Long Mariachi Poems
Long Mariachi Poems. Below are the most popular long Mariachi by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mariachi poems by poem length and keyword.
Feelin’ stressed about the usual crap?
Tension 'bout as bad as it gets?
Once we breathe in the tequila breeze,
We won’t have any regrets.
We’ll just be lyin’ in the Mayan sun,
Work on our tans and not get anything done.
Then we’ll make love inside the Palace of the Moon.
Cancun.
Gonna learn the local idiom,
Lost in blissful sweet oblivion.
Carve our initials in obsidian.
Cancun.
Got an itch so bad it’s giving you fits?
Better go on and scratch.
We’ll fish the waters where the tides never rise
And release what we catch.
The Gulf of Mexico is everyone’s friend;
Just so long as we have pesos to spend.
We’ll mariachi till we’re sick of the tune.
Cancun.
We’ll say Buenos dios, and por favor
Like children in a candy store.
Hey, our waiter’s from El Salvador!
Cancun.
The cat who owned dogs was boasting loudly the other day.
That she had the means to convert them with her ample pay.
She made them wear whisker masks that made them look like cats.
Then she indoctrinated them into an army that chased big rats.
The dogs stood behind her and waited for her whistle command.
She made them wear clothes that would have suited a mariachi band.
The cat who owned dogs was a disgrace with neighbors on her block.
They did not like dogs living in pens there, around the clock.
We like to meow a merry melody once in a while one of them said.
But when the beagles begin to howl with us, our pretty tone is dead.
And when the Great Danes begin their bark from the gates of hell,
It’s something that makes us angry, even worse than the dogs’ smell.
The cat who owned dogs liked getting on her neighbor’s nerves.
She pranced around in pretty dresses, showing off her curves.
She stole their husbands and had litters almost three a year.
She is not a terrific neighbor a friend, in case that is not clear.
Move in the Dark with animal Stamina
Annuals Be Jamming Ya,
More on the most HIgh
More Diatribe about the mote
In the minds eye
Far as my eye can see
So far they spying me
So Far the ing commotion
Bust the cone enough
Frequently adjusted
You needed me
And we needed Us
For the treatment of our animal Lust
Maybe we can still hide in silence
Maybe beside the Violins
Right beside the violins
Right beside Mariachi
Right inside where you taught me
She a ing meastra
Im a ing maestro
I'm continuous Hoe
Because she said so she into us
Because she said she let go
With a Baby she said so lately
At the BBQ they dont hate cheese
At the table the pass the gravy
On the go I got 666 calls
About how yall wanna talk about it
I took 666 msgs from yall about how
Yall wanna walk around with it
Its not a lie it the bizzness
We hit the ground with it
You know what
Your getting into with it
Were get in right here where
Your ears can listen
Endless possibilities expand my dendrites, kicking up hopes.
Lasagna boat floats, Play Dough Dragon, Speedy envelopes
Wherever I turn I see another idea, which might be grand.
A pink penguin army shying away from a Mariachi band.
Orange stuffed chair just got mad and stomped out in a huff.
Formica table was laughing so hard, she tripped, sure enough.
Mud puddle mama is making her tree’s lipstick shine.
Other ideas are parading around; and they are all mine.
A blue and green necklace escaped from my treasure box.
They landed down river across from the home of a fox.
A crow got to it first and fell in love with its glitz.
What is happening to the sky? Is this another eclipse?
Things are happening so fast, I can barely keep up.
Trixie my muse is straddling a huge silver loving cup.
I ask her to explain and she gives me a look so very sly.
I dare not ask her anything else, yet not knowing why.
Coffee cup is in love with the Sharpie, but she is totally prissy.
She will not hold his handle or give him a wink or a kissy.
There is a blue mask that found his way downstream on his own.
These are just a few hundred ideas for tomorrow’s silliest poem.
In our haste to pack, we left winter behind
Easy to forget with thoughts of paradise filling our minds
As we depart from the plane we are met with the warmth of the sun
Relaxation has surely taken over leading to a week of endless fun
Strolling on the beach hand and hand
Our feet are greeted by the sparkling sand
As day turns to night a romantic dinner at sea awaits
A perfect evening for love we need to create
Dolphins glide by across the pristine turquoise ocean
All in sync with their effortless motion
The silence in the air is broken as a mariachi band starts to play
What a pleasure to be part of such a wonderful day
Mrs. Claus kept warning Santa that this day might come.
But he pooh poohed it, and thought surely not, surely not.
Today he balked as he stared at the chimney, tight and glum.
Wishing he had spent last year eating more “what he ought”.
He had downed pumpkin pies, sausages, and hamburgers too.
He had tossed out salads with cheeses of yellow and blue.
He had devoured donuts, pasta, and spaghetti with delight.
So now here he sat staring, at a chimney that already felt tight.
Get on down there! Rudolph said with a snort and a wink.
You are magical you know, did you forget that, you twink?
Santa rolled his eyes; he got no respect from reindeer these days.
With a yippee coyote he went down the chimney in all kind of ways.
He scraped his knees and he bent his left foot a bit on the land.
What did you expect? Donner hollered down after him. A mariachi band?
Santa hear the reindeer having a good laugh at his body’s expense.
That’s okay, he thought. When I get back, I will install an electric fence.
Going on a cruise to Pirate Island where women rule.
The men have been taken prisoner where they eat gruel.
They are looking for a pirate queen, a strong minded wench.
I speak Spanish, and I eat my toast and fries in French.
Pirate Island is just around the next bend, matey.
I am glad I finally get to go, before I’m eighty.
There are banners all over that shout out women’s names.
I tear them down as soon as we land. Not playing their games.
The women are wearing black patches and wooden pegs.
I scoff at their lack of imagination which are in the dregs.
I jump out of the boat with my knife and machete.
Challenging them all because I am ripe, and I’m ready.
There is screaming and shouting and they begin to run hard.
I start singing my praises, in songs, for I am a ridiculous bard.
The men yell out of their cages that they think I should be queen.
I throw buckets of tar on them to show them I can be truly mean.
My trusty dragon steed Chester begins twirling up the beach on the sand.
My female relatives begin playing jazz, sounding like a mariachi band.
Pretty soon the other women throw their banners into the sea.
The uncontested evil queen of Pirate Island is once again me.
The Mission in Milton Creek, I’ve acquisitioned
Converted into the town’s culinary mecca
Aptly designed and scenically positioned
Inspired from ancient recipes revived Azteca
An enchanting bistro tastes of old Mexicana
To lift spirits, share and warm the hearts
Paintings by Frida Kahlo the valiant Chicana
Every Sunday, an Institute of Culinary Arts
Christened ~ Saint Milt's in his memory
On the adobe walls his poems will be hung
Milt will live on here with love and glory
Mariachi folksong praises shall be sung
Welcome to St. Milt's Culinary Mission
A geisha today a convict tomorrow
My mouths are all speaking
Blah Glad and Hah Sad
I cannot hear them for I am done
Broken and cracked, an egg of myself
A cowgirl whose nose is out of joint
A different smell than others have
My green eyes are a glory to my face
Looking at me from a mirror
Only I understand, and no one else can see
I am holding things together with
A pretend hand.
Secretly conducting a mariachi band.
A geisha today, a convict tomorrow.
If you knew what I was thinking
You would be ahead of the game.
I have mouths that listen and a nose
That speaks. I have eyes that don’t see
The cracks at all, loving myself
In spite of the blah glads and hah sads
I am all I have got, and it is more
Than enough.
A geisha today, a convict tomorrow.
I'm eating my way through the fridge, tra-la!
I'm eating my way through the fridge
Do I feel a little bit guilty about it?
Maybe a bit more than a smidge
Someone's got to get rid of this stuff
It's been here for more than a week
The plastic containers are starting to bulge
Don't dare lift their lids for a peek
Saw a big bunch of week old burritos
Get up and start dancing around
Thought I could hear a Mariachi band
It was a faint, almost inaudible sound
The vegetable bin was rockin' with laughter
As a tomato all mushy and ripe
Was cuddling up to a overripe cucc
That smelled like an old guttersnipe
All in all the scene wasn't pleasant
Next time we'll try eating faster
Before the office for the environment
Declares an ecological disaster
I'm eating my way through the fridge, tra-la!
It's a service I provide for my country
And Greenpeace is actually thinking
Of naming a ship after me!
© Jack Ellison 2012