Best Cantina Poems
He drifts into town on his
faithful quarter horse called Moose
who has a three-legged gait
which gives him saddle sores
when riding miles from place to place.
A desert wind storm hits them hard,
he pulls his cowboy hat down his face
so the sand won't sting his deep-set brown eyes,
he sees a faded sign in red lettering advertising
" EL ROJOS CANTINA " as it bangs against
the cracked adobe and tiled-roofed building.
A pretty senorita dressed in a ruby-red dress
greets the unshaven drifter as he stumbles
through the double-saloon doors,
the cantina is dark and dank with smells of
stale cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey,
hunger and thirst overwhelm him in that
he ignores the stench of the bar and eatery.
The brazen and sultry woman sits at his
table and begins to sing in a husky voice
while a man with a guitar accompanies her,
male patrons smile at her flamboyant low-cut
dress as she begins singing in a seductive mood:
Stranger you are handsome to look at
as I stare at you and purr like a cat,
let's get together and see
if something develops between you and me,
my name is Ventura, a lucky charm,
I want to be your woman and mean no harm,
please take me away from this place,
so I will not die here in disgrace.
It didn't take much convincing,
Ventura and the drifter rode off together
into the red sunset after the sand storm
on a long and bumpy ride on Moose with
his three-legged gait while the senorita
hung onto her billowing dress which
blew over her face.
Years passed and Ventura lying down and close to death,
confesses she loved a man named Hildago who left her
at the altar and filled her with humiliation before
family and friends until a drifter swept in and saved
her from mortification and disgrace,
her man of many years weeps for the woman who was
his lucky charm wearing a red dress whom he met at
El Rojos Cantina during a tumultuous desert storm.
August 8, 2016
Cantina Tina never met one meaner
Though she sure looked pretty as the night grew long;
And so did I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
A Skid Row guy with an eye for Pasadena;
Spend my nights between seventh and third
With old Jack D ’til the world is blurred.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Out of County jail for a misdemeanor,
“No sir, Judge won’t be doing that no more;”
Hot foot it down to the nearest liquor store.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Once had a girl, oh boy, you should have seen her
“It’s poker, pool, or me if you want me staying here:”
So yes, I went ahead and chose the boys and beer.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
So here I am, eyeing Cantina Tina
She’s sure looking pretty as the night grows long;
And so do I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
He drifted into town
on his faithful quarter horse called Moose
who had a three-legged gait
which gave him saddle sores
when drifting from town-to-town.
A desert wind hit them hard,
he pulled his cowboy hat further down his face
so the sand wouldn't sting
his brown and and deep-set eyes,
he sees a faded sign in red lettering advertising,
'EL ROJAS CANTINA' as it bangs against
the adobe and tiled-roofed building.
A pretty senorita wearing a ruby-red dress
greets the unshaven drifter as he stumbles
through the double-saloon doors,
the cantina is dark and dank with smells of
stale cigarette smoke and spilled whiskey,
hunger and thirst overwhelm him as he
ignores the stench of the bar and eatery.
The sultry woman is brazen as she sits
at his table and begins to sing in her husky voice
while a man with a guitar accompanies her,
male townsfolk smile at her flamboyancy and
low-cut dress as she begins to sing in a seductive voice:
Stranger, you are handsome to look at
as I stare at you and purr like a cat,
let's get together and see
if something develops between you and me,
my name is Ventura, a lucky charm,
I want to become your woman and mean no harm,
please take me away from this place
so I will not die here in disgrace...
It didn't take much convincing,
Ventura and the drifter rode off together
into the red sunset after the sand storm on a
long and bumpy ride on Moose with his three-legged gait,
hanging unto her billowing dress which blew over her face.
After years passed, Ventura lying down and close to death,
confessed she loved a man named Hildago who left her
at the altar and filled her with humiliation before family and
friends until a drifter swept in and stayed with her until the end,
her man of many years weeps for the women who was
his lucky charm in a red dress whom he met at the
El Rojos Cantina during a tumultuous desert storm.
It is a hot afternoon at Pancho's Cantina
And Rosa is sitting at the bar, mariachis singing
Cause the juke box is dead
She is the red rose in Pancho's Cantina
There is no telephone, so you can't hear it ringing
She is letting the tequila, get into her head
She once had a hour glass figure, that is about out of sand
A lot of make up to cover up most of the hurt and pain
But she smiles at all the men that come her way
With another tequila in her hand
To help drown her pain
She wishes she could just run away
And it is not all roses in her bed
But that is where she makes her living
And she hates her life
But it keeps her poor family fed
She think that men do all the taking and damn little giving
Serving many, knowing she will never be a man's wife
Emerging from the shadows of the mission’s broken wall,
The moon falls on her shoulders like a ghostly silken shawl.
She wears a chain of silver and abalone shells.
Her eyes as bright as emeralds, her voice, like Spanish bells.
She wanders past the courtyard, the potter’s earthen jars,
The lights of the cantina, the lullaby guitars,
To step beyond the threshold of conservative affairs,
And let her dark desires be the focus of her prayers.
She conjures desperados burning ranchos built of straw.
Her reckless indiscretions led to brushes with the law.
She’s broken her piñata and found herself beguiled.
Her heart was always restless, but now she’s running wild.
She glides among the canyons like a ghostly vagabond,
Her freedom the expression of the innocence she’s pawned.
She wraps herself like water around the un-carved stone.
It’s easy to imagine, but hard to let alone.
I look for her in turquoise that mirrors desert skies,
The wind that sweeps the mesa, my lover’s sleepy eyes,
The haunted midnight pueblo, the cool adobe dawn;
Though mountains rise between us whichever side I’m on.