three stones,
Braving the simple life without moans and groans.
Stunning people clad in colorful handmade clothes.
The earth is their friend, their skills, and maestros.
Milling their coffee, chili peppers, and corn.
Homegrown products produced feed these freeborn.
Harvests of sweat and self-satisfaction
Hand worked acres and strength still in fashion.
Hidden near volcanoes; tucked in God's hands.
Generations of peoples have loved on those lands.
Glowing beauty shines beneath heat and straw hats.
Faces aglow, tourists hoping for chats.
Gleaming simplicity knows modernization's foes.
That exploited attraction where vacationers go.
Escaping the fast pace and the greediness flow.
San Pedro la Laguna, hidden beneath the rainbow –
© August 3, 2010
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010
Little Guatemalan child on the floor
In the heat, shaded by the shop door,
Alone and dirty
Clothed in filthy rags,
Holding a little brother
She’s wrapped him in torn bags
Begging for any money,
She is in desperate need,
Not eaten in days,
Little baby brother still bleeds,
In a unknown language,
She pulls on the tourists,
But they give to only one child,
To the child who seems the poorest,
So she continues sniffing the glue
Baby Bro is contaminated too
It eases the pain and hunger
It’s the thing she’s knows to do,
When later the heat resides
The orange Sun will set,
And the orphans gather together,
Collect old rubbish and tourist cigarettes,
And when the men drive by late night,
And offer them pathetic lose change,
For her innocence aged 9,
A most excruciatingly unfair exchange
She grows up knowing this life
Is the only life she’ll identify,
Unless someone will lend a physical hand
And wipe the tears from her eyes
And comfort and hold her so close,
Let her know there is love out there,
Get her life back together,
Will you go and show you care?
N.B. I visited Guatemala in 2004 with my church. We helped volunteer to build an
orphanage. This is based on the stories we heard...Words cannot explain the
Copyright © Samantha HAYNES | Year Posted 2006
Interesting regarding a walnut. Pacing perking perching. Wow. In a hooped skirt hopping. Hoping shell just keeps safe. Much leaping many leaves. And chiming is neither timing nor temperature gauge. A Guatemalan flying multi coloured bee is quite remarkable in a circular flight. Swarm not a swamp. But misted angular versions of vehicles are thrown from hill roads with force. Such a waste. A tyre pressure is a wound and jeopardy shout of a volcanic dust is blamed from an underlying explosive. Eradicating every even evil event. And blemish in a bun is a importance in a divination duty cake. So move move move. Movement ignites even the slow free wheeling sloth. Carries over eighty-three blankets to a far flung tribe. A curtain curtailed bridge. With a pineapple head hidden in a cavern. Priestly chieftains no money but power. In feathered hats reaching to the furthest moon. And all whilst the fluttery graceful arched tails of the triangular elephants prowl the sky and in their presence the servants of the mother are safe. Cot not a cape. Good. Haha haha the ant is dancing to rock music now and doing a cartwheel. Precipitation precise. And a deluge dump. Xxxxx pinnacles xxxxx gesticulation z
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
I have been around the world
Deepest, darkest corners of the globe
Down south, up north
Up high in the air time countless
Through routes criss-a-cross
Many times on sea sails
I have seen the world greatest cities
Lived in the thickets of the sahara
Several nights in the African jungle
Mingled with red Indians in Guatemalan forests
Been in and out of oval office
The white house the Americans pride
I’ve felt the might of the Kremlin
In the Duma of the Aryan race
Gone under below the earth
In Australia, the lone continent
Gazed boldly at crown of Elizabeth
Like a Duke in Edinburgh palace
I’ve dined and wined at the so rock
In Abuja the power place of Africa
Been amused and excited beyond expression
I’ve let flow flood of tears
Felt pains and agonies deep to the marrow
All on the platter of books
And behold!, the wide world
Before my very eyes and mind
To wander and wonder.
Copyright © ifedayo oshin | Year Posted 2005