Best Juan Poems
When first we met, in sailor town,
the slim jim chased, and I was found.
His greedy lips did hold me down.
With me, he wed, and we were bound.
But leaves did crisp and we did fall
into set ways beneath old oak.
The charm and grace did hit a wall,
so I did wink and he awoke.
He turned, placed kiss upon my lips,
with silvered practice of Don Juan.
The shadowed moon - a great eclipse.
He’s my bright sun - curtains are drawn.
Find your Don Juan in places, close.
A smile in bed - a sizzling rose.
THE ISLANDS OF SAN JUAN - TIMESHARE
[FOLKTALE]
IN A PORTION, A SPELL IS CASTE.
THE PEOPLE ARE CALLED NUGLUMMI.
IN A TRANCE STATE, THEY EAT HONEY AND BEES ARE FORM FROM THEIR EYES.
INSIGHTFULLY THEY BEGIN TO TRANSFORM THE TERRAIN AND ISLANDS FORMED FOR THE FREEDOM OF WOMAN AND MAN.
THE PEOPLE OF THE SEA ARE FREE IN THE PUGET SOUNDS.
DOUGLAS FIR GROWS TALL.
THE LANDSCAPE IS EVERGREEN AND THE LUMMIS ARE SALISAN.
DIALECTIC VERSIONS OF THIS LANGUAGE ARE POSSESSED.
THEIR LOGIC IS HOW THEY TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES.
*
THE PENINSULA THAT RESIDES IN THEIR TOPOGRAPHY IS VAST IN SHAPE AND FASHIONED BY THE UNINHABITED PORTAGE ISLAND WHERE THEIR RESERVED LAND NOW LAYS. LIKE MANY NORTHWEST COAST TRIBES, THEY GASTRONOMY CONSISTS OF THE COLLECTING OF SHELLFISH, GATHERING OF PLANTS SUCH AS CAMAS AND DIFFERENT SPECIES OF BERRIES, AND MOST IMPORTANT, AS SALMON FISHERMEN, THEY DEVELOPED “REEF NETTING.”
THEY ENJOY POTLATCH ON THE ORCAS ISLAND, SAN JUAN ISLAND, LUMMI ISLAND, FIDALGO ISLAND, PORTAGE ISLAND, AND NEAR POINT ROBERTS AND SANDY POINT.
IN ALL NUGLUMMI, WERE COMMERCIAL TO THEIR TRADE.
THEY GREATER HARVEST IS TODAY.
THE PADDLE TO LUMMI IS 68 CANOEING FAMILIES PADDLING HAND-MADE CANOES TO THE LUMMI RESERVATION FROM PARTS OF WASHINGTON STATE AND BRITISH COLUMBIA.
**
[TODAY]
THESE ISLANDS OF THE PUGET SOUNDS IS TOO FAR AWAY TO HEAR.
WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, THE SEA SWEEPS THE BEACH.
REMEMBRANCE IS IN WALKING SILENTLY AND HEARING THE TRIBAL SINGING IN SALISH.
THESE ISLANDS ARE A CASTAWAYS HAVEN – A HARBOR OF CONTENTMENT, WHICH LAY IN BRITISH COLUMBIA AND THE NORTHWESTERN UNITED STATES.
ROMANTIC ENDEAVORS ARE BASED ON YOUR IMAGINATION.
THESE ARE THE SAN JUAN ISLANDS OF WASHINGTON STATE.
MAY YOUR VISIT BE SAFE!
***
Encuéntrame en mi suspiro del Viejo San Juan
Llévame por la mano al camino de pierdas
Deja que el sol dirija nuestro caminar . . .
La espuma blanca que sube y trae sonrisas y lagrimas
La protección de Sta. Bárbara
El camino de adoquines al paseo del pasado
La joya del mar y el brillar del azoque
La parada de amor y las voces que cantan
La cuesta me trae recuerdos de felicidad y belleza
El rojo y amarillo del paseo
Las cuerdas y los hilos que el viento se llevo
Las brisas del verde y el azul
La grieta de Ceiba al mundo del orgullo
La impresión de grandeza y de pequeñez
El olor del mar y sus colores de rojo, blanco y azul
La gran sorpresa de sus cañones
La fuerza de su majestad
El sonido de las aves y la distancia de las cabras
Las fuentes de agua y las frutas heladas
Las bombas y los hoyos dentro de nuestra misa
Las fiestas de nuestras calles
El camino inclinado de nuestro Señor
Los capuchinos y los túneles de Nuestra Providencia
Las orquídeas y el palacio blanco
Las carreras de caballo y las mensajeras con sus regalos
La hija de la reina y las palmas que tocan la bahía
Llévame por la mano al camino de pierdas
Deja que el sol dirija nuestro caminar . . .
The fall roundup, Old Brown Ranch in 1976
Sat below Cathedral Peak, Calamity Creek was running slow
A mule deer behind almost every cedar tree
Old Juan was getting ready for his day of tricks
It was early in the morning, he wanted everyone to know
Pots and pans clanging, it was even three
Oak wood camp fire, coffee was about to boil
Good chill in the air, frost everywhere
Juan was making his dough for camp bread
Fed the cowboys like they were royal
Best eating I ever had, I swear
Always wore a long red apron, silver belly hat on his head
His menu was always the same, beans, taters and steak
Didn't speak English or Spanish, he mumbled and grumbled
Always was in a good mood, except when he was mad
Cowboys never complained, even if he made a mistake
Cowboyed all his life, until that old pony stumbled
Then took to cookin, the wreck messed up his leg pretty bad
He was the chef in his outside cowboy eatery, top of the line
If you were expecting fancy, Juan was not formal
In a Dutch Oven, he could make one fine cherry cobbler
Juan did like a bit of that old wine
Guess that was his way of trying to be normal
Juan Ramos, helluva a camp cook, if you could keep him sober
Don Juan In Saskatchewan
We had driven until the next new dawn,
We did find ourselves in Saskatchewan;
Lakes would love;
Mountains above;
Name of person driving was Don Juan.
James Don Juan Horn
If it was done by Juan,
Happened on an autobahn.
Give me a cup of coffee so I can face the day
Fresh from the ground beans of Senor Juan Valdez,
A magic elixir, always my morning mainstay
Give me a cup of coffee so I can face the day!
If I don’t have my coffee, someone will pay
No excuses, I do not care what anyone says,
Give me a cup of coffee so I can face the day
Fresh from the ground beans of Senor Juan Valdez.
Written August 12, 2022
[a triolet]
San Juan
The flowering trees
The island breeze
San Juan
The raised cross walk
We faint – we balk
The narrow streets
The salsa beats
The swaying palm
The driver’s calm
The soft sand beach
The natives speech
The evening rains
The food – plantains
The fortress walls
The wild bird calls
The slower pace
The warm embrace
San Juan
The humid air
The sweat soaked hair
The hotel noise
The merchant’s ploys
The taxi cost
The getting lost
San Juan
A Can of Coke with Juan
(Well, Diet Coke, because I care about my health, I guess)
One day in July as I attended the thrift store donation door, I received a strange give-away:
Several black garbage bags of a seventeen-year-old boy’s belongings that his family couldn’t stand to keep, nor did they want to throw away.
The first item of which I took note
was an unopened can of Coke,
As part of the company’s campaign taking advantage of our love of our names,
the unopened can in the bag read, “Share a Coke with Juan,” and I thought, “Okay.”
Welcoming a pause
I went to the breakroom and got a can of Coke to have while sorting through
the leftovers of a life gone too soon
He had a recent high school diploma and a drivers’ license – his first adult identification
As well as name tags from the past twelve years of his education
He had cards from his friends who, with my rudimentary Spanish I could tell,
praised his character and wished him well.
Soccer was a game in which he excelled,
For he had a large collection of beautiful first-place medals.
He even had a letter to put on his jacket
But it seems that never happened.
He had a nice watch and some trinkets from a trip to Disney
As well as a bow-tie, and at the bottom of the garbage bag I could see
There was a new credit card and new bank card that fell out of his donated wallet
And there were papers he filled out for the military and college
But now it’s all just water under the bridge
I put his certificates and cards and medals in a bag and hid them away
Hoping his family may call, and his belongings reclaim
But one day I came in and it was all gone
Just sent on – but at least I had my Coke with Juan.
Juan tells you he is an immigrant, northern mexico
that he learned to speak english in iowa
and these coupled are the reason
Juan's accent is different
Juan is not mexican
Juan lives in fear of americans
Juan in america is a raghead
a camel jockey, sand
this is not unique to america
the world is filled with such
infidel, hymie, gentile, untouchable
the word hardly matters
the effect is achieved
somewhere in the stratum
there is a lesser being
and while all are not as such
there are more than enough
to keep men such as Juan
ashamed of their heritage
the most segregated hour is 10 a.m.
on sunday morning, those easy pieties
of the church bizarre
mr. jackson sits in front of his mirror
in a prominent section of los angeles
mutilating himself into a white man
sometimes society is so successful
in its emasculation
we become our own honkey
then again, how can we be asked
to give up our
when even god seems to refuse
Phoenix 93
Don't invite a statue to your party.
Don't mess with beings made of stone.
Frail mortals are much more hearty,
so keep safely to weak flesh and bone.
Don Juan, that notorious rake,
seduced ladies, we know, by the score.
No loaf would he let overbake.
He had no time for morals and law.
His wickedness led to perdition.
He took many a step too far.
He bet on his deathbed contrition,
which at last just fate would debar.
As I grow into the women I was created to be I stumbled upon the man that I felt was made
for me… I have to admit my flaws was the reason this union could never be but it could
never hide the love I felt for thee
Now that I’m stronger, wiser, and no longer spiritually bankrupted I still pray that one
day this man could muster the words that I long to hear…
Love he stated I knew nothing about….
Silly girl you should never love with expectations, limitations but with an open heart
full of acceptance…and unselfishness
As my heart sank deeper into this harden shell of rejection and despair I stand screaming
to the top of my lungs I DO KNOW WHAT LOVE IS…
But unfortunately he does not notice or hear me… when I pray at night that my soul will
win this fight SO I CAN finally get this walk of salvation right…
But precious KING of mine I do know what LOVE IS: unselfish loyal and benevolent concern
for the good of another
Never have I ever wished you any harm my precious KING or that you lack any of GODS FAVOR
LOVE WILL MAKE YOU DO THAT… PRAY FOR SOMEONE NO MATTER WHAT…
But as I always do my KING I will go back and start this sketch yet again maybe next time
I will get the color scheme right that when you look into my eyes you can see and know
that you are loved
LOVE WILL MAKE YOU ENDURE…. EVEN WHEN YOU KNOW YOU WILL NEVER……..
REMEMBER I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN……….
Feeling sad as I see
him leave. He took my
brother and sister. What
more can he take from me.
I have always tried to be
the best I could be. Sad, mad, are
words that remind me of him.
It seemed that he didn't care
but I guess it was meant to be.
It seemed too long but hey,
I'm over it. He left, ok!
Whatever he did was best
for him. He now has a new family.
He thought he was a Don Juan
But he was actually a Don Won’t
Women did not appreciate his wolf whistles or his philandering ways
He ended up alone most nights and weekends until the end of his days
Samantha gave her Daddy a disdainful look
He’s been out again with that ripper old chook
He’s been acting all gaga, the silly old fool
Isn’t it disgusting the way that men drool
Well maybe the oldies, ain’t’ got that long
So he’s having a naughty and singing his song
Dating the sheilas they forget all about you
Taking em roses, strewth what a hullabaloo
Courting with tinnies or a plonk or two
Hitting on the good sort and lying to you
Saying your precious his own special cat
Then sneaking out to dinner, like a real dingbat
Forgetting me and his daughter the writing nerd
Wonder if today from that Yanks she’s heard
Then she’ll get a call in the middle of the night
Disturbing my slumbers …so why don’t he WRITE
Samantha she say’s “I’ll take care of you”
A quid in the pocket, she’ll soon flit through
So who’s gonna love me…well maybe that dame
Anna Banana… Holy-dooly!.. I’ve forgotten the name
She gave me a pat and whispered real sweet
Probably wants my blessing and a share of my meat
Whiskers she can’t have, nor the couch or the chair
Why are there other women? Cripes life’s unfair!
Ripper: term of approval
Chook; slang for a woman
Naughty: sex
Strewth: Exclamation of surprise
Plonk: wine
Good sort: attractive woman
Dingbat: slightly mad
Quid: two dollars
Holy- dooly: An exclamation of surprise
Whiskers: Tin cat food
Cripes: Swearing slang
En Mi Viejo San Juan!
*In My Old San Juan"
~I Just Dreamt~
Of an old, delicious flame
from Puerto Rico.
Strutting in his own unique,
Very sexy way.
Perfect hair, perfect suit.
Oh, he was just stunning.
Gliding, it seemed with his,
tall and oh, so perfect body.
His soft, dark skin too perfect
to describe.
His lips, tastier than the best
cotton candy!
Wonderful memories of you,
Rodolfo from San Juan!
Memories that are quite randy!
August 14, 2019