Writing you a poem for a first date
With hopes of finding a soulmate
We've both been alone awhile
My plan is to make you smile
I believe this time
Will be sublime
Like some love
Sent from up above
Dinner, movie maybe a cantina
Where to take the lovely Sabrina?
Cantina Tina never met one meaner
Though she sure looked pretty as the night grew long;
And so did I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
A Skid Row guy with an eye for Pasadena;
Spend my nights between seventh and third
With old Jack D ’til the world is blurred.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Out of County jail for a misdemeanor,
“No sir, Judge won’t be doing that no more;”
Hot foot it down to the nearest liquor store.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Once had a girl, oh boy, you should have seen her
“It’s poker, pool, or me if you want me staying here:”
So yes, I went ahead and chose the boys and beer.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
So here I am, eyeing Cantina Tina
She’s sure looking pretty as the night grows long;
And so do I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Frosty really loved to travel you know,
but couldn't go to a place with no snow.
All his friends heard him chatter
"This is snow laughing matter!
Maybe Antarctica's where I should go!"
On the way south he saw a cantina
right at the bottom of Argentina;
and there he did manage
to take full advantage
of a sale on frozen Margaritas.
Frosty, by way of explanation,
vacationed at McMurdo Station.
He met a snow sprite
whose name was Pearl White.
It's said they had quite a flirtation!
Mexicans make many things,
but the best is tacos,
bull-fighting is kinda cool,
not as cool as tacos.
Cheese and chips and refried beans,
folks put them in tacos,
awesome spices in the meat,
the soul of the taco.
You can buy them in the street,
lots of folks sell tacos,
or in a cantina seat,
they should sing of tacos.
You don’t need a plate to eat,
the genius of tacos,
as a setting their complete,
need no frills with tacos.
Have them wild or with heat,
either’s great with tacos,
some use fish they caught at sea,
that is one strange taco.
Get chorizo, get the steak,
now I want some tacos,
money can’t buy happiness,
but it sure buys tacos…
My mule is intelligent, and it loves me.
perhaps it loves everybody,
it's a rental.
I need a shot of confidence.
The mule rests its head on my shoulder.
It's a well-travelled track
but today I have met no one.
I should have left camp in the early dark,
for now a fiery desert sun
is baking the dry earth into hot broken glass.
I imagine our bones
being found some years later
by some kid in an off-road Lexus.
The Mule snorts derisively;
nudges me in the small of the back
to get me going.
A few miles later I'm drinking Tequila
in a cantina
and the mule is falling in love again
with some other intrepid explorer.
A strong wind blows across the Texas sand,
As the sun is sinking low in the sky.
Three men ride into the town of Laredo,
In the distance you hear a coyote's cry.
Ponies hitched outside a Cantina,
Inside is laughter as a guitar plays.
Covered in trail dust, the three men enter,
Shots ring out and then a deadman lays.
Seven weeks earlier in El Paso,
A man walked into a hotel room.
A couple in bed, after being wed,
He pulled his pistol and shot the groom.
With a look of hatred on his face,
Fired his second shot and killed the bride.
Then out of town on his horse he rode,
While the two young lovers bled inside.
Story was, this cold-blooded killer,
Had once been in love with this young lady.
He swore that no other man would have her,
But she knew his intentions were shady.
Now in the Cantina, lying face down,
His corpse was looked on by all the others.
No judge or jury would seal his fate,
Justice was served by her three brothers.
The waiter: short, surly and brusque;
in the air, hung a slight scent of musk.
Natasha’s Cantina:
with Masa Harina,
crime’s perfection, wrapped in a cornhusk.
----------
I promise I won't do another tamale
Come along now she'd say to me and then together we would knead
two strong arms and a floured face, this woman had love and speed
It was Christmas Eve, and I will never forget her zeal nor her passion
"Where did daddy hide my birthday cake?" she'd ask with a tiny smile.
She was born on Christmas Eve, so that made her as close to the babe
as anyone could get. In those days we didn't have much money,
mom would always give us pajamas, including dad.
Today as I recall our tiny silver tree, I feel blessed and very glad.
It was the seventies back in the good old days of Montreal,
we were rich in tradition, wealthy with love and laughter. We had
genuine guidance from struggling immigrants who knew the value
of sacrifice and love.
Later in the evening after a good plate of pasta and meatballs, dad
would whisper in my ear, " Figlia, go get your moms cake" and
without being told where it was, I would go to the garage and fish
the cake out of the cantina. " Candles were lit and Christmas was
honored in the family, Happy Birthday mom, Merry
Christmas Jesus!
Behind the thunder and the lightning
hides a ghost, so fair but fright'ning;
the Ghost of lovely Felina
who was a dancer in Rose's cantina.
She left her hometown of New Mexico
to find her fate in El Paso,
but the fierce hand of love's destiny
left her dead in pain and agony.
In El Paso, every night,
her voice echoes, full of fright,
from the ground to the skies above
to call for her cowboy's love.
In Rose's cantina, in depth of evening,
if you hear a woman crying,
it is Felina, left by her groom to roam;
in his loving arms, she wants to go home.
*Inspired by Robin's "El Paso"*
October 17, 2022
12-16 Lines of Scary Halloween Rhyme Poetry Contest (4th place)
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Rhymes checked through: rhymezone.com
The past is a thought.
The coastal fishing town in Peru was charming
its upland was bare and light brown, with roads
looking like scars caused by a triple Bye-Pass.
The sky was enormous, the biggest ever seen
but was unmotivated, not a cloud around.
Teresa is a short, lovely woman in well-filled jeans.
Ah, jeans, one wishes for the skirt’s reappearance.
We hired a car and drove up the bare hills.
The driest of landscapes weighted down by dust
Tiny villages, four houses and a cantina, not a place
for the young, Lima was their dream.
At the top of a hill, we stopped, and afar the Pacific
glittering green living up to its name.
We were in love, the transient kind disappearing
in the morning light; told each other lies and enjoyed
the sweetness of dreams.
We drove back before darkness, the road narrow.
Teresa worked at night, with many trawlers docking.
A stolen moment by two people whose youth had
passed us by, but we remember how sweet it was.
A gauche gaucho,
a galoot,
rawboned and grizzly,
rode into
a snoring border town.
"Google me," he said,
as he hitched his mare to
a wild hair.
The cranky cowhand
had gambled on
an internet cantina being open
but the only horse in town
had been gridlocked for hours.
Later they found him
slumped over
a frozen quesadilla.
"Poor Bastard." They cooed.
"Poor lonely gaucho
with his empty man-bag
and no mail.
Just a gadget for company,
an uncharged old ‘Blackberry’.
O the god-damn humanity."
Summer sky sparkles under huge bursts of light
Spiraling rockets and rainbows of color delight
Kiddie rides and merry-go-rounds spinning around
While roller coasters lift one high off the ground
Vendors sell hotdogs and pink cotton candy galore
Even if you win a prize, you come back for more
The midway is lively with strange, exotic shows
Sporty guys have their gals, and the gals their beaus
Warm breezes waft through the open-air cantina
A wandering stilt walker plays a squeaky concertina
The dads will gain bragging rights ringing the bell
A barker guesses mom’s weight, but she’ll never tell
Then, too soon the fun was over, tents folded up
All I brought home was a tiny, plastic loving cup!
written February 25, 2022
Premiered at The Empatheater, Kenosha, WI – 11/4/1991
ACT 1
A Will of Its Own
Autumn’s Blessing
Lejna Tasha Belle
All the Way Home
Nativity Window
Marley Plays the Bottom Line
Sideman’s Serenade
Someday Train
Existential Nostalgia
ACT 2
Traveling People
Cross the River
Cantina Dream
Keepsake
Once Upon a Future
Gospel Plough
ACT 3
The Harbor at Lorient
Portrait of Sonia
Le Chemin de Fer
Bather Arranging Her Hair
Octavia
Emerging from the shadows of the mission’s broken wall,
The moon falls on her shoulders like a ghostly silken shawl.
She wears a chain of silver and abalone shells.
Her eyes as bright as emeralds, her voice, like Spanish bells.
She wanders past the courtyard, the potter’s earthen jars,
The lights of the cantina, the lullaby guitars,
To step beyond the threshold of conservative affairs,
And let her dark desires be the focus of her prayers.
She conjures desperados burning ranchos built of straw.
Her reckless indiscretions led to brushes with the law.
She’s broken her piñata and found herself beguiled.
Her heart was always restless, but now she’s running wild.
She glides among the canyons like a ghostly vagabond,
Her freedom the expression of the innocence she’s pawned.
She wraps herself like water around the un-carved stone.
It’s easy to imagine, but hard to let alone.
I look for her in turquoise that mirrors desert skies,
The wind that sweeps the mesa, my lover’s sleepy eyes,
The haunted midnight pueblo, the cool adobe dawn;
Though mountains rise between us whichever side I’m on.
I once met a sultry girl from Ipanema
Dancing in a South American cantina
I stepped on her toes
The least of her woes
But quickly I departed for Argentina.
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