Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.

You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!
Get Your Premium Membership

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

Search for Puerto Rican poems, articles about Puerto Rican poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Puerto Rican poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

New Puerto Rican Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Puerto Rican poems are below this new poems list.

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

View all new Puerto Rican Poems

The Best Puerto Rican Poems

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this 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

…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 | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this 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 
"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 | Create an image from this poem.


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 | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this 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
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

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

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?
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 | Create an image from this 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


Copyright © Tiffany Diaz | Year Posted 2015

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this poem.


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

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this poem.


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 | Create an image from this poem.

Caribbean Women

Every one ask me where am I’m from knowing I’m from, 

North Carolina is my accent that officiate,

English is but not my first language if you can tell by my writ ting it is French and or Spanish it come 


Natural I am mixed with little bit everything manly Puerto rican, Black, and Cherokee but my mom

Said I talk like I am Italian when I get up set the Italian claim me from where from 

The Spanish where I am from have in side joke that I am Cuban that what my dad said on job

I am minority with in a minority where from but I just say I’m Caribbean because when I research

Caribbean islands they claim me

The word other is becoming of age what is the political correct term I do not know

But I was force to answer this question on the poll when to vote and I have vote it in every term

So if I every make history remember me as Caribbean lover

From the “city that I am from”

Copyright © Louis Borgo | Year Posted 2017

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this poem.


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 | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this poem.


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
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 | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this 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

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 | Create an image from this poem.

So Close Yet So Far

The first time our lips shared a kiss
Was even better than first time I shot a 3 pointer and didn’t miss.
I can’t help but smile when I picture your beautiful face,
Believe me when I say no one can ever take your place.
A piece of my heart is yours, I believe it’s corazon in Spanish,
But this is my worry, that my feelings for you may never vanish.

Whenever I have the chance to make a wish upon a star,
I wish for you, because I feel I’m so close, yet so far…

Maybe it’s because of expectations I just can’t meet,
Maybe it’s because of my spirituality, although I feel that aspect of life is right at my feet,
Maybe if I was Puerto Rican with 40-inch arms,
I can never be Puerto Rican, but maybe I can grow some guns if I finally set the alarms.
Maybe if I was someone with an engineer job who you can take home to mom,
But my ambitions are growing, so much so that it’s hard for me to keep calm.

Whenever I have the chance to make a wish upon a star,
I wish for you, because I feel I’m so close, yet so far…

I love you as my best friend, but also love you in that other way,
So sorry I have complicated things so much, but is it possible one day I can still call you bae?
Deep down I know the answer, but a part of me still wants to hold faith and hope,
I would to do anything to catch the girl of my dreams, man that would be so dope.
Even if not with you in the end, I am still thankful for this experience of being in love,
Ever since it happened, I still can’t help but thank the man above…

Copyright © Gerald Alcantara | Year Posted 2016

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this 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
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 | Create an image from this poem.


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 | Create an image from this poem.

The Power of Songs and Poems

On my computer 
   songs of the late 1970's 
 My seed time 
as it were
  ELP, Yes, and King Crimson 
Perhaps I will pick up a recording by 
  they did a great version of "America" 
from West Side Story 
 or perhaps I shall return to the fold era
or flip on some Dvorak 
Music and poetry 
   enables us to touch unreality 
  but only if we let it 
   Some recommend Beethoven and Bach 
    Others Chuck Berry and James Brown 
Attempted to play the French horn when I was younger 
   what  a gorgeous sound that instrument can make 
The Beatles and the Rolling Stones used ti 
  So did we at Midwood High 
   AS we marched down the football field
  Cool autumn days 
   remind us 
of leaves turning color, football
   and the beginning of the school year 
   I remember those days 
  As age creeps in 
I attend poetry 
and volunteer at Poets House 
   read a lot of verse 
Poets House has Israeli, Afro - American, Chinese, Puerto Rican poetry 
    and much more 
The world needs poetry and song
And so doe we , friends

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2016

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this poem.


It’s not how much money you have it’s what you do with it ,
Price of living will show the shift of urbanization and the immigration, 
Of people moving from up north to the south land is cheap where empty vacancy is available,
A small city to easy it is a lot of immigration of Irish and British decent and that is how they, Classification then same as now days I am see more New York and,
Chicago people pop up in my city one day it will be no reason to move it like the,
World is coming to the city with Puerto Rican and Italian crisis more of them arrive in, 
North Carolina which rank close as top ten for people to, 
Migrant and what I was told of living up north is it, 
Mold in the apartments a person here could live middle income for, 
Label force for cheap but not that many great doctor which people are, 
Force travel out of county as well for work no wonder they call my city a place for 
Retiring but what in world to do when want a date and church is totally out question, 
It’s not how much money you have it’s what you do with it, 

Copyright © Louis Borgo | Year Posted 2017

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this 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
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 ... ? 

Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007

Details | Puerto Rican Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this 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