Long Pesos Poems
Long Pesos Poems. Below are the most popular long Pesos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pesos poems by poem length and keyword.
Red Gems
A middle-aged man in an old wheelchair
moves slowly and with determination.
On a crowded street filled with happy tourists’ feet
his arms look as if
they’d finished an Olympic race.
Since he has no legs, he cradles his wares
between lap and chest.
Today he sells tiny bracelets and anklets.
I pass him gingerly, bearing an awkward smile.
A half-block down, my conscience stops me.
I return to him
crouch down to meet him
pick out an anklet
hand him 40 pesos
his eyes glisten.
Why didn’t I ask his name?
Weeks later, this anklet still
adorns my smooth white skin.
I so love these plastic, shiny
ruby-red gems
held together by tough black string.
The fire burns deep within my heart
As ice forms on arms and limbs
The evil one approaches
With a smile and a knife
To be twisted in my stomach
The witch of Acambaro looks like an angel
But her dagger can pierce both heart and soul
She is the five Pillars
Darkness
Anger
Greed
Envy
Bitterness
Pilar Lopez Diablo
Raised by nuns, her values none
She spreads hers smile
For a few pesos
False hopes and empty dreams
She surely shall make you scream
Bury me naked, if you must
Wear a black veil, you stole my trust
Draw blood and make me swim in my own juices
I shall float in my bloody pain
On the Día de Muertos
I shall sing back to you
Oh Catrina, lady of the dead
You lie tormented
For you have all of me in blood
Except my heart
Notes:
La Calavera Catrina ('Dapper Skeleton', 'Elegant Skull'
The “Day of the dead” can be traced back to the Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl. Catrina would be the modern name of this God.
The morning sun’s oppressive; a nasty b*tch in heat on Rizal Avenue,
Where vendors hawk their cigarettes, baloot, and dog meat barbecue.
The jeepneys buzz the intersection like a hornet’s nest,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Olongapo is waking. Magsaysay Drive gives up its dreams.
It’s six AM in Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines.
A sailor slouches back to base, hung over and depressed,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
His head is stuffed with sawdust. His mouth’s as dry as peanut shells.
Last night he guzzled mojo on top of all those San Miguels.
At midnight he responded to the curfew’s harsh request,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since he’s been stateside, a year since he’s been home.
Just another duty station, and another port to roam.
When he hears a stand-up comic, he reacts indifferently;
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
He’d picked a girl named Cora, and booked an air-conditioned room.
He’d paid her fifty pesos to revel in her raw perfume.
He spoke a few Tagalog words, but she was not impressed,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
He held her like he knew her; embraced her warm skin tenderly.
His dreams were of Missouri; his nightmares, of the open sea.
He’d found a lonely refuge with his hand upon her breast,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
A new day brings its promise of beauty and of poverty;
Of cockfights in the province, and monkeys in the mango tree,
But Subic is a working port, and work must be addressed.
Still, it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since she divorced him; a year since she’s been gone,
Just another disappointment, and another West Pac dawn.
If he laughs, it’s nothing funny; it’s the sound of irony.
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
And that chip upon his shoulder’s like that ancient, fabled boulder;
He’s a victim of his own mythology.
368.
The Plea of the Offspring of Makati
Oh Father God, let me win millions of pesos in Philippine Lotto lottery
Let's see how the world will treat me
If I already have lots of money
For sure even my fans in FB
Will increase surprisingly
Hear me, oh hear me, my Father God Almighty!!!...
Hearken to the Plea of the Offspring of Makati!
By Your will, the world shall see
A great enterprise rising from this country!
An enterprise that shall uplift the many
And magnify Thy mercy & glory!
An enterprise that shall rescue me
From their lynching & lingchi literally and/or figuratively
An enterprise that shall show to the many
Your glorious miracle not yet in history!
Be our hope & foundation of prosperity
Make me an instrument of a new dawn for humanity!
-06/11/2015
(Dumarao)
*My Prayer Poems for Ultimate Victory Collection
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 sting of corruption invade our land
Fraud and injustice cover us intensely;
It darkens every corner of this nation
Those who manage the funds misused it!
It should be used for bridges,
Flood control projects and for infrastructures.
To ease the lives of many,
What happened to these projects?
The budget is all gone!
Not only millions, but billions of pesos!
The results are unfinished building,
Rough roads or substandard infrastructures,
Dilapidated and wrecked bridges,
And even the worst ghost projects.
Where do the funds go?
Where do people's taxes go?
Many of us suffer from lack of food,
Lack of access to healthcare;
Lack of access to quality roads and bridges;
Lack of access to educational needs,
And most of all, drawn us in the havoc of disasters and calamities
While those crocs are dwelling on mansions
Where is their conscience?
May these crocs be seen behind the cold bars.
They should pay for their wrongdoings
Beware of the people's rage;
Beware of taxpayer’s fury;
Beware of the people shouting for justice,
Since we deserve to know the truth!
Next time let us choose leaders,
That will shelter us from storms and disasters
Not those who strained us into wretchedness
We asked God that justice will be served well in the end,
And transparency and peace reigns!
we were young and dumb,
but not reckless,
two boys skimming the edge of fear,
a twenty-year-old shadow
and his seventeen-year-old brother,
riding the spine of Interstate Ten,
from Tallahassee to San Diego,
then back to Florida—
outlaws without blood on our hands.
the first time was the hardest,
hearts pounding like fists
against the ribcage.
a small-town branch,
the teller's wide eyes,
hands shaking as she filled the bag.
we whispered, not shouted,
like thieves apologizing for the theft.
no gun would fire, no life would end.
we were just as afraid
as the people we robbed,
maybe more—
they would go home
to their casseroles and sitcoms,
we would drive
into the long night,
checking mirrors,
counting shadows.
the money bought gas,
bought distance,
bought time.
southern states fell behind us
like discarded postcards—
until Texas.
Houston, San Antonio, El Paso.
three jobs in one state.
the sweat, the stares,
the peso dancing in flux,
unstable as the lives we stole.
back to Tampa,
the roads wore us thin,
two ghosts in a modern car,
safe but haunted.
I never held a gun again.
he never held onto life.
three years ago,
he died a useless death.
no glory, no gunfire,
just the silent collapse
of a heart that had run too hard.
sixty-six now,
and I think of him—
the kid who laughed in the face of fear,
who counted pesos in the passenger seat,
who believed we could outrun everything.
Hollywood spent billions
on the dead legends—
Butch and Sundance,
Bonnie and Clyde,
Billy the Kid.
all shot, all gone.
but we survived,
not heroes, not villains,
just two scared boys
with a knack for escape
and the luck of the modern age.
today,
I wouldn't suggest it.
you'll be caught,
you'll be killed.
the world's too sharp now,
too fast.
but back then—
well, back then
we were afraid,
and maybe that's why we lived.
The statue of limitations concerning these crimes,
Has long since expired.
A politician went to an old man to ask for votes
Asked to hold 1000 pesos.
Father grandpa said, 'Son, I don't want money.
But if you want votes, buy me a carabao.'
The politician wanted votes. He came out to buy a carabao.
Instead he goes somewhere else.
He didn't get a carabao for less than 40000 pesos.
He came back to Father grandpa saying,
'No carabao less than 40000 pesos that's why I'll just give you 1000.'
Father grandpa said, 'Son, don't be embarrassed anymore.'
'In your eyes, my value is less than a carabao,
How can I sell for 1000, when the carabao is not sold for 40000.'
Wake up voter, wake up your worth
Those people who ruin their family's future are worth a few pesos.