Best Latina Poems
Yes I know people are talking
But as for me
I'm just going to keep on walking
Girl gotta do what she needs to do
To survive these streets
Heck and nightmares
Exactly what this lady is living through
Have two
Carrying one
She a pregnant mommy left on her own
All alone
Now what is she gonna do?
Working two jobs
But a few others on the side
A Latina girl with high expectations for her money and herself
When in her small apartment
There's no room for a shelf
To place her achievements
Yeah you better believe it
A wealthy woman with a nice house
And a fresh ride
But she husslin' to make that extra money on the side
Over 100 grand is how much debt she is in
On top of it all
Her husband just died
He commited suicide
Now what is she gonna do?
Now what would you do?
If the federals were coming after you..
Ankle wrapped, lipstick gleams
Music is heard in the backbeats of faint rhythms
This is just me, and myself
There are people there Lollypop prima donnas
Modern dance bare feet rebelrinas, SpicySalsa Latina Coke Bottles
Loud and HERE hip-hop mamas
Shadows, backstage
Just me, and myself, here
Girls surround the mirror, preening like ugly hens for a rooster
That only sees himself
Lycra glittering tightly stretched, no imperfections allowed In these bodies,
messing up is no longer an option, it never was a option
Just look at the pretty picture they are painting
Dancing, speaking without voices of their own
poetry in motion, they call it
"I just want them to look at me", she says.
Right.. go ahead and dance to the beat of everyone else
Feet fretfully practicing [Fake]French with an American accent
Jeté, pas, Chaîné
S'il vous plaît danser votre coeur hors
In Attitude
Get It Shawty
This is the very last time
Just me, and myself
Lost in whispers of melodies, movement strains and scents of
Righting lefts, lefting wrongs, up and downs to my
very own song
Stage right, upper wing,
Open up the Curtains
Cue and a one, two, three
Spotlight flashes in the eyes to hide all cynical opinions, judgments are blinded
this is my stage, don’t lie to me, this is my stage
There are no lies here
Four, five, six, seven, eight, and a
And All I Wanna Do
Is just slip away
Into my own
Beat
On my Horizon Where Shines Your Light -
A Collaboration with Michael P. Clarke (Vladislav Raven)
Oh my beloved, your dark eyes enthrall,
on my horizon, your Latina heart does call.
Your beauty shining, ever out of my reach,
longing is the lesson that love does teach.
As my heart does sing your love's own dear song,
smiling in beauty, your heart does belong,
within the chambers of my heart of light,
love shines on my horizon, where shines your light.
I hope you know, my heart always sings for you,
in the tranquil dawn, adorned with morning dew.
Take me in your arms for that’s where I belong;
listen to my heartbeat ... listen to my song.
Open your soul to this rhapsody of sweet delight;
with passionate kisses under a soft halo of moonlight.
My beloved, I embrace you in the throes of lucid dreams,
where love shines on my horizon like trillions of cosmic beams.
A symphony of love's ocean shall enter our souls;
we dance in love's light as we touch passion's goals.
Beloved, your love does smile over the miles;
you are the angel who ever beguiles.
Oh Latina beauty your home is in my arms,
within love's perception show me Latin charms.
Temple caresses temple within joy's delight,
on my horizon, where shines your light.
Nourished by our love, like roses we bloom,
unfurling petals, exuding fragrant perfume.
The intensity of your essence has captured my heart;
I have loved you, my darling, from the start.
The flame of love's light burns constant and sublime,
as our hearts fill with ecstasy across space and time .
Soul to soul, we take flight on this starry night;
love shines on our horizon, where shines our light.
11-28-2018
Thank you my dear friend, Mike for inviting me to collaborate with you on this romantic piece, for your wonderful inspiration, and making it easy for me to blend my words and sentiments with yours! Love and hugs. Pandita
Only little black girl at school and her white friends admired her ‘tan’
–“I'm brown all over” she told them, proudly motioning to all her body.
But skin color can be an issue
I remember the back of the bus-
although we rarely rode it because of that.
I remember for colored only water fountains
segregated schools and lunch counters for whites only.
I remember the caste system at my high school- black step back, brown stick
around, white you all right.
I think Langston Hughes captured the cadence of it.
Bright skin girls were queens and princesses, beautiful and fair.
Black girls were well, BLACK and that was supposed to be a negative.
And then a funny thing happened on the way through the sixties-
BLACK was beautiful and the skin color dynamics began to change.
It came out of the closet and was addressed by white, black, brown, red and
yellow people.
Now skin color is celebrated in all shades and hues although
I still hear teenagers at my high school (I'm a teacher now) say things like,
"I'm not sitting out here in no sun, I don't want to get any blacker than I am."
And of course prejudice has not disappeared it has mutated and we do have
stronger defenses against it in some cases.
Interestingly even skin color defines some of my "brown" students.
They react to the "darkness" of each other and their parents, relatives and
friends.
"My mom is real dark, Miss, she don't look nothing like me."
"Miss, do you think I look like a Mexican? I don't look nothing like a Mexican."
"I'm a Latina."
"There's no such thing as a Chicano, it's something people made up, either
you're a Mexican or you're not."
"What does that mean-Hispanic?"
"I'm Cuban, Puerto Rican, and El Salvadorian, from Belize; Honduran (We got
black Hondurans, Miss)” That’s the color of skin thing.
BILINGUAL CONFRONTATION
She entrée-ed into the room and it was all so déjà vue
Because her Quebecois wiggle was timed to match the tango
But she’d met her match with the senorita from Peru
Madre de dios - que Madonna! With eyes afire from the fandango.
They locked horns just after the siesta de toros
When les beaux gars were just relaxing from the dance
And they hair-pulled and cheek-scatched around the floor-os
To see who would command the beaux gars’ romance
Brigitte had a scalp-hold on Conchita and held it grimly
And the Peruvian princess had her claws full of French cheek.
Oh, for the gentlemen they always behaved so primly,
But in a fight their rough grasps could lock for a week
In an instant Brigitte snapped the beads of the princess
And there was Peruvian horror at the loss of the necklace
So the latina grabbed the earring of the Montrealaise
And it was snapping and grabbing in manner reckless
At last the toros woke up and the lutte des chattes ended
The Spanish senorita with arms around a toro
And the Quebecoise demoiselle with her lips locked
On a beau gars for today and maybe tomorrow
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .
Note: These Spanish/French expressions are untranslatable, but
their equivalent meaning is given as follows: -
Madre de dios - que Madonna! = Holy mackerel - what a looker!
siesta de toros = snooze time for the drunken guys
les beaux gars = cool dudes
toros = guys ( hitherto drunk and asleep )
lutte des chattes = cat fight
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi ‘s Contest Bi-Lingual Poetry
Luke Laker locks lengthy lovely letters and lollypops in a
locker lying at lonesome lounge in learning field, linking
lake Lawson to the left of Larry`s law school.Lady Latoya a
Latina licks Luke Laker`s lollypops , looks into and reads his lovely
letters with levity.Luke Laker loses his cool,lashes and lunges
for Latoya and their lips locked in... a long lasting kiss of life,
just like licking lollypops and lemonade.
Later Luke weds Latoya legitimately in a large littoral land zone.
Griselda Blanco, “The Black Widow”,
Female Narcotráfico
Killed her husband through suspicion,
And so took out the competition.
Cocaine Godmother, “La Madrina”,
Infamous Queen-pin Latina,
Her means of death her own creation,
Motorcycle assassination
Labels, 2010
V. Ortiz Vazquez
Girl, teenager, young adult, woman
Hispanic, Latina, Puerto Rican
Sister, aunt, godmother
Lesbian, woman of color
How important are these labels?
Why use them to define myself?
Better, use to be boxed within brackets
Brackets many times use to oppress me and those a like
Box me
Reduce at time, close to nothingness
Trap within groups
Recycling stereotypes, unfairness
Idiotic
Other times, forgotten
I am a woman
A Puerto Rican woman that is
I am a daughter
A Puerto Rican daughter, know this
Born to privileges that do not really exist
I am a Puerto Rican woman who loves another woman
Rights denied
Ignorance still prevail in 2010
I am brown skinned
How important is this? I don’t know, Do you?
Yet, I will not trade the following:
Daughter, aunt, godmother, woman of color, Puerto Rican
They provide an experience taken for granted by many
At times an understanding that others dream off
A strength given, passed down
Not forced or taken
I am the labels you love to hate
I am the labels you hate to love
When I was a kid we watched with hearts aglow
and Snow White’s skin was always white as snow.
But all bossy and meaner
Snow White is now Latina
and heigh-ho heigh-ho it’s off to smirk they go!
Well the folks at Disney have changed it all since
and real dwarfs too offensive they try to convince.
Virtue signalling I see
that toxic masculinity
so sadly there’ll be no more kiss from a prince!
Written: March 2025
She had a smile that captured
The very essence of you
Sweet and soft words
A Latina who descended from the heavens
Her sweet voice would melt you
Till you become the water around her
Then it dawned on you
She was as cold as ice
Her white dress became black
Her beauty became her sword
She swiftly cut open your heart
Your blood flowed onto her
Crimson red Queen
She who devoured you
Your soul now empty
Her heart still Cold as ICE
Her smile forever frozen upon the tomb of your heart
Las Boricuas Latinas bailan
Dance your Salsa
Dance your Merenque
Dance your history
Of conquest and survival
Las Boricuas Latinas bailan
Debajo de las Palmas
En sue colored brillantes
Against the clear white sand
In broad flowing skirts
Filled with freedom and life
Singing loud, Musica de mi
Proud people
Lifting up the sorrow soul
From depths of despair
Let the Congas rap and the
Trumpets scream;
Timbales, get out of control
Ivory keys chime along
Cantan una cancion Latina
De la Isla del Encanto
Cantamos con el Coqui'
My people, humble people,
Happy people, make your
Sound loud!
Bailan Oh! Chicas
No dejan de bailar
Cantan las historias de
Mi jente - no callan mas!
Excerpt from my book "The Big Apple Turns Briwn
When You Slice It" selected poems and shirt
strokes of my Nuyorican Culture. Published 2002
www.authorhouse.com
Yes I did
I picked the wrong one
And every time I look back
The angrier I get
The worse I feel.
Because the heart is a fool
it never learns
And it never gets any better
The commitment made
Without any follow through
Was the mistake I made with you
And I know you regret the kiss
You regret how much you opened your heart to me
And I never got to apologize
But you can never amount to my regret
And that is my sentence
To me from you
The "what if" that stabs and stings
The mistake I made that snaps and rips
Because my hearts a fool
And can't see through flesh to the demons inside
It will never learn
But it knows love
It knows loss
It knows pain
And it knows regret
I threw so much away with an elementary desire
I played into that childish game
I knew the rules and lost anyway
I traded in passion
For cheap desire
And lost the one true thing I admired
Dark hair not brown nor black
Obsidian eyes, the window to your heart
Latina Hips that sway to your own beat
So ready to give
So ready for love
With the glow of loyalty and an eagerness to commit
I took and took and took
With no intention to give
I'm sorry I'm so late
For the promise of love
Is my intended gift
From me to you
I wish I knew better
But when you listen to a heart that's a fool
The only thing you know is love, loss, pain and regret
By Nicholas A. Bello
Modern Slavery, 2011
V. Ortiz Vazquez
Ivory black covered in crimson blood
Rhythm of fears hides his God like stand
Scared by his image, he castrates the family violating the house jewel
Jewels
Dreams of home a man’s song
Lyrics of hope cascades with every opportunity
Betrayed by those of his suit
Eyes shut, eyes open
Glimpse of a new life
Or so was the hope
Shackles gone or so it seems
Weight lifted or so it feels
Dragging
Caught in the web
Familiar, chameleon the perpetrator
Multicolor no longer neutral, white
Greed’s trap, your dreams
Twenty first century, invisible yet here
Weighted by my afro hair, big lips, brown skin, accent, womanhood
No lyrics of hope
Silently I write
Few safe ears listen, no questions
Wealth not within my reach
Distance, hazy, foggy “anhelos”
To break through
Struck down not once but twice by your greed
Or, my greed?!
Label me a woman, Latina, Spanish speaker, lesbian, sinner, working class
Shackled by your God like demeanor
Puppeteer is you
Puppet is I and those alike
Wearing the mark
Working class
Living for “migajas”
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those pee pill
born south of the border pooped and pissed
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle wetback ranked big hest
catch also including booby prize,
as you correctly guessed.
7/10/2018
I used to think a mother was just somebody who made babies
I used to think if I made one, my child would save me.
They'd tell me once you got a kid, you gotta let go of your dreams
no time for college when you gotta cook, change diapers and clean.
I thought I'd have his baby if I couldn't be his wife
but I was only 19 knowin nothing bout life
Girls my age already had 2 kids and an ACS case
stayed wit their mommas or their baby daddys place
head out to clubs and parties while friends watch the kid
not knowing the male presence that stalked over the crib
too busy on their iPhones to notice their 2 year old fell
the baby's hungry chewing up all the drugs daddy left to sell.
Black and Latina women viciously beatin their children
you can hear it all throughout the project building
The anger of being a single teenage mother on welfare
almost worse than when her man kicked her 7 month pregnant belly down the stairs.
The first vision of mom and pops is in family court
cuz he ain't paying no more child support
either way it's spent on pedicures not pampers
daddy misses every visit buyin himself drinks and private dancers.
I used to think a mother was just somebody who made babies
I just hope my child doesn't ever grow to hate me.
Mommy's drowning with depression, daddy's battling being bipolar
pain was our cursed connection, it got worse once he got sober.
Don't ever doubt we loved each other and you
but when daddy saw red, mommy only saw blue.
I'm sorry I cried so much with you in my womb
sorry if you felt papi throw me across the room.
I worried about you baby so I had to leave
it was bad but not worse than I'd ever been beat.
Vow to never let you go through all the stuff I did
though I want him around...I got more than enough love to give.
Dear unborn baby, I've spent 36 weeks carrying you inside
my love only grows as I feel you ready to arrive.
I used to think a mother was just somebody who had babies
but there's a difference between my "mother" and the "woman who made me."