Best Dominican Poems
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
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound
the lamas leap and the water falls-- clear,
mindful, the wind's play on the Quechua's ground.
The majesty of the Andes astounds
for from behind the clouds, the peaks reappear.
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Like great red-clay dunes or snow capped mounds;
courts rise and fall in terrain, so austere;
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Rainbows of red, blue, and gold oft surround
distant ruins of gray stones, now severe
from the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Solid, earth-bound, sun-browned, lost to the hounds,
so, Quechua shepherds bound stairs cavalier--
mindful; the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Pachamama's love surrounds without bounds,
long gone are the conquers; all life is here,
from the mountain's peak, the wooden flutes sound--
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
* Quechua is one of the native people of Peru
**The Dominican Monks set hounds trained to kill
on the natives who refused conversion.
*** Pachamama, fertility Godess in Incas Mythos
Sue and I had lost contact when we left school and the Dominican Convent,
Met up ten years later, admitted both of us foolish, each nodded consent,
Had coffee, agreed to meet often, lived in Cape Town, merely a suburb apart,
Both happy with our villas, loved our homes, the Cape so stylish and smart.
She invited me to her home for a braai with her family this coming Sunday,
The door was open, I went in, is that you Jenn, I’ve got to look good today,
Mother-in-law coming, do come up, but what took you so long coming upstairs,
I met an old man, we chatted a while, what a sweetie, said his name was Zairs
Who, she asked me in disbelief, Zairs, impossible, loved to play musical chairs, He told me, is it your dad, Sue,you look alike, spoke of you and how he cares,
But you’ve gone pale as if you’ve seen a ghost, why are you so terribly upset,
Jenn, dad died years ago, seems he got lost, confused, but glad you two met.
Contest entry:One in Five 2 Poetry Contest
A Ghost story
Sponsor: Joseph May
Dated; 26th July 2022
A transgender child
does not not exist
just because a white man
says that that is so
as two spirited
third genders
and others
(eight in the Talmud! that I didn’t know)
exist around the globe
as in the
hijra of India
fa’afafine of Samoa
burrnesha of Albania
quariwarmi of Peru
guevedoche of Dominican Republic
muxe of Oaxaca
sekrata of Madagascar
fakaleiti of Tonga
lhamana of Zuni
winkte of Lakota
bakla of Philippines
acault of Burma
xanith of Oman
and waria of Indonesia
just to name a few
gender is as binary
as is the world is flat
asserting so otherwise
is simply spewing scat
She sent back the last order, as well.
This time, she shook her head
like a dog in the rain,
like a posh-frock woman
having "a spell."
The brimming broth, she said,
had a bitterness that swelled
and stung between her cheeks,
and across her tongue.
It steamed with the scent
of turmeric and sweat,
a lipstick kiss in the basement
of the Red Grotto Used Bookstore,
of a Dominican girl, half her age,
in skin jeans and red sneakers,
pulling her by the hand
during Summer City Lit Festival
last year.
She claimed she craved the
steaming heat of our menu's
Andean soup,
but bones like razors waited
when she raised the brim
of the bowl to her lips.
Just like the wine she sent back,
she said that the broth bit her lip
with a vicious grin
when she closed her eyes,
opened wide,
leaned in,
and tried to love it
with the whole of her mouth.
One island;
one people, two nations
Dominican Republic
Haiti
An island split in two
by European colonialism,
a most vile economic mechanism
One part of the island
was controlled by France
The other part of the island
was controlled by Spain
The saddest part of this deal,
is that those two separate people are the same
Split in two
by a nationalistic name
Some be Haitians,
some be Dominican Republicans
One island;
one people split in two
Posterity's children will ask:
which one are you?
The Gullah people drift with the tide,
existing by the Charleston seaside.
Their lives more often unduly harsh,
yielding and melding with the marsh.
Africans of Dominican voice impressed.
Tales of Bruh rabbit are among the best.
From all over the world they came
Slaves, but, of rice field planting fame.
~
Copyright © 2015
11.12.2015
9:18pm
This crazy rush hour traffic, traffic
like swimming the Caribbean Sea,
in these streets you don't wanna be.
Headlights brighter than spaceships,
spaceships, these drivers make you
wanna flip, rush hour you'd wanna skip
Many hurrying and rushing, rushing
sending many to hospitals with blood
gushing...Driving down these streets,
never know what crazies you'll meet
On roads with deep potholes, potholes
and speed...speed is their creed,
think you're bold, ask that stiff
he's cold. And remember, bigger the
car makes Dominicans a star
And, motorcycles like bubble bees, a blimp
is all you'll see...their weaving and
bobbing ahead of everyone hopping
So, on these roads don't close your eyes,
got to be like an eagle, everyone tries,
Dominican traffic can be anyone's demise
Dominicans don't have rules, they aren't
cool, with do as you wish out of school,
school that too ain't cool. Got old folks
cursing, with all their pimping and hustling
And, to drive, you will need an eagle's
eye on these bumpy roads to get by, get
by many who seem to be mentally ill
behind the wheel
No tail-lights, tail lights?
not even head-lights...hard to
see around high beams at night,
nearly everyone runs red-lights
it's HOT and no police in sight.
So, where's the police, police?
hardly any don't you see, pay is lower
than fish in a sea...Yes you'll see,
Dominican traffic will make you run
for the sea. Driving isn't pragmatic,
just frantic, hectic and chaotic.
by: LP
10:13pm
Edited: 26.12.2015
2pm
**(on Facebook w/photo/theme: North Coast Poetry Society)
I just waved
At the fleeting
Unenglish speaking
Dominican people
Unknowingly they
Went about their day
And in kind
I went about mine
But, still
I waved hello
And smiled within
As I wished them even more goodbyes
(True feelings)
Not all culture are the same
If variety of different culture did not exist
Variety of history of life and different culture food would not exist. They would not be much to talk about if everything
Was the same.
What is the desperation of people want me to be this
African girl that I will never be.
For I am a Caribbean French girl get used to it already.
I am not a "niger" for I am not African from the Niger country, nor Neither is my son.
So really I think alot of few people need to relearn about history and culture.
I have my own culture background to put up with, what
Makes you think I would want to be part of another ( no offense)
I am sick of tired of the disrespect, for it goes both ways, I could do the same.
A person maybe the same color as another but that does
not mean they from the same background.
A respectable fashion is always display, which means
You ask but don't assume. For it could be done to you
I don't know if is being done in disrespect, but if it's so
Something must be wrong with thee upbringing not mines.
This nonsense been going on for a very long time.
The desperation of them wanting me to be this African girl
That will never happen.
Basically correction 101 I am a woman not a Niger nor a Muslim nor Dominican nor Jamaican. I am old enough to be your mother or sister ect. Thank God I am not.
I will not low to your level for the way I see it one of us have
To be the mature one, I see, it would be me
They say there's a first time for everything
My first time ever feeling the unsettling effects of an earthquake
Albeit, it was ONLY 5.8 on the Richter Scale
It happened during our holiday in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic
We were roughly 60 km from the epicentre
But still found it a little unsettling to say the least
The locals didn't even break a sweat
They experience on average 150 of them a year
However there was definitely some rocking 'n rolling going on
At first I thought it was one of those people movers going by
Transporting folks around the resort
Then realized... YIKES!
That was a FREAKING EARTHQUAKE!!!
All's well that ends well
And I'm still alive to tell my tale!
Great place to vacation but you wouldn't wanna live there!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Amelia says that love is like an old Dominican couch, still wrapped in plastic, being
pushed off a thirty-three story project building and waiting at the bottom with buoyancy
to catch it. Patricia says love is like a ballerina, showing off how many times she can
twirl on a stage and then falling flat on her ass. Every one falls she tells me. But Paola
says it’s not like that at all. It’s like a pair of jeans that you wear so often, its starts to
rip between your inner thighs. You can sew them back, but they will never be the same.
My grandfather had a closet full of canvases and oil paint. He was a painter once. Every
family member owned one of his paintings. He walked around with paint brushes at the
tip of his fingers. Didn’t use them. Just sort of stroked everything he walked passed. He
was good at this, finding detours from the kitchen to the bedroom, avoiding the closet.
This is how it is with me. Love I mean.
PROFESSOR SILA, VICTOR SINCLAIR, AND ROCKY PATEL
were scheduled to visit ARTURO FUENTE at the DREW ESTATE in ASHTON.
However, the count of MONTE CRISTO stopped their trip at SAN MIGUEL
because of the possibilty of BROCATUS intercepting them and searching
them for PIRATE'S GOLD near the GRAYCLIFF off the ISLA DEL SOL.
He had the ROBUSTO to use a TORPEDO on their ship,
the PRESIDENTE CHURCHILL.
Their friend ALEC BRADLEY had heard of the plan while
speaking with DON PEPIN GARCIA as they were both seeking
VEGAS GOLD by playing BACCARAT. "AVE MARIA",
he cried..."what can we do but try to warn them."
However, they were already at sea, and the only way to reach
them was PERDOMO which was transmitted by DAVIDOFF
in a ROBUSTO BELICOSO manner. It took nearly 60 RINGS,
but he finally reached ROMEO Y JULIETA who then passed
their message via OLIVA on the PUROS INDIOS which
was sailing near CORONA.
He had been a member of the GURKHA brigade in WWII,
and given the CU-AVIAN, summoned his comrades
PADILLA, MACANUDO, and MADURO to help him stop
this attempt in the NUB. Using a DIESEL TORO, they
successfully sent a signal over the LA PERLA HABANA Mountains,
where DON RAFAEL stopped the DOMINICAN MADURO MELEE.
For the uneducated, all CAPS are names of Cigars, Cigar Companies,
or related to the industry.
Catastrophe of the dry run
The sea, Ice, air, human are rapture
The powerful are brought to ruin
Green horse making this World hot
70% is absorbed in heat
18 degrees Celsius balance the heat
Mighty keeper of water in the lands
Mighty destroyer of Islands
Changing, charging chastising
The atmosphere
I see, I am part of your activities
Burning of coal activities
Carbon emission, 34%. 2020 activities
350,000 in Britain suffered your hands.
65,000 Dominican Republic feel your hands
500,000 in southern California left home to avoid your hand
Denmark gathered the heads cos of your hand.
The heads accept to make peace.
If only it will go to the heart.
Oh mighty one, tell me how to keep peace,
Is it more of vegetation, so I keep peace?
Or keep away carbon dioxide
Nitrous oxide and methane
for peace.
Mighty one, tell me
How you can lie low, for peace
I know I used more than
I put back to you.
Should I have my own forest?
But I know sunspots and solar flares started before me.
REASONS OF WRITING
This poem was writing out of inspiration on hearing and reading how this atmosphere has been badly used and the follow events caused by bad emission to the air, the changing in almost every natural events gave rise and when the heads of states gathered in Denmark to plan for the way forward. It is my contribution on how this atmosphere can be made for a better condition for us all to stay in.
MESSAGE
(1) This poem is a free verse, it run through without break, saying the major event that global warming has cause in the world.
(2) That the heads of states decision in Denmark should be put into practice not mouth say.
(3) That before man (human) started anything sunspots and solar flares started before man
(4) We use more than we put back to nature.
(5) That green vegetations is also a way forward.
(6) Everyman should have his/her own or plant his/her own forest it is possible.
Til 2 A.M.
One day a Dominican female gave her black guy friend two balls of chocolate.
Not just any chocolate but the kind can make you look twice and pocket it.
The chocolate was so good that reciprocity was the only emotion you could have worn.
For that reason and that reason alone, Til 2 A.M. this poem was born.
13 days before all of this, the black guy was walking to the library in the morning around 11:56
While simultaneously being approach by the Dominican female and a question at 11:56
“What was it that you wanted to show me?” was the question with which she arose.
The following is a minimum Til 2 A.M. but here is how the story goes.
First, they played hangman… Til 2 A.M.
Went twice upon a roof… Til 2 A.M.
Watched a Spanish movie… Til 2 A.M.
Dined at two dining halls… Til 2 A.M.
Went to Walmart 3 times… Til 2 A.M.
Played a poker game… Til 2 A.M.
Chilled in each other’s dorm… Til 2 A.M.
Watched Netflix twice… Til 2 A.M.
Went to the dollar store… Til 2 A.M.
Walked to a football game… Til 2 A.M.
Surprisingly met devouring breakfast… Til 2 A.M.
Worked on PowerPoints… Til 2 A.M.
And played the most amazing game of uno… Til 2 A.M.
If turning up on weekends made you rich, these people wouldn’t have 2 dimes.
To recap the course of events, so far they only stayed up Til 2 A.M. five times.
Now that this poem is read, this story may be dead, because of the short lives in their palms they read.
Life will never know about the journey ahead, but Til 2 A.M. Death must wait for the Dominican and the black… to go to bed.