Best Cuban Poems
Mojito Conjuring
When the bruja in the red dress
sends me out this time,
it is for the taste of
sour oranges and garlic.
Once, when I plied her
with a cigar called Hoyo de Montyerrey,
she coiled the smoke,
said that I was still feral and untamed,
sent me out for sugar so that
I could learn my true name.
Scythe-swinging, field-slave-singing,
I could not return to her coven of one
until I had learned that my “Suarez”
meant that I was the son of sugar itself –
the child of wild ingenious devouring
the rows of cane like a dragon.
Now, red-dress bruja breathes out
clouds of tobacco *****,
turns the cigar round and round,
tells me to gather garlic and aurantium oranges
so that the sour and the sucre may jibe
together in me,
and leave me properly christened
for when it is time for me to work,
time for me to sweat,
time for me to sing.
"A CUBAN GIRL"
there’s a Cuban girl. over
the years, she’s popped in
and out. we had a short fling
and never saw each other
again. finally, not too long
ago, we became friends again.
usually, she rids herself of
me from whatever we are
connected on, blocks my
number or simply disappears.
this time though, we have
stayed connected longer than
normal. it took 93 long
years to get her phone number
and yet, we hardly message
each other through the phone.
she views a few pictures I
place on an application my
phone has from time to time.
tonight, she was the first
viewer of the words I let the
world in on. I call this, “a
Cuban girl,” but her profile
name is, “acubangurl.” she
doesn’t talk to me, nor I her
but we know we can whenever
we choose. I like knowing
she’s there and I remain
quiet about it. it’s exactly
like the country. I mean when
was the last time you heard
anything about Cuba until
this poet’s poetry.
By: Chicano Eddie
let’s welcome the Cuban defector
suggesting he steer to our vector
we could send our own boat
learning Spanish by rote
then pray that he’s better than Hector.
Cuban and Reuben
If you will really like a great Ruben
I am sure you also will like a Cuban
Like Obama when in Havana did land
Whole island had beaches full of sand.
Sky was cloudy and it started to rain
From tops of umbrellas started to drain
Even though weather was dull and dreary
President and family were bright and cheery.
Will stay two days and see a baseball game
And a picture of it will save in a frame
Another day in life of a polite President;
Was always this way wherever he went.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Music drifts down into the dim allies
A rhythm tune coming from every home.
Filled with the laughter of broken voices.
Like waves rollicking with the sound.
Cuban nights syncopating by stressing.
The familiar routine of daily existence,
Mystique meaning sharing in the living.
Parts of history claiming its presence.
The people are dying by politics defying.
All rights of humanity in the land to have.
A new religion of freedom underlying.
How Socialism and democracy can save.
More than having music and laughter.
To take their prayers to the higher rafter.
The welcome party’s out in style,
It wags its tail, it beams a smile;
The cabs lined up are set to go,
Resplendent as in a 1950’s pageant show.
The air is warm, the palm trees sway,
For Old Havana airport, it’s just another day.
The road to town is just a blur,
Of sights and sounds and images that stir,
Of little children playing football on some dirt street,
Of emaciated horses pulling carts to their own melodic beat.
Of crowds hitching a ride, hands outstretched in supplication,
With hopeful gaze and beaming smiles revealing none of their frustration.
As the city walls draw near there’s grandeur that abounds,
A little worn and faded but with beauty that astounds.
A history of riches, an eye for style and form,
With Spanish flair undoubted and charm beyond the norm;
The cupola’s and palaces, some frayed beyond repair,
A testament of Cuba, its struggles and despair.
Yet the sentiment of hope is palpable, we feel it through their eyes,
A little taste of freedom, with all this thought implies.
A chink in the old armor, one not evident before,
With Castro’s passing comes a gift - a slowly opening door.
Let this be one of friendship where we offer them our hand,
Not to change them nor to rule them, but simply help their world expand.
But Cuba does not have blue-eyed men, they have brown.
Well he is lively and fun a drummer who knows how to get down.
Are you sure he is from Cuba? Oh, yes, and he just came to town.
I went to watch him on the bongos, wearing my favorite purple gown.
You have such a sparkle, a pizzazz, and a lovely sound!
He appreciated me. Said “Guess I’ll see you around.”
Such a gentleman in this town is rarely found.
And believe it or not, his band had a terrific sound!
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!
He walked down the high street in tropical Havana
Where he spotted a bar named the Copa Cabana
The weather was hot he could do with a drink
An ice cold beer and some time to think
However did he finish up in a country like Cuba ?
Was down to a jazz musician who plays the tuba
The jazz man told him of those fancy cigars
To watch and admire the old and vintage cars
He liked Cuba and would stay another week
The night-time dancing was certainly cheek to cheek
One thing though he really wanted to know
How did this country ever be ruled by Castro
I’m from the smell of cafe con leche dancing around the house and
los primos already full of energy in the backyard.
I’m from guava and cream cheese crackers for breakfast and
the constant sound of abuela saying “come mas mi vida”,
I’m from the smell of fabuloso and mama’s radio never failing
to wake the family up on a sunday morning,
I’m from the sound of bicycle bells and children’s
laughter ringing through my ears,
I’m from salsa music and dancing until three in
the morning when los primos had already fallen asleep on the couch,
I’m from el que estudia siempre sabe and mi niña es
la más inteligente del mundo,
I’m from la prima’s hand me downs and creces
muy rápido,
I’m from ponte las pilas and the endless
sound of pages turning and pencils
scribbling,
I’m from morning traffic and
days with no end,
I’m from estas grande ya and
esa es tu responsabilidad,
I’m from a quiet house,
I’m from a quick breakfast,
I’m from an empty house,
No more fresh café con leche
to leave its scent behind,
No more time
No one to make
the house
a home,
I’m from never wish
to grow up.
*****Freedom for Cubans!*****
Under Communism's cold rule~
My heart knows them well!
As their teacher, they showed respect!
The most outanding ethnic group,
Whoever put me on the front page of the
Cuban newspaper.
To keep me in their Andersonville area school.
They were so very outraged,
“MAESTRA ROMiOS,” the large block print said.
I was never so greatly honored.
A protest was planned at the Chicago Board of Education!
They did not want to lose me!
They were successful!
Cubanos, my friends forever.!
I will not let our government ever prevent
You wonderful people, the opportunity to
live here.
You are part of the American Dream!
Dedicated to the Cuban Commumity in Chicago.
“I will do what it takes to have you getting here.
Will not stand for you being forced to live under
oppression by our government..” PR
7/18/2021
…4…
The Cuban Piano Bar
Let's get out and have some fun!
Stop writing poetry and get some
oh, so delicious rum.
In a tall glass with a lemon spice
and a sparkling straw.
Here,see the gardenia in my long,
full hair?
We will dance close, with me as your
sexual snare!
A night of Cuban music, that we find
so irresistible!
In our special, secret place, that is
so unique and rare!
And your lips, so soft, tasty and divinely
kissable.
December 2, 2019
Five-and-Ten, a ‘Mom-and-Pop’
just down the road
Ye olde-fashioned ice cream shoppe
Round the corner a little bit
an old barber’s pole
Enjoy the flavor of candy-cane wit
Near the station, a musty news-stand
superman comics, Cuban cigars
Circus announcements, strike up the band
All these things: Why, they still exist!
~ etched in memories of indelible mist