Best Tortillas Poems
"La Voz"
La Noche sin agua --- I spill my loving lips
Dancing, laughing, and celebrating life
I am his queen, aka' dulce Nina
A night he must not forget
Lunesta ... Suave ...
He savors every moment;
Then questions my capabilities
Suddenly I feel like a refugee in my own house!
History and bad company, repeating itself
He wants to ruin the beauty of leadership
America on top, Latinos on the bottom
"Legally," he says, he'll welcome me
Law-abiding, I pass the proper speech
Stereotyped every time I share my race
Casting my poor nationality under the Rio Grand,
A wall too tall, in which my people continue to build
After I give him my all
Children, love, support
The best tortillas in the house
He offends a lifetime of memories
I'm a skillful woman, I dance with no music
I love to work, I take the field
Picking cotton, like there's no tomorrow
I will continue to paint rainbows
And enjoy every color in my garden.
Today, I've forgotten what Mexico looks like
However, that does not cut him from
accusing my race of planting too many trees
Calculating, calling Latinos criminals,
Forgetting his sin, he wants to win
Insinuating we're robbing the American Dream
This is where I belong!!!
Go ahead and build more republicans
I'm already on the side I want to be
Born and raised in the USA
~*~
Escaping grinding poverty
And violent crimes
You left scant existence
Holding your Dad's hand
In the middle of the night
Going on a long journey
Dreaming of a free land
Miles and miles you walked
Learning for the first time
Price of liberty is high
As you trekked along
More than thousand miles
Exhausted by heat and humidity
Hungry and thirsty you got
But you didn't mind
Marching for a cause
Approaching the border
Happily you sighed
When strangers fed you
Tortillas, beans, and rice
But things soon changed
As borders got closed
Even for asylum claims
Clueless of what that meant
You sought refuge
In your Dad's judgment
Finding a way in
Surrendering yourself
As they took Dad away
Without a hug or goodbye
Ignoring your cries
Being in detention now
Affection you longed for
Yet you carried on
Searching grown up faces
For any sign of Dad
As days and weeks passed
Till you lost your resolve
When two kids in custody died
Paying the ultimate price
And yielding to anguish
Relentlessly you cried
Unable to think or breathe
Wanting to scream loudly
But choking on your grief
No one has told you yet
Your father's whereabouts
As you wait and wait
Learning day by day
In the land of the free
What misery feels like
To a destitute child
December 31, 2018
Placed 3rd..Misery poetry contest by Edward Ibeh
Growing up poor and Chicano in the barrio
parents working in the fields is all we know.
They tell us to go to school and learn all we can,
get educated and create a life master plan.
Knowledge and determination will be our shields
from low paying, back breaking work in the fields.
School breaks and summer vacations weren’t fun
our parents would take us to work out in the sun;
there was no shade or sunscreen to be had
just working in the dirt rows behind mom and dad.
I remember the embarrassment and shame
if in class, my parents’ occupation I had to name.
Only other fieldworkers’ kids understood
how it felt growing up poor in the hood.
One house shared by a dozen family members;
three bedrooms, one bathroom; ask mom she remembers.
It was tough living in a crowded house
shared with so much familia and the occasional mouse.
Yet, there are many fond memories;
the fun we had, all of the stories.
Riding our bikes or playing ball in the street;
Walking to the corner house for a snow cone treat;
Hot summer days cooling off in the irrigation ditch;
Scary stories of our neighbor, a mean old witch;
Shopping for school clothes at the thrift store;
Watching morning cartoons as we lay on the floor;
Homemade frijoles, arroz y tortillas
made with love by mom, nana and tias.
Our parents couldn’t give us the best things;
no fancy clothes or shoes, no diamond rings.
What we received was more precious than gold,
in a store it couldn’t be bought or sold.
Mom and dad taught us to have faith in God above.
They gave us the greatest gift of all, unconditional LOVE!
THE MEXICAN
I went over to my friends house last night.
I love it when he smiles with a grin,
He holds the door open, and welcomes me in.
With a style of a gentleman.
"MI CASA ES SU CASA" ~~~~~~(he says)
At first I did not know what he meant.
I don't fully speak Mexican.
I never got the hint,
when he called me his brown 'DULCE' medicine.
Funny how I thought he was a *WhiteSican* ~~(lol)
Always offering me 'TORTILLAS' with rice and beans.
OH! Now I now exactly what he means.
On Thursdays when we play 'CHALUPA'. ~~~~~(aka*bingo)
He'll remind me not to forget-
my 'GUACAMOLE JALAPEÑO' dip.
We'll talk and laugh and,
oops there he goes again with the gas.
Blames it on all them beans he eats.
Than he'll talk me into dancing "LA CUCARACHA," ~~~(with him)
Dancing and jumping to the beat,
he always steps on my feet.
MMM I love it when he makes "ENCHILADAS!" ~~~(all for me)
We sit and watch Spanish 'NOVELLAS' on TV.
I never complain, thinking he knew what they where saying'
It's not the right time to tell him I'm a silly Texan,
with a poor excuse when it comes to a 'MEXICAN!'
I'll keep it to my self and enjoy the cute things he does for me.
I love the words he speaks before I leave.
Like a gentleman he opens the door.
He hugs me and calls me his "AMOR!'
He waits for me, as I get in to my car.
Than he'll yell~ 'ASTA LUGO MI AMIGA!'
I'll smile and turn back and say,
~"ASTA LA VISTA BABE!"~
by;p.d.
I remember Grandma’s beauty
The way she’d grace her smile at me
I remember Grandma’s duty
Holding family together
I remember the old large home
A large yard with a cyclone fence
I remember no small kitties
Couldn’t afford the extra expense
I remember no TV set
To watch Dragnet or Lassie shows
I remember a radio
Latin Music she always chose
I remember the Impala
Cool 1950’s model rove
Crazy grandma behind the wheel
Had to close your eyes when she drove
I remember her kindness
Her home was your home to visit
Stacks of warm homemade tortillas,
Tamales, warm food in the skillet
I remember gradually
With small tremors, slurred speech, stiffness,
She had uncontrollable shakes
Parkinson’s disease her illness
I remember Grandma’s beauty
I remember Grandma’s kindness
I remember Grandma’s caress
I remember Grandma’s illness
Guatemala Tour
The Mayan’s were the focus
Of our Guatemala stop
We saw some ancient ruins
Had a lunch and stopped to shop
That there describes the outline
Of any tours you take
But the devil’s in the details
In the memories you make
Again we took a bus ride
This time the streets were paved
We passed twice through a village
The natives smiled and waived
Our tour guide was part Mayan
Her native outfit worn
She told us of the coffee plants
And how Chiclets gum was born
We passed active volcanoes
Smoke poured from perfect cones
And ancient rock formations
An ancient god in stones
We got up to the ruins
Saw a model of the site
That let us see just where they lived
And where they learned to fight
Some temples were uncovered
Some were buried still
We saw a death-match ball field
It gave us all a chill
We got to climb the stair steps
Where ancient rites took place
And walk there in the footsteps
Of the ancient Mayan race
We even saw some Mayans
In a private ritual pray
Asking their gods for guidance
In the ancient Mayan way
There were fires on the altar
There were flowers all around
We were privileged to observe them
There on that sacred ground
The ruins were inspiring
So old and so pristine
These ancient Mayan ruins
Were the best things we had seen
The ride back was a long one
We had to stop for lunch
With home-made fried tortillas
Fire-charred chicken with a crunch
We walked along the shops there
Some bought souvenirs
This was a trip we’ll talk about
For many, many years
Hot tamales door to door
Knocking on doors along the sun baked street
Ten inch sub rotting on the dusty ground
Souls breaking under my feet
In pile of money the politician rolls
Malnourished beg for more
Poaching saints from grassy knolls
Black ants devour the ranch covered sub they’ve found
Sewer gasses emerging from fractured concrete
From the skull of a timber rattler crawls a paraplegic spider
Corn tortillas rolled on the bathroom floor
Chorizo con huevos,
Tortillas, frijoles y papas.
Chorizo con huevos,
Tortillas, frijoles y papas.
Chile verde, Yo quiero,
Dame filete de pescado.
Huevos rancheros,
Carnitas, huevos rancheros.
Huevos rancherrrrrros!
Carnitas, huevos rancheros.
At the closest point, Russia and the U.S.
Are less than two miles apart
If an altercation breaks out between them
Using bikes instead of tanks would be smart
Baby robins eat 14 feet of worms a day
Eeew! That's pretty gross to me
If you're a baby robin though you'd be anxious
To slither them down with glee
Cleopatra married two of her brothers
Might have considered it if I had one
George Washington grew marijuana in his garden
A pothead before President he'd become
Q-Tips were originally called “Baby Gays”
For obvious reasons, not a good idea
Tablecloths were originally meant to be towels
To wipe your face after eating tortillas
Cranberries are sorted by bouncing them
Ripe ones can be dribbled like a basketball
Hope their floors are immaculately clean
Else yours truly would be really appalled
Ancient Egyptians slept on pillows of stone
Guess they'd never hear of a Tempur-Pedic
Must have got up in a pretty foul mood
Uttering phrases that weren't too comedic
Did you know Burt Reynolds is a Cherokee
Well Kimosabe, that's a new one on me
A ball of glass bounces higher than a rubber ball
Who owns a ball of glass, that's silly
In our lifetime, we grow 590 miles of hair
Imagine if we never got it cut
We'd need a special valet trailing behind
To make sure in a door it don't get shut
Lightning generates temperatures 5 times hotter
Than those at the surface of the sun
One ragweed plant releases a billion grains of pollen
Allergy sufferers don't think that's fun
© Jack Ellison 2015
Travel Time Tropics Trip Tepid Temperature Tourist Town
Tunnel Toll Ticket Taker Taxi Token Transit Trail Transport Truck
Tractor Trailer Train Track Trouble Test Terror Turf Tribal Territory
Tender Trap Tricky Terms Tete-a-Tete Try Translate Think Talk
Tongue Tied Timebomb Ticking Tamper Temper Trinket Trade
Twinkle Tax Theft Taken Treasure Total Thoroughly Trounced
Twice Thrice Twine Tie Tight Together Torn Trousers
Tree Twig Too Thin Trusty Tool
Thundering Typhoon Tempest Temblor Titanic Turbulence
Turbid Torrents Twirling Twisting
Trembling Threatening Thrilling Thriving Thirsting Throbbing
Thirsty Throat Twilight Terrace Tecate Tavern Two Tequilas
Tres Tacos Tasty Tortillas Three Tequilas Ten Tequilas
Table Tab Tip Tina Tawdry Trollop Tattoo Taboo Toe Tap
Tickle Tease Trumpeting Tunes Tenor Tones
Talented Troubadours The Texas Tornados
Topsy Turvy Tick Tock Tardy Time
Tiresome Testimony Tall Tale
Thankful Thoughts
Totally Transgressed
Tumultuous
Traveler
Froth
by Odin Roark
Come
Be my operator
Me your camera
Medium shot
Lower Manhattan sidewalk café
He in Armani suit accented with Ferragamo tie
She with Jimmy Choo and Prada outfit
Both with Latté and croissant
Low angle
Bottom of refuse chute
Zooming up through food trash
Hurtling downward
Tortillas
Rice
Chinese vegetables
Big Mac wrappers
Wide angle
Textile floor
Sewing machines
Steam pressers
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Back to back
Fans whirling
Sweat flying
Finishing food break
Quickly down the chute
Garbage
Traveling
Into subway car
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Heads bowed
Exhaustion at end
Night
Manhattan
Armani and Prada
Dancing
Drinking
Rolled $100 bill snorts
Night
Bronx
Yellow skin
Dark skin
Fire escape mattress
Bathtub mattresses
Wall to wall
Families on straw mats
Domestic fights next door
Depriving sleep
Night
52 floors up
Skyline view
Moonlit bedroom alight
Prada with Eye mask
Armani with face scrub plaster
Seashore CD lulling sleep
Wide
Night shift
Congressional mailroom
Rows of paper-shredders
Reams of documents
Header – “Minimum Wage Proposal”
Pages upon pages
Shredding into recycle bins
Low angle
Nightstand projection clock
Ceiling lit up with 4 AM
TV comes on
BBC morning stock report
Armani raises head from pillow
Puts on glasses
Stares at TV screen
Removes glasses
Manually turns off TV
Spoons Prada
Sunrise
Bronx studio apartment
Chinese family lines up
One bathroom
15 readying their day
Wide
Textile floor
Steam building up
Hundreds of idle sewing machines
Prepared
Close shot
Espresso foam machine
Latte cups waiting
Froth filling the frame
Lazily spent afternoons on the pea green sofa
Watching TV novella’s with Nana
Eating searing salsa with tamales
And homemade tortillas with mantiquilla
Dripping from the cylinder of cloud nine
Belly protruding from a too small shirt
The smell of Fantastica on a newly mopped floor
Tata sitting in the chair by the patio
The screen door crazily hinged
Sombrero tilted over his face
To hide his laughing eyes
Crinkled with age and delight
Too worn for wear despite
His young heart
Tias running about on Friday night
Eager to play
High heels clicking on the linoleum tiles
Long dark hair flowing from streamers of love
Trickling to curls on their way out
While the little ones sit
Admiring the beauty
Of the desire to be noticed
Perfume enticing the boys next door
My mom
one of six daughters
a wild one not easily tricked
or oppressed
if she hears no she says what who and why
she makes noise when expected to be silent
the black sheep of the family
fire and fury in her veins
a rebel
ready to protect
Her beautiful voice
she can sing
I know because her
song beats in my memory
She can cook too
memorable french fries her grandchildren boast
fluffy mashed potatoes only a few granddaughters can replicate
Fried chicken not sure if this recipe was passed down
and the homemade tortillas mm mm good a necessity but a treat for us kids
so much more
but for me my mom gave me the gift of faith
My mom unique and my one only true Love.
There's this break room—
Where I work, of course—
That holds three microwaves,
one refrigerator, a stove,
and two vending machines.
All cannot be younger than
Five years at the earliest.
This break room is tiled
But rather dirty despite
Monthly scrubbing and mopping.
I and my coworkers—
Most Guatemalans and
Salvadorans, but there is a
Single Mexican—eat here,
Our bags of chips, fruits,
microwavable nonperishables—;
A couple of ladies
Cook tortillas upon the stovetop.
The chairs are either plastic
Or metal, but, bizarrely,
There's a comfy-looking
Cushioned seat and even
A varnished, wooden swivel.
The makeup is makeshift,
This break room. And,
Along one of the sills of
The big windows at the far
End, are empty glass salt
And pepper shakers. The
Salt shaker's glass design
Features vertical lines,
The ridges comfortable in
Your hand. The pepper shaker
Carries horizontal lines.
They've been there since I
First began work, never
Holding any spices themselves.
The Universe is contained
Not in a unlimited vast space
But in the street in front of my yard
My universe is magnificent
Blackholes in stomachs and cyclones of tortillas with mantiquilla
Salsa so spicy, young ladies so feisty flirting with men over fences
Watching Sunsets over mountains and waiting for the street lamps to
Switch and brighten the night
Little kids running around dripping ice cold
Cream to heal the cracks
Wounds and aches of the barrio
I say I’ll never leave
But if I did then it’ll be to devote back
To the bones that made me hustle
Struggle, all in the care of a family
Brothers and Sisters, Fathers and Mothers
I thank thee
This hip-hop, won’t stop, running though my veins
I could sway to the music of the streets all night
With the window open and letting
Southwestern air soak into my skin
To the beauty within
We shall win, all the games
That matter because it is my culture
Basketball, scraped knees
Barbeques and tamales
Profusions of colliding emotions
Broken hearts and soothed souls
All over my nana’s best bowl of Menudo
I could laugh to tears about memories
I learned more sitting outside listening to the wind
Rustling though the leaves
Then in a classroom outside of the streets and blocks
I keep my own, I learn
Listening to the Nana’s speak softly
Feeling the soul of my people wash over
Feeding me with stories, life, intensity
Hopes and dreams
That are passed onto generations
The courage to strive and become
Our own makers
Here I stand, ready to give
To what was given to me