Best Mex Poems
*The feline Texan way*
A clean coat of paint - on my nails
Red shade of lips - on my smile
Solid oak charms - on my wrist
Country music - around my core
Flattering eyes - a rustic shell.
Join me in a "Country Girls Tale"
~~
Every day I draw near the morning dawn,
Abide by the landscape towards the new Texas sun
A track of yellow roses and cactus galore
I brand my name everywhere I travel
Allowing you near the bounds of my Wild West soul
I maintain it above the snake level everywhere I roll
Got my head up like a cowgirl,
Men around my black leather chaps
I tilt my bull hide hat leaving behind a sweet Texas Trail
Driving down a midnight Texan storm
It takes more than raindrops to knock me from my- “2-Steppin’ world.”
A windy ride, bruises under the hide taking it in like- “A Real Cowgirl!”
I got a tight hold on my saddle, holding on to a brighter morrow
Enjoying the voices and the sound
Tex-Mex lingo, round and round
Ropers and Wranglers are how I dress
I'm all covered, except for the top of my chest.
Living’ it up^, down here in the south.
Erin’ the lungs, shooting up the sport
Long necks’ and kissing under a rodeo’ moon.
Honky-Tonk, tattooing the mockingbird.
Down here:
You will see me sitting on the Country ground,
Peacefully staring into the optics of the "Alamo Stars."
Falling with the art found in the flag I hold.
I am The Wild!
I am The West!
“— A little dotty, but civilized!”
Enjoying the morning breeze,
Where the dew sits on the tip of Mother Nature’s tongue.
There and only there you will find me,
Under the brightest Texas Star
Today for lunch I dined on some Tex-Mex cuisine,
jalapeno topped enchiladas and refried beans;
a favorite here in Texas, that can’t be denied,
but this afternoon I am battling the fire inside.
Washed it down with a margarita and wedge of lime,
it was very soothing and delicious at the time.
It gave my head a little buzz and made me cross-eyed,
but now my gut is suffering from this fire inside.
I used to have no trouble eating this spicy food,
but now it causes burning in my stomach to intrude.
And yet I do not worry for in my desk does hide
a jar of Tums to relieve me from this fire inside.
November 7, 2017
Poem of the Day - November 8, 2017
Where do I come from? Well we all come
from somewhere. I was born in a small
town, here in in good old U S of A. South
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission
Texas is the town's name.
My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said - she came from
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
side.
On my father's side, never knew too much,
only that the grandmother died kind of
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.
My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.
I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had
something to eat. My mother made my dresses
so that I could go to school.
I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School.
I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree.
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
engineers.
My parents taught me good values that have helped
me through out life. I am not ashamed of my
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...
Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.
written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
The Beast ( La Bestia )
You might wonder - who or what is the Beast?
The Beast in Spanish means - La Bestia. The
Beast is a cargo train that travels from Ciapas
Mex. - to Sonora Mex.
Throughout the years alot of people have gotten
on that train. They all come from Central America.
They want to come to the U.S. to look for the
American Dream.
The people call it - La Bestia, the train of Death and
the train of Hell. A lot of people have lost their lives
through out the years. They fall asleep and fall down
or fall trying to get on the train.
In the month of August of 2013, Ia Bestia derailed and
a lot of boxcars went down. a lot of people lost their lives
fifteen were from Honduras. Others were seriously injured
and had to go to hospitals. Some had horrible deaths and
still others survived.
The people know about these dangers, but they still keep
trying to come here. Now you know about The Beast, the
train of Death and the train of Hell. It is easy for us to say
why do they take those chances.
We already have our lives established here. If we go to other
Countries - it would be for pleasure. Those people are very poor
in their Countries and their Government don't help. I think that we
all have the right to pursue a better life. If we had been born there
we would maybe do the same thing.....
09/12/2013
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Mission, Texas ( where I am From )
M...My home town is Mission, My state is Texas.
I...It is by the Southern part of Texas, by the Mexican border.
S...Some good Tex Mex. food can be found there.
S...Some winter Texans have adopted this place.
I...It is known for it's hot climate.
O...Over the years it has grown, but not much.
N...New comers are always welcome.
T...Texas is known for it's Cowboys. Rodeos and Southern hospitality.
E...Everything in Texas is big, even our Texas jokes.
X...Xoom into Texas and you shall see- just how we can be.
A...Always a big smile to welcome you, just come on over and see what's new.
S...Seeing is believing, so they say, so how about it - are you game?
04/06/2014
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
For contest - Where I am From
"Tex-Mex," en breve;
"tejano-mexicano,"
en forma larga.
Traducción: [Translation:]
["Tex-Mex," in short; "Texan-Mexican," in long form.]
Recuento sílaba española por: [Spanish syllable count by:]
http://marello.org/tools/syllabifier/
Mound of beans and rice
Lettuce shreds with tomato
Onion, ebony
Olive rings in salsa and
Guacamole; sour cream top;
Tex-mex mound,
Feast!
The Tex-Mex festival was bountiful
But it scratched my innards, much like steel wool
When the cramps began
Oh, how fast I ran
My impersonation of Old Faithful
attacking with achiote
burns with botanas
challenging us with chalupas
deluge of dulce
elotes by the ear
frightening flan
gouged with guacamole
heaping on the hongas
isla isolation
jugo huge jagged jugs
KKKKKKKKKK
langosta lunges
monumental mezcal
no count nopalitas
organized ostion
pummeling pepino
quivering quesadillas
rebelling relleno
sandia sword fights
tortured tamales
uvas uprising
venting vedura
war of the no "W" words
xnipec xanadu
yerbabuena yells
zanahoria zealots
delight in the week
end-even with no plans much
comp dinner is fun
with friends not seen in
a bit meet in the middle
for some great tex mex
will have my usual
then cucumber martini
which defines delight
maybe get to see
wrenna wreena beaux benna
catch Boz on the phone
might not make my bed
on sunday would that make it
sinday? being real bad
bout to have pow wow
with my sugar baby man
begin the upward
spiral back to the
land of delight like days back
communication
Being the worlds chief of police
Is so overrated
With all that we do
And they all still hate us
We're only here
To keep up the peace
Spread our name brand
Of Democracy
If you don't love us
Then kindly leave us
If you don't trust us
Won't hurt our feelings believe us
We'll bring it to order
One way or another
Kick out the leaches
Close down the borders
Once that is done
And they're out on their bums
We'll build us a wall
From the North to South run
The only thing Canadian
That we will let in
Is Celine Dion
And their cheap medicine
And that little Chihuahua
From down below
Cause we love Taco Bell's
Mex food to go
As far as the Middle east
They can do as they please
We won't be around
To kick sand in our face
We'll pull out of there
Our American troops
Not just a few of the lucky
But one hundred proof
They can fight it all out
Amongst themselves
If they stick with the program
There'll be nobody left
We'll turn in our nukes
We won't need them no more
As we won't be playing
In their silly wars
We will be by ourselves
Closed off from it all
Unplug the phone
If they try to call
Live in our bubble
Stay out of trouble
No longer hang out
With that bunch of numskulls
So lock up the door
Turn out the light
Toss out the key
As we say goodbye..
Upon the first date (decades ago) with the gal,
whose troth aye did pledge allegiance to wed
we agreed to dine at an ex-mex eatery
in north Wales, Pennsylvania, where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrand – translations spit out in rapid fire Hispanic
by a beady eyed inked kid named Ned
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiked gelled green hair, piercings galore and
necklace with a genetically modified sizable
entombed glass encased amber ked
which beastly fully intact organism with a miniature grisly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me tell nudged out of trance sans this egghead
who make a selection by randomly
landing finger on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst to the arbitrary choice this senior made
within an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice that quelled hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling sensation played
though impropriety struggled with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous, would induce an air raid
from this “wind bag”, whose saving grace divine, when wallet of suede
discover herd visa vis tubby devoid of cash, thus and excuse to beat the tirade
of volcanic eruption found me bolting
out the restaurant door fortunately not waylaid
and madly dashing (like some comet fiery dancer)
performing a cheeky number hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys to be tapped, thus prancer
two step extemporaneously incorporated while await the ATM to disburse cash
legal tender coveted akin to Cupid sprinkling spell of romancer
while expulsion of noxious fumes from thine sphincter from this hob er dasher
brought relief as aye nonchalantly strolled inside
the cozy diner and slipped into me seat
disinclined to relate vents to future spouse,
the bodily aeration and stream of urine from me magic flute
which amazingly synchronized with the Maximus glute
from consuming food triggering tushy to toot.
Thoroughly cook meat in
the special seasoning.
Then place in corn shell with
tangy cheese, sliced onions,
tomatoes and lettuce.
Top with lots of sour cream -
Tasty Tex-Mex food YUM!
Take chicken, pork or beef.
Then cook your meat like it’s
Tex-Mex style! Prepare shells
To fill up with the meat.
Top with lettuce, sour cream,
Tomatoes, onions, and
Tons of cheese. So tasty!
April 26, 2021 checked by Howmanysyllables.com
For Kim Merryman's Pleiades T Poetry Contest
*This poem is sung to the music of Sade's seminal song, "Smooth Operator."
Intro:
He’s ranting with a spiteful hurl,
and taunting with a choler heart
Spewing crude statements, making lewd comments
He’s hated in seven languages
Zircon nights and silicon lights, sinthetic high in the sky
Hades help him, when he falls
Crass carat life, grifter boy
He crawls in space with hubris haste and mischievous joy
Backroom lights and back alley nights
Few do enquire his penthouse ire of shakedown heights
No place for losers or gullible hearts
when his diss enchantment wants to lip dance
Got head space for suckers with nowhere to pity park
Chorus:
Mo’ jeers to cast,
he’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
Roast to roast, NY to Fargo, vitriol rail
Across the Rio water
and Mex border, to Amarillo, insults assail
He’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
Cobra face do debase,
he viper coax and venom tox
Boa greed to disgrace
A license to hate, annoyance to scold
Forge all your apathy pain into fools goad
His thoughts volcanic glow, but his words erupt cold
Chorus:
No cheers to cast,
he’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
Roast to roast, NY to Fargo, vitriol rail
Across the Rio water
and Mex border, to Amarillo, insults assail
Mo’ jeers to cast,
he’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator