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Best Spanish Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Spanish poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of spanish poems written by PoetrySoup members

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The Meaning of Bread and Tortillas

"Mi primo" means my cousin in Spanish.
He calls me his "primita"- little cousin.
This is the story of how mi primo
Taught me about the meaning of bread;
Of the meaning of tortillas...
He and I are exchanging languages 
Over Dairy Queen chicken strips;
I repeat the words he teaches me
Back to him in my all-american 
White girl accent,
Trying to learn how to Salsa 
With a tongue that only knows
How to stumble over the trills
And rapid-fire hot-sauce syllables-
He makes me say them again and
Again until I sound like a distorted 
Calle 13 track on repeat...
Mi primo offers me the bread
That came with his meal;
I ask him why he doesn't want it.
He says he doesn't eat bread;
He is Hispanic; he eats tortillas-
Do I know tortillas?-
He gestures, indicates the 
Flat, full moon-shaped
Circle of a torilla with his hands.
Si, I know tortillas.
What I want to know is-
What the heck do tortillas have to do
With whether you eat bread or not?
So mi primo tells me una historia
About a guy he knows,
20-something and something else...
All his family came from Guatemala;
He was brought up going to a church 
With a pastor that preached sermons
That trilled like heavenly trumpets;
He has skin that was colored warm 
As if he had grown up kissed by 
The sun of his family's homeland;
He knew how to speak English but
His mother tongue was always Spanish-
His cousins were his best friends
Because being "un Guate" means
Knowing the meaning of "la familia"...
He learned at age 21
That he was born in America.
Eagerly, he shed his Hispanicness like
A snake skin that had grown too tight,
Clutching at the revelation of his birthplace
Like a get-out-of-jail free card,
Hides the color of his face behind
The red, white, and blue of his
Irrevocable Americanness... 
He doesn't go to church anymore,
Because American guys don't 
Have time for God;
He buys big, fancy cars he doesn't have 
A prayer of paying off because
American girls are supposed to like
That kind of thing;
He tries not to remember 
The meaning of la familia...
And he always eats bread-
His tongue has suddenly turned
Too American to abide the taste,
The flatness, of las tortillas...
He is the reason that mi primo cannot 
Abide the taste of bread, too thick
With the flavor of betrayed heritage
To sit easy in his stomach...
Mi primo offers me,
His little blonde all-American cousin,
The bread he doesn't want.
I wonder if one day he'll
Mean the word "primita" enough
To offer me a tortilla.

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014

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Taco Shells

Taco shells are made of yellow corn meal. They are tasty and crunchy, and usually a good deal. You can stuff them with ground beef, chicken, or even fish. Fill them up with plenty of whatever you wish. Tacos are something folks north of the Rio Grande adore. However, they break too easily and spill their contents on the floor.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

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A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION - collab with JA Fraser

A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION Proudly standing amidst three lochs, verdant hills a Castle enciente breathing beauty but sadly chants passed feuds sparking battles having harried their foe and it's demise caused by Frigates cannonball screams. Colonel MacRae-Gilstrap rebuilds now redeemed: stoned arch bridge supersede the sea highway flow, circular stairs and ceilings with coat of arms grants changes made but its history today remains still Tourists not deterred by ghost tales scary extreme But await they exercise for imaginations to show the setting, a romantic reincarnation that enchants attracted lovers to celebrate their matrimonial thrill Eilean Donan Castle in its stunning reachable location pose the Western Highlands of Scotland a temptation. Written by: Olive Eloisa Guillermo and James Andrew Fraser 8:46 pm; August 18, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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Notes on Dating a Latino: What You Don't Learn in High School Spanish Class

One. Latino boys like Buffalo Wild Wings. It isn't clear why, but it's definitely emerging as a pattern.

Two. Latino boys are persistent. When he asks to kiss you for the first time, say no. Why? Because you've known him for a matter of weeks and he is not your boyfriend yet. Don't worry... he will continue to ask every week until you say yes.

Three. Latino boys are really good kissers.

Four. Latino boys love their family. His cousins are best friends, so you probably already know several of them. If any of his cousins also like you, you might think this is problematic. Your boyfriend will tell you that it's normal, and it's just because they're jealous, and not to worry about it. You will probably worry about it anyway. Sometimes it's better to let things go.

Five. Latino boys are romantic. He will tell you how he loves you in two languages and struggle to find an apt metaphor which he can pronounce in the English language. Since his English isn't perfect, he uses his hands to compensate when he speaks,  uses a tilt of his head, a shift in his voice; he says most with his eyes, when he isn't speaking at all.

Six. Notice how he lights up when he smiles at you, like the sunrise... remember that the word for smile in Spanish is sonrisa.

Seven. When he offers to teach you the meringue, say yes. When you trip over each other's feet, laugh. When his face moves close to yours... kiss him.

Eight. When your racist father starts talking about socioeconomic classes, remind him that unlike your brother's American friends, your friends are sober. (Well, more sober. Do not bring up tequila. They're not potheads, at least.) Besides, your Spanish teacher is thrilled with your miraculous improvement in spoken Spanish.

Nine. When you go bowling with him and his cousins and he whispers in your ear that people are staring at us, tell him it's just because they're jealous that I have a boyfriend that will dance with me in public.

Ten. "Te amo" is a phrase that sounds prettiest when whispered.

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014

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El Puente Nuevo, Ronda, Spain 1936

Listen to poem:
Look how they fall like angels to the earth!
But no soft landing down amongst those rocks.
Those devils on the bridge with gleeful mirth
Terrorised the townsfolk as wolves do flocks
Of sheep at lambing time. For all their worth,
They searched shuttered houses and smashed the locks
Of any door, they could not open wide,
Dragged out the frightened men hiding inside

Battered them senseless to the dusty ground
In gutters, awash with their comrades’ blood
Each in their own vomit and bile half-drowned.
They lay gasping like fish stranded on mud.
The narrow streets echoing with the sound
Of their screaming and each rifle-butt’s thud.
My God, who are these beasts in human form
Whose hearts the desert sun could never warm?

They are Francisco Franco’s native troops,
Moroccan Regulares, so I’m told.
Free to rape and kill, they are the first groups
Into attack. Completely uncontrolled,
Each Regulare picks his prey and swoops
Raping, maiming, and killing young or old.
Just the threat of unleashing these fierce hawks
Compels Comrade Republicans to talks.

Copyright © Alexander Blackie | Year Posted 2017

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Madrid del Dia

    Senses overwhelmed, history revealed,
           I step into Plaza Mayor.
   Antique hues of pinks and grays stun.
           Madrid welcomes me.

    Late sun casts golden shadows.
          Camaraderie envelops.
        I peel my brain for words.

       Spanish brass serenades,
           a musical aperitif.
       Thoughts turn to supper,
           as I walk and walk.

  I see it, “Menu del Dia” in amber and red.
        Savory breeze guides me.
  It reads, "Tapas, Chorizo y Jamon",
              I can’t resist

      Vino Tinto completes me
         as I wonder the day.


Everyone said, “Always order the Menu del Dia”
With that and little else, I headed for Spain

Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2017

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Pienso, quiero y desearia

A veces, quisiera gritar,

Quisiera correr,

Quisiera reir,

Quisiera llorar,

Quisiera morir,

Quisiera iluminación,

Quisiera vivir,

Quisiera escapar,

Quisiera revivir...

A veces, pienso en ustedes,

Pienso en espacio,

Pienso nublado,

Pienso oscurecido,

Pienso esclarecido,

Pienso en transparencia,

Pienso en huesos,

Pienso en naturaleza,

Pienso en actuar,

Pienso en todo...

Desearía volver a amar como antes,

Desearía saber más allá,

Desearía expresar más de lo normal,

Desearía unas manos agarrar,

Desearía en hombros impregnar,

Desearía contigo llorar,

Desearía contigo caminar,

Desearía tus abrazos recibir,

Desearía mi corazón de plata y titanio arreglar,

Desearía mi mente repasar...

Desearía que no me traicionaran,

Desearía con besos y amistad despertar,

Desearía en un paraíso soñar,

Desearía a todos concientizar,

Desearía a todos impresionar,

Desearía construir nuevos horizontes,

Desearía adversidades borrar,

Desearía romper leyes,

Desearía ser libre,

Desearía a todos ayudar,

Aunque me cueste la vida...

Pienso en querer el deseo infinito,

Quiero un amor eterno,

Deseo uno amistad inquebrantable,

Para no morir más...

Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

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Para Mi Familia Y Amistades

Para Mi Familia Y Amistades Si ustedes estan aqui sentados, escuchando estas Palabras es porque yo ya no soy de este mundo. Yo todavia estoy aqui pero ustedes no me pueden ver. A ustedes mis hijos - quiero decirles que siempre los ame mucho con todo mi corazon. Yo nunca tuve riquesas en este mundo. Mi mas grande Tesoro fue haber los tenido a ustedes, fueron el Tesoro que Dios me mando. Yo los cuide lo major que pude. Dejen que Dios conforte sus almas y limpie sus lagrimas. Despuez sigan sus vidas y el tiempo curara su dolor. Ahora yo tengo que emprender una jornada, pero tengo que hacerla sola/solo. Por favor no lloren por mi. No he muerto, estoy empezando una vida nueva. Traten de vivir una vida recta y buena. Mantenganse siempre cerca de Jesus y asi estaran cerca de Dios. Pronto nos volveremos a ver. Cuando ustedes suban las escaleras de oro - sere yo quien los encuentre alli. A mi familia y amistades les quiero decir - gracias por los anos y tiempos que pasamos juntos. Por los tiempos que reimos y los tiempos que lloramos. Como ustedes saben - todo llega a su fin. Ahora yo les dejo aqui mi ultimo adios. Desde Arriba yo le pedire a Jesus nuestro Senor que los bendiga a todos y cada uno de ustede. Adios...
08/19/2014 By Lucilla M. Carrillo

Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2014

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La Sociedad de Miradas

Camino en sociedad de ignorancia,
Donde palacios son corruptos por efectos de arrogancia;
Pasan por nuestros lados,
Echando el ojo, tratando de disimular;
Donde la conciencia es absentista,
Donde todos dicen ser abstencionistas,
Pero, todos son ambiciosos, consumidos y absorbidos por hipocresía...

Camino en sociedad abolicionista,
Donde abolicionan toda aventura,
Donde la única aventura es abolir la sociedad,
Siendo una sociedad abstraída y egoísta,
Poniendo todo lindo, pero con abusividad escondida,
Siendo una sociedad de imbéciles accionistas,
Mostrando intransigencia acérrima y decisiva,
Pero, todos son perezosos basados en negligencia anarquista...

Camino en sociedad de advertencia,
Donde los reprimidos quedan agrisados,
Donde los rechazados y solitarios quieren valentía,
Donde la paz social va desvaneciendo,
Donde la minoría quiere acracia y amnistía de la sociedad,
Para derrocar la corona trastornada y distorcionada...

Camino en sociedad amorfa,
Donde nos han forzado ansias a través de propaganda alarmista,
Donde existen muchos agiotistas fraudulentos,
Donde propias convicciones son raramente afianzadas y aseguradas,
Donde la autoridad permanece en mordacidad y acrimonia,
Donde los realistas son fastidiados y ajusticiados,
Donde las miradas autoritarias son falsamente alegatorias,
Donde muchos permanecen injustamente en incertidumbre ambigua...

Solo a través de sabios ojos,
Es que existen verdaderas experiencias;
Con mirada fiera,
Con mirada de ira,
Con mirada desamparada,
Con mirada sigilosa,
Con mirada misteriosa;
Con toda mirada real existe vida lúcida y estragos mortíferos...

Camino en sociedad de odio,
Donde toda mirada se vuelve rencorosa,
Camino en sociedad de miradas,
Donde las paredes escuchan y hablan,
Donde las divisiones son provocadas,
Apuñalando nuestras espaldas;
Piensan que es un simple juego de carcajadas,
Pero, todos son hipócritas a través de siniestras miradas,
Que me tratan de dejar en agrafia,
Con el juego de las miradas...

Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

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Borinquen Soy

El conjunto plena... 
trio tumbao
aguas buenas 
sueños arbolitos 
sueños de pino 
siempre unidos 
la fuerza de mi padre 
el sabor gitano 
de mi madre 
gritos del cacique 
tierra de mi gente 
Sangre de poeta
Luz de mi sol
Siempre en mi corazón
Borinquen soy 
hoy y en las 

Copyright © Tonytocaa Camacho | Year Posted 2015

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Ode to Mi Corazon

As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.

I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.

Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Her hair,
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.

She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.

She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.

Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.

She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!

We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

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If I Love You

"If she loves you," they tell you,
"This will be a problem."
I am una niña, a little girl-
And you are too old for me,
Too young to know
What you're doing,
Too careless to be cautious,
Too Hispanic to be safe
In a place so diverse that
Teenage boys
Are always classified by race-
You are too beautiful 
To be resistible.
But I promise not to love you.
I promise not to need you.
I won't kiss you where 
Anyone can see, and I
Won't cry when you leave me-
Yes, I know you will,
I'm not so young as idiocy-
I can be your secret,
As long as you are mine...
And if I write you love poems...
I'll write them in the dark.
I'll recite them to the shadows,
And no one has to know.
You never have to know
I ever lied.

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014

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Sociedad Quebrantada

Esta sociedad ciega esta en crisis,

Es la causante de la corrució caótica,

Solo viven de la intención inseguros,

Sin saber qué es la determinación,

Dejándose llevar por una doctrina quebrantada...


La sociedad solo vive por vivir,

No dejando legados,

Sino dejando marcas.

Por eso, la sociedad aclama saber,

Pero en realidad no saben nada,

En comparación a los reales sabios...


Pero, la sociedad rechaza,

La sociedad reprime,

Y la sociedad restringew a los sabios,

A veces por envidia,

Ya que están cegados por ambición y pendejadas...


La sociedad rechaza el ideal de los sabios,

Pero dejan a tontos e imbéciles libres al mundo;

A éstos les encanta vidajenear,

Por solo romper privacidad...


Solo pocos aprecian la amistad y el amor;

Otros se limitan a sí mismos y se ciegan;

Luego, se transmutan a incrédulos ambiciosos,

Sin propia convicción...


Por eso, muchos ambiciosos y mentirosos,

Recurren a la religión, en últimos instantes;

Pero, en últimos instantes es que éstos,

Mueren en propia cobardía e hipócrita sanidad...


No existe tal cosa como perfección,

Solo existe la compleja simpleza o la simple complejidad;

Pero, nada es imposible,

Ya que no hay límites en la posibilidad...


Por eso, no todos los que aventuran se pierden;

No todos los que exigen, aplican lo exigido;

No todos los que miran, observan;

No todos los que oyen, escuchan;

No todo el que hiere, merece;

No todas las heridas, sanan;

No todos los que inhalan, respiran;

No toda sonrisa es feliz;

No toda boca, habla;

No toda sangre y lágrima es en vano;

No toda mente y corazón son puros e inocentes;

No todos los que actuan, piensan;

No todos los que piensan, analizan;

No todo el que analiza, siente;

No toda alma es neutral y digna;

No todo el que existe, vive;

Y no todo el que vive, sobrevive...

Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

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May the Love of Jesus Touch You

May the Love of Jesus Touch You!

May the love of Jesus bless and touch you!
May his presence be with
 and uplift you!

May the joys of the love make
 you complete!
And touch you, from your
 head to your feet!

May the glory of the lord
 be with and keep you!
His majestic power can really touch you!

May the words that he’s spoken,
touch your spirit!
His mercy and salvation… 
 He freely give it!

May the sweetness of Jesus,
 into your life bring!
His righteousness and beauty!  
Your everything!

May you take some time
 with Jesus in prayer?
How much he loves you! 
 How much he cares!

By Jim Pemberton    07.28.13

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013

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My Most Memorable Vacation

There is a place so beautiful I'd love to see again.
My dream vacation started in Madrid, in central Spain.
How I long to stroll again down by Retiro Lake
and see El Prado art museum. Then for old time's sake,
I'd find some iced “horchata” down by Alcala Gate,
and later see Flamenco at a bar where folks stay late.

Come tag along with me as I remember old Castile.
We'll bring potato omelets in french loaves for our meal.
In any one direction, heading north, east, south or west,
is something quite amazing for your senses to digest.
A cross upon a peak is near the great Escorial.
And Avila, by Romans built, is circled by a wall.

Segovia, Toledo, and further by the sea,
lies Valencia. That's a place I want to be!
Try the calamares (squid). I like it best when fried!
Oranges abound and the paella's bona fide.
In March , through all Valencia there is a grand display:
people burning giant statues made of papier mache.

Northward are the Pyrenees, rugged, vast and green,.
Sheep in fields, refreshing clime, and villages serene.
There's bustling Barcelona if we journey up the coast.
Farther west, along a bay in Galicia, I like most
a place named San Sebastian, a very lovely town.
It has some trees with tops like cute umbrellas upside down.

Last, to Don Quixote's Andalucia -south let's drive
where for centuries the moors' enlightenment could thrive.
Cordoba, Granada, and Seville we have to visit.
The mosques with marbled columns at Cordoba are exquisite.
Granada has a palace like none you've ever seen.
The ornate rooms and gardens were fair pleasures for a queen.

Malaga I never saw, but  if ever I should go
back to Spain, that's a beach I really want to know.
So many different nations arrived on Spanish shores:
Greeks, Phoenicians, Visigoths, Carthaginians, Celts and Moors.
Iberia is fascinating. Its diversity
is so enchanting, it's the best vacation spot for me!


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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Bola de nieve

                                               Bola de nieve

                                               Triste boriken

                                              Esperanza de tu 


                                              De mar y cielo

                                            Mi gente con Dios

                                                Las palmas te 


                                             Mi musica te canta

                                          A tus playas tan divinas

                                            Los altos del campo

                                             Tamarindo chula

                                            Caminos solo para ti

                                                 Nuestro amor

                                           Tomando cafecito negro

                                            Y sonando bajo sombra

                                                    De un pino

                                                  Bola de nieve

                                               Recuerdos al pasado

                                               En mi cielo de amor

                                                 Mi Dulce color

                                                Una epoca en Los 

                                                  Ayeres de hoy

                                              Volveremos Otra vez

                                                   A mi Rincon

                                              Mi India Borincana

                                                     Los bohios

                                                   De mi gente

                                                     Mi familia

                                                 Mi Puerto Rico

                                                    Tierra Mia..


                                               All rights reserved
                                                  A.camacho jr.

Copyright © Tonytocaa Camacho | Year Posted 2015

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Estas ahi

Estas ahi??
Me pregunto que hay detras de mi reflejo obscuro en el monitor,
Estas ahi? –me pregunto sin cesar. 
añoro el sonido de tus mensajes, 
La fuerza de tus palabras
Que dia a dia estremesen mi ser
Alentando me a suguir aqui. 
Esta ahi?- pregunto nuevamente. 
Como es possible que sin saber quien sos
Invadas mis pensamientos? 
Asaltes mis Sueños??
Y alegres mi corazon???
Se que detras de mi reflejo hay alguien, 
Si eres tu, no lo se. 
Estas ahi???

Copyright © Rahima Espat | Year Posted 2015

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Miami and Mi

Miami and Mi
In Miami he sat outside a patio
on the floor against the wall
and felt the Miami breeze in December
and tried to remember
the times spent in another world
when the milieu was different
and each puff  from his Cohiba
as he sipped a glass of wine
created a euphoric essence
of time alone with his thoughts
and better things to come
and now he lived in a foreign land
for the first time in his life
and he now knew strife
away from his time and space
he had no home or money
but his wife knew her time
in Miami
he puffed again and examined his ash
he still had a car to drive  but no cash and
he always passed  the hot colored houses 
of  pink, peach `and plum, 
It's never cold or drab in Miami
 and Jesus wears a guaybera
and no one can hear ya
because se habla español
in Miami
Miami- written in July, 2003
(c) Ralph Sergi

Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2014

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San Antonio

Listen to poem:
adios gringo buenos dias muchacho hastsa la vista si signorita gracia para sombrero signore lo perdí a rio grandé cruzar sierra madré voy a san miguel san hosé, san juan pedir san antonio decir por favor Enjoy the music here.

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

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Es bonita. La agua...
		Ho, si. Es muy bonita. Como tu.
Eres loco... Quieres nadar?
		Ahorita? Hace frio!
No hace frio... no mucho...
		Si, hace frio. En el verano,
		Entonces podemos nadar.
Ho... ok. Que piensas?
		Nada. En ti. Y tu? Que piensas?
Mm... que eres un buen amigo.
Y... que amor es malo.
		Por que dices eso?
		Por que dices que 
		Amor es malo?
Es la verdad.
		Amor es bueno.
		Por que?
Amor es malo. Ya lo se.
		No, es bueno. Es perfecto.
Como puedes decir eso?
		Dios. Porque Dios es bueno,
		Y Dios es amor...
		La problema es con las personas.
		A veces las personas son malos...
		Pero amor es bueno.
Pienso que eres bueno.
Si. Claro que si.
		Y amor? Amor es bueno?
Ahorita, no se...
Pero... talvez.

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014

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Tus pequeños pies castaños
Gateando, ágiles
Pegados en las rocas
Como las patitas de una salamandra
No se aquietan
Hasta que encuentran el alto
E reposan curvándose sobre la piedra
Mientras desde allí me apuntas
Cosas que ilustran los relatos
De la vida de tu hogar
Satisfecho de que lo que me dices
Es prontamente demostrado

Sin demora quedan abajo
Y caminan a mí lado
Esos pies cobrizos
Cavando la arena
Formando huellas poco profundas
Saltando ligeros
Como sólo pueden
Los pies de un niño
Por entre las piedras
“Baryshnikov” dices de mofa
Y tus pies ya se van adelante
Como señores de tu voluntad
Hasta que te vayas entero de mi

Miro las marcas  dejadas
Tan poco han andado a mi lado
Estos chicos pies desnudos
Pero que gran distancia
Percorrieron en mi corazón.

Copyright © viviane leite | Year Posted 2016

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Algo Nuevo

Algo Nuevo

Como un bello horizonte comienza un nuevo día y una nueva vida
Una puerta se cierra y la otra la tienes que abrir
Como decía la abuela, borrón y cuenta nueva…
Las memorias del pasado se espuman con un abrir y cerrar de ojos
A descubrir nuevos recuerdos de viejos sueños
Dejar que las olas borren los pasos en la arena y a la vez crear nuevos caminos
Dejar que el sol alumbre el día y que los pájaros canten una nueva canción
El corazón vuelve a latir, las lágrimas traen nuevas sonrisas
El hoy será mañana pero un nuevo día volverá
Lo viejo se anhela con la esperanza de ser nuevo otra vez
Como un bello horizonte comienza un nuevo día y una nueva vida

July 2015

Copyright © Ana Santini | Year Posted 2015

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He turns me into
A wide-eyed little child
And he is my favorite game-
It goes like; he holds me close,
His fingers in my hair...
His breath is steady, matches mine,
His heart beats in my ear...
Now if I stroke his skin
With my fingertips, will the 
Beat of his heart quicken?
If I press myself more closely
To him, will the warmth
Of his skin rise?
If I trace the outline
Of his lips, will he murmer

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014

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El amor a primera vista

El amor a primera vista
No se define con los ojos. 
Se define con la química inexplicable 
Que toma control instantáneo
Sobre dos personas sin conocerse.

Ya sea física oh virtualmente, 
Esta emoción envuelve los sentidos de los individuos 
Obstruyendo la razón y en forzando determinación
Para ir contra viento y marea 
Con tal de poder llegar a conocerse.

Los ojos son el portal,
Atreves de ellos comienza la atracción.
Pero en caso de un ciego, ¿que?
Para poder sentir el aura y buenas energías
Tan solo necesitamos estar vivos.

El amor a primera vista no es amor.
Es un cariño puro que brota de dos.
El comienzo de algo grande 
Y la oportunidad de poder conocer,
Nacer, crecer y vivir una gran historia de amor.

Copyright © Rahima Espat | Year Posted 2015

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My Roots 2916

When I was 7, my mother told me my name was spelled wrong.
D-E-Y-S-I, No Deysi, No, In America It’s D-A-I-S-Y
I asked her why? 
I didn't understand.

She said
my father, my mother, them both,
didn’t know how to spell, coming from a foreign land,
the land of the forgotten, 
where all men and women and children my age worked in corn and cotton fields,
where family meant everything, 
where their closest friends were the pigs, the chickens, the cows and all the little things,

the soil, the rain, the tortillas and beans every night for dinner,
the corn leaves they used to make their own dolls and action figures
was their land, 
was all they could afford.

At 22, at 25, my parents crossed the border,
their Spanish written all over their arms, sliding down their chest, their breasts, 
rolling through their tongue, in fluent order
“Yo soy Latino”, “Yo soy Mexicano”, “this is me.
I am not white like he or she.” They,
were the aliens Americans spoke of,
the “delinquents”, the “danger”, the “stupid”
They are still the aliens
the Media speaks of
The overworked, the underpaid.
And it

They were born expected to climb Mount Everest,
They are over 50 years old now and they are still at the bottom,
as if they're some kind of terrorist.
struggle everyday,
around the clock to make ends meet, to pave me a way
this is why i am here today,
They, are not Delinquents. 
They are not the Danger. 
They are not Stupid

I am not Stupid.
I was planted on the ground,
My leaves bold and green, around 
My light colored pedals, My dark stem that keeps me up, I tower
breaking through New Jersey soil, 
but my roots stretch 3,000 miles south, I coil
back to Puebla, Mexico, Mi Gente, My Family,
I told my mother, I said, Gravity
doesn't weigh the spelling of my name down, 
Americans will not weigh me down Mom, 
Mi Nombre es Deysi, D-E-Y-S-I
it is not spelled wrong,
it never was, I said, it’s traditional spelling en Mexico, 
You know that!
Mom, My name says brown, like the soil you used to grow crops in your state,
Mom, My name is wealthy, richer than Carlos Slim and Bill Gates combined,
Mom, I wear my roots in my name, 
like diamonds and pearls, I show them off with no shame,
I want you to know that, 
Yo Soy De Mexico, I say every single time,
Mom, Dad, America, I am brown, and I am proud of my roots.

Copyright © Deysi Reyes | Year Posted 2016