Best Acapulco Poems
June is a month of needed vacation for me
Acapulco, Mexico is where I've come to be
Cantina's, tacos, no ice in my margaritas
Karaoke bars and lots of sweet senoritas
Far away from those frigid winters of snow
Relaxing on a beach, then back to work I go
Old Jack knows how to have a lil' bit of fun
See you later. I'm gonna soak up some sun
Tequila! Another margarita-this one frozen
November 27th 2015
Jack Frost Acrostic Contest
Sposor: Shadow Hamilton
Anywhere if I’m with you
She asked me where I’d like to go
If money didn’t matter
I said I didn’t really know
My mind began to scatter
Toronto, Athens, maybe France
Aruba sounded fine
Casablanca, such romance
Though Italy has wine
London, Dublin, Amsterdam
Malta, New York City
Acapulco, Nottingham
All of them are pretty
But then I said my answer true
It’s anywhere if I’m with you
2/21/17
Written for the: Where I want to go poetry contest
Sponsored by: Nicola Byrne
His buddies called him Brant, he was the strongest man
made of solid muscles and he seemed mighty;
he became a fugitive after he raped two women
and robbed to get money for his coke and whiskey.
One was his best friend whom he killed for a grudge he had,
and hiding his face, he pulled down his hat and felt afraid.
There was a reward for anyone who knew his whereabouts
or acquaintances, rumors attested that he must have escaped
to Mexico to join banditos who raped, killed, and robbed;
an American guy saw him in Acapulco kissing pretty chicas*.
He thought that nobody was looking for him and he laughed
in that noisy bar drinking Tequila* until he was drunk and sad,
but forgetting faces drenched in blood is pure madness;
he wore a sombrero* hat and mingled with friendly locals.
Marcela was not his favorite girl, she refused to sit in his lap
while he smoked Tabamex Toro;* he whispered, " Te adoro, mi querida*. "
And disliking the short phrase, she bit on his scarred, dry lip;
" Ah, hermosa, suave!* " He quickly reacted to the revengeful Marcela.
He didn't know that was a trap and be captured him by the FBI agents,
but he suddenly got up, slapped her in the face with murderous hate;
Marcela hit the floor and died instantly, " Bandido*, bandido! That's
my daughter! " The dark-skin man howled. He drew his gun with haste.
He shut him three times, Brant fell down and profusely bled from his legs,
" You are under arrest! " One of the agents said cuffing him with ease,
" We'll take you back to Texas and you'll pay for the rapes and killings!"
Every rapist and killer should know that restlessness allows no inner peace! "
* Chicas: girls
* Tequila: Mexican liquor
* Sombrero: Mexican Hat
* Tabamex Toro: Mexican cigars
* Te adoro, mi querida: I adore you, my dear
* Ah, hermosa, suave: Ah, beautiful take it slow
* Bandido: bandit
BORN IN THE SMALL TOWN
DEEP IN THE HEART OF, MISSISSIPPI
WAS A YOUNG COUNTRY SINGER
NAMED ELVIS PRESLEY
YOU WERE A MAN WITH SOUL
YOUR SONGS FILLED WITH EMOTION
YOUR LOVE FOR YOUR WORK
BEING PURE DEVOTION
THROUGH A CHANGE OF HABIT
YOU BECAME A ROCK N ROLL STAR
YOU ARE THE KING
NUMBER ONE BY FAR
THROUGH THE YEARS OF
LOVE ME TENDER, LOVE ME TRUES
TEDDY BEAR SONGS AND G.I. BLUES
YOU STOLE OUR HEARTS
AND PUT OUR MINDS AT REST
IN YOUR ROUSTABOUT WAYS
YOU ARE THE BEST
AFTER THE ARMY YOU PACKED UP YOUR TEAM
ONCE WILD IN THE COUNTRY
YOU HAD TO FOLLOW THAT DREAM
YOU STARRED IN SUCH MOVIES AS
STAY AWAY JOE
CLAMBAKE AND CHARRO
EASY COME, EASY GO
AFTER GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS
WE WERE VERY IMPRESSED
BUT JAILHOUSE ROCK
WAS ONE OF YOUR BEST
KISSIN’ COUSINS AND SPIN OUT
BOTH WERE NOT BAD
THEN THERE’S VIVA LAS VEGAS
AND KID GALAHAD
LIVE A LITTLE, LOVE A LITTLE
IT HAPPENED AT THE WORLDS FAIR
HARUM SCARUM AND TICKLE ME
FRANKIE AND JOHNNY WHAT A PAIR
PARADISE, HAWAIIAN STYLE FUN
IN ACAPULCO TOO !
BLUE HAWAII, GIRL HAPPY
SPEEDWAY AND LOVING YOU
FROM KING CREOLE
TO A FLAMING STAR
I’M STUCK ON YOU
WHERE EVER YOU ARE
NOW WE ARE IN DOUBLE TROUBLE
YOU LEFT US SO FAST
BUT I’LL REMEMBER YOU
PRESENT, FUTURE OR PAST YOU
THRILLED THE AUDIENCE
WITH THAT SPECIAL TOUCH
THE TROUBLE WITH GIRLS
THEY LOVED YOU TOO MUCH
NOW I’M ALL SHOOK UP
AND FEELING BLUE
CAUSE I CAN’T HELP
FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU
YOU WERE A YOUNG MAN
THE AGE OF FORTY TWO
WE’LL NEVER FORGET
THE WONDER OF YOU.
Form:
Be born (or get born if you prefer)
If you are a woman – Give birth
Remember your name when in a foreign land
(If you don't have one make one up)
Breathe only air and at the appropriate time
Drink wine (but not with living fish or gators)
Take walks on the beach (remember feet and sandals)
Open a door with at least one hand
(Close it with another)
Buy security
Read Aristophanes
Borrow a car, (one with gas and a woman inside)
Borrow a woman (Catholic, Jewish or atheist will do)
*Teeth are important
Brush teeth - “yours” and “hers” (use different brushes)
Build a house (one with windows and oceans inside)
Scratch an itch - only using your spouse or lover (Never use your nose)
Put the trash out (starting with your spouse if they are dirty or ugly)
Go to war....with bacteria
Go to peace (found under flower petals and under the covers of night)
Diet and die (but not in any particular order)
Follow this list to Acapulco - another list will follow
Follow that list to its conclusion (never lose it)
*This is a didactic poem. It is also a "List" poem.
Acapulco
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
The sea and the Holiday Inn,
Where some of the guests are awfully fat,
And others are awfully thin,
Where the average age is a hundred and four,
Give or take a year or three,
‘Cos another senior citizens’ tour
Has come to see the sea.
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
And lie on the golden sands,
And watch the dark-eyed gigolos,
As they roam around in bands,
I’d love to sit at the Patio Bar
And get ever so slightly pissed
“Have another tequila old boy ?”
“Well, one, if you insist.”
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
Where the con artiste is king
Where it only costs you an arm and a leg
For a genuine silver ring,
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
It’s the only place for me
Where it’s twice as nice
At twice the price,
Acapulco by the sea.
MY NEIGHBOR KOFI
LOCATION: Mazamaza, Lagos, Nigeria:
My neighbor kofi,
The computer scientist
At 34,
He crisscrossed, jetcrosed, redcrossed,
And hobnobbed around the globe:
Kathmandu, Acapulco and the Galapagos
He dined and wined
Like there was no tomorrow
He dined and wined
With Kings and queens;
Cuban cigars, dom perignon 59, Cabernet Sauvignon;
Lamborghini Gallardo, Rolls Royce and Ferrari
He saw the world
Through,
Rose colored spectacles
He jetted North, then South
He jetted in Sommer, then in winter
Then,
He jetlagged....
His battery drained
And,
His computer crashed
Then,
The speck fell
From his eyes
He,
Drank garri without sugar
Ate wild mushrooms
And drank bitter lemon.......
He googled his front
And ogled his back
In his minds eyes
He saw a knotted gray tie
And a pregnant woman
He heard a cock crow
But saw a thick blanket
Of darkness cascade toward, over him
He could not discern
Beyond his nose......
He saw the clouds gathering
But no rain
He saw the palm trees sway
Almost to a breaking point
Then,
He saw the harmathan
Gathering momentum
At the lower troposphere.....
He felt the cold
North East trade wind
Hit his face.......
He mounted his green horse
Named: Don Longhorn
Adjusted his helmet
Then,
Saw a thick haze
Of dust behind him......
It tumbled, rumbled, crumbled and cracked,
It thundered, hissed and clappered
Lightening flashed around him
But,
Don Longhorn and Kofi
Forged ahead...
Into the night....
Into a blanket of darkness......
the cardiogram & the bank account
hanging on his shoulder
she’s waiting for the heart to go
she’s waiting for that final fall
so she can be off to Acapulco
her lips are full & natural
her body makes the covers of the magazines
the only things she’s missing
is his bank account ID---
she makes the physical as rough as possible
to exert him to the max
she goes for runs with him in the morning
in hopes of that heart attack &
the coke they do at night
won’t shut her body down,
but every time he survives the rush
she goes to bed with a silent frown
but one day its gonna happen &
then all her friends will agree
when you sleep with money long enough
it will pay you for your beauty.
Señor Políticamente Incorrecto
(Somewhere in Acapulco, Guerrero ...)
Americano pérdida líder,
no seas un mal perdedor
Traducción de cheers de ébano
Ebony cheers translation:
American loss leader,
don’t be a sore loser
Señor Políticamente Incorrecto,
these Español words
everybody intuitively do know
Adiós sentimientos
Goodbye feelings,
by way of Méjico
Your wall of power
is hard cackle crumbling
That tall Ivory tower
is Humpty Dumpty tumbling
No podrías heredar el viento
You couldn’t inherit the win fraudulento
Señor Políticamente Incorrecto,
which way
does el Putin wind electoral blow?
The smell of defeat stinks so
Not conceding
makes you an Americano feo
Pretty [ugly]
is the beauty of being an idol
Crooked wrinkles of corruption
are ballot showing
Fear of adulation rejection
is mo’ scowl growing
Be czar dream diminishing
Picture dark recall advice, amigo pálido
[Pale friend]
remember to recount
your money loss power desvanecimiento
Dictatorial scheme [vanishing]
Señor Políticamente Incorrecto!
Hope alz ain’t abacus well ~ Quédate quieto
[lie still] ... no, don’t lie steal, bandera ondeando compañero
[flag-waving fellow] squawking hollow
Exit time is inaugural soon to follow,
when you receive this inolvidable
[unforgettable] postcard memento
Change. I wonder if things change in death. When you are dead you are no longer in time.
And time always changes things. So if you are in Eternity do things change? Or is Eternity
timed? Cause how could there not be change. Even for the afterlife. I wonder if it's all
just one color and smell. Today Joel had a near death experience. Are not we always having
a near death experience? Is not death always upon us? Is life ever upon us? Yes, I think
so. The glass has to be half full. The grass has to be greener on the otra lado. Joel has
to swim back into shore. He can't get tired. He can't drown. He's young. He's 18. He's got
his whole life ahead of him. He's Superman. Just like me. Just like me, but our kriptonite
is reality. Our ego, our denial, our fear all with light shed upon it.
Form:
The people have spoken
The turd has been flushed
Only a small trace lingers
You could count the important
Messages here
On Mickey Mouse’s fingers
We say what we want
We want what we say
And every last Joe must listen
Last count, I’d say
There are far, far too many
Solitary missions
Don’t I know you
From Acapulco?
Didn’t you see me in training?
Couples like us
Were always doomed
And the sky was always raining
We raced on a beach
And drank from a husk
Our hair in the wet waves glistened
The turtles then screamed,
“We’ve got you fooled;
You’re on solitary missions”
The world’s on fire --
No wait, that’s the stove
In some Russian apartment
Ever since the Red Army came,
We been shoved into compartments
Some took this
And some took that
And the rest was left for the wishing
So I donned a brown uniform
And gold-starred hat
For one more solitary mission
Now the blankets of the young
Are all dried and hung
Too bad they ain’t never been slept in
All hungry for bread
And left for dead
In starvation and depression
That kind of romance
Can be plagiarised
Which I've done, by my own admission
Just don’t you dare look
In the baby’s eyes
On your solitary mission
The preacher man
Married a Republican
Yet their babes were all Progressives
Who attacked and killed them
In rage one night
On their road to being elected
It all comes out
In the wash, they say
Crime knows no abolition
Still, history will sing
So sweet and so pure
Of their solitary missions
So the shows are closed
The city’s been razed
But you wouldn’t know from the traffic
They often wake up
In a post-coital haze
With headaches that are terrific
But this is our evening
And this is our midnight
And this is our red velvet curtain
Those work zones and orange construction cones?
They’re the emblems of solitary missions
Marijuana sommelier,
A marijuana or weed expert.
A Mary Jane professional.
Someone happy
to let the grass grow.
Not a junkie or druggie,
but a pro, a get high expert.
Weed connoisseur.
As a kid, If I had known
about this profession,
I would’ve been up there
with the best of them,
like Cheech and Chong.
But don’t get me wrong
I’m here to confess
I used to smoke
some of the best.
Sesa-million,
Acapulco gold
Hemp and haze.
As I give a dime bag praise,
those were the good old days.
I still miss having the munchies,
I would clean out the kitchen cabinets
and the refrigerator.
Eating everything that didn’t move.
And some things that did…
I make a perfect dry martini,
I read and write and speak Français,
All my suits, and shirts, and shoes are custom-made.
I own a Porsche and Maserati,
A house on Acapulco Bay
With scores of floors of marble tile that's all inlaid.
I have a staff to fetch and carry,
My every wish is their command,
If I drop things, I just leave them where they lay.
All I need do is snap my fingers,
Someone's always close at hand,
And they look after Señor Jim in every way.
I host the most elaborate soirées,
They're in society's upper niche,
On my birthday and, of course, on New Year's Eve,
Where the hoi polloi and high-born
Mingle with the nouveau riche,
And they're all the better for it when they leave.
This all may seem a bit pretentious,
And I don't mean to self-inflate,
For wealth and fame, of course, do not equate with happiness,
But in my dreams my alter ego
Will oftentimes exaggerate
And make seem real what, to be sure, is pure "b..s".
Why despair
Instead repair
Wherefore cry
Tomorrow's nigh
In hock or shock
Don't sweat just yet
It'll happen for you
There's luck all over
Near the Cliffs of Dover
Sits your four-leaf clover
If not in a Parisian Cafe
Or down Acapulco Way
Perchance by Monterey Bay
Face up on a California quay
Just think of me
When your ship comes in
Of how happy I'll be
That you lit up my grin