Long Puerto Poems
Long Puerto Poems. Below are the most popular long Puerto by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puerto poems by poem length and keyword.
I love to travel anywhere, the more foreign the better for me,
Strange lands and how other people live is very interesting to see.
This travel bug I caught got started when I was only eighteen years old,
A college friend and I went to the Bahamas, we were fearless and so bold.
Then I started my career and I knew to take advantage of this time,
Each year I’d set off somewhere new, after saving my every dime.
I traveled to beautiful Hawaii followed by South America the next year,
One of my favourites was Bermuda, I was young, memories so dear.
I flew over to England and stayed for a fortnight to visit a new friend,
We toured all around Scotland traveling as far north as Land’s end.
After that I spent a lot of time in the Caribbean, the trips become a blur,
Many islands look the same, palm trees and beaches, others will concur.
Mexico was interesting studying the Mayans from Chichen Itza to Tulum,
Manzanillo to Puerto Vallarta, high cliffs where the waves crash and loom,
Got engaged in Myrtle Beach, so it holds a special place in my heart,
Then honeymooned in Jamaica where we spent not a moment apart.
Once the children came along, the travel plans required a major adjust,
We would go away on 5 year anniversaries, this was an absolute must.
A Caribbean five island cruise then the next trip two weeks in New Zealand,
But my favourite place remains the Greek islands, windmills, sun and sand.
Liechtenstein, Austria and Switzerland was a mother-daughter trip,
I showed her the ropes of travel and how much to leave for a tip.
Seems this travel bug of mine has proved to be a little bit contagious
My daughter now loves travel but her destinations are more outrageous.
While traveling is usually an educational journey, one that I just adore,
I’ve had moments in Egypt and the Holy land, that chilled me to the core.
But even during these very scary times, one thing that stands forever true,
The people there were kind and caring, someone always willing to help you.
I think that I still have a few more trips left in me, if my pocket book holds out,
Need to see eastern Europe, China and Africa, there’s more to learn, no doubt.
For the meeting of new people and learning their culture, gives my life new lease,
It provides the burden of proof that all should know, we need to work for peace.
Written by Lee Ramage
For Contest "Close your eyes and click your heels"
Heartbroken lass bereft of eminent beau
papa doth vicariously experience her
(mine daughter's) grievous woe.
Unfair a budding promising relationship nought
going to incorporate wedded bliss,
when for all the world
the strong humble lad
absconded to Puerto Rican his homeland.
Thus pained University
of Pennsylvania alumna
("star student") since grade one
at Belmont Hills Elementary
whose high school alma mater
i.e. Harriton High School,
now glum Oakland California transplant.
I (biological father),
who helped beget offspring
writhes with agony,
cuz he and the missus
sowed wild oats
during prime time,
when irresistible call of the wild
overtook wisdom to shuck contraceptive
yielding the miracle of life.
Parenthood never ended
just because declaration of independence
and autonomy witnessed natural propensity
for progeny to reliant become on self
forced shoulder living expense
no only for herself,
but deux darling
tortoiseshell dappled
five month old kittens
most certainly a constant reminder,
when she and he "two peas in a pod"
shared so many college campus memories,
whereby appearances hinted
and predicted a shared destiny
between two love birds.
An abrupt cleavage
rent asunder never witnessing
mutual graceful dotage
figuratively saddled once ebullient psyche
unnecessarily bogged our engineering minded lady
with cumbersome equipage
after they spent precious
young adulthood years together
emulating how married couple live, I gauge
such scenario, cuz talk of wedding bells
filled the (telephonic) airwaves,
whereby yours truly feeling blessed
potential prodigal son in law
his earning hand over fist big bucks
employed at Silicon Valley company
geared toward marketing fitness application.
Unsure how said high achiever
bolstered with you go girl refrain,
(who ofttimes communicated with Zayda,
i.e. his demise a crushing sorrow),
which inevitable prolonged decline
sundered special rapport
since more'n threescore
Earth orbits around the sun
papa acquired mechanical engineer degree
working within Aerospace Division
at General Electric.
Impossible mission not to care
despite mein kampf punctuated
with mine wanderlust flair
marital covenant garden variety
wordsmith did greatly impair
triggering hostility within mine humble lair
adulterer letter forcibly donned as outerwear.
Philippines, my country of birth,
one of the countries in Southeast Asia.
It is an archipelago or group of islands,
with more than seven thousand islands.
Luzon, the largest island in the northern
part of the country, is where I was born
and where Manila, the capital is located.
Manila, the city known as Pearl of the Orient.
Magellan, the Portuguese explorer for Spain
claimed the archipelago in fifteen hundred
twenty one, named the islands Las Felipinas
or The Philippines, after King Phillip II of Spain.
Philippines was colonized more than three
hundred years, from fifteen hundred sixty five
until eighteen hundred ninety eight and ruled
under Mexico-based Viceroyalty of New Spain.
Manila was called Pearl of the Orient Seas
by the historian/Jesuit priest Juan Jose Delgado
in seventeen hundred fifty one for being a way
of sea transactions during Asian trade of goods.
However, in Jose Rizal’s poem “My Last Farewell,”
he wrote before his execution by the Spanish
government for rebellion through his writings,
he stated his country as Pearl of the Orient.
So, Philippines, the country and not Manila,
the city became known as Pearl of the Orient,
upon the discovery of his poem after his execution
in December thirty, eighteen hundred ninety six.
Philippines is known as Pearl of the Orient for
its strategic location in Asia, rich biodiversity or
different kinds of plants and animals, natural
resources and its natural beauty and splendor.
The Spanish Crown called it Pearl of the Orient
for the country was a precious source of spices,
other resources and trade of goods, even prior to
their colonization to acquire a share in spice trade.
Philippines’ natural gem is south sea pearls
and it is renowned for cultivating south sea pearls.
The famous pearl in the country, known as The Pearl
of Lao Tzu, was considered the largest known pearl.
The pearl weighed fourteen pounds, found by a
Filipino diver in nineteen thirty four and later, a giant
pearl, the Pearl of Puerto weighing seventy five pounds,
found by a fisherman, both discovered in Palawan Island.
No doubt why The Philippines is called Pearl of the Orient,
the two biggest pearls were found in Palawan, Philippines.
Isn’t that the most obvious, sensible reason? I wonder……
Well, what do you think?...... Just asking……
There's a lot going on in the world, so I feel the need to write
I'm going to give my food for thought, while the government just feed you lies
I'm not dumb enough to believe a word that comes from Theresa May
Believe or don't believe, we're still screwed either way
We're all forced to suffer because of the actions of the Government
We live in the dirty streets, nowhere near a palace like Buckingham
Wages are getting lower but taxes are doubling
Look at all the dirt we're shovelling
We're told not to care about all the innocent kids being killed in Libya
We're told not to worry about the deals going on in Syria
Facebook won't allow you to change your profile picture to remember the ones who get killed in Nigeria
The government will make you believe that Europe is the only place that Bombs happen
Why are we told to hate a whole group of people for one's actions?
We Kill each other daily, so why would I fear an enemy?
How can I look forward to tomorrow when I can't clear my memory?
Politicians say they'll build new houses to home the homeless and it sounds Promising
But then a month later, that plan is scrapped and they're demolishing
Soldiers who fought for the country
Will be left homeless and made to go hungry
Never will i duck the coward Donald
I can't believe some actually support this force of evil
Some things get lost in thoughts
But he's at the golf resort
He doesn't care that there are people drowning in Puerto Rico
The president of the United states doesn't even support the people
He doesn't care who goes without
You held the door open for him just for him to show you out
Being a good human being is something he doesn't know about
They're going to hate me for writing this, I may end up below the ground
I'd rather die speaking my mind, than some meaningless shallow rhymes
I don't give a damn what a Kardashian is wearing for Valentines
I care about freedom of speech and I hope someone will free Palestine
I scream free Palestine and that's something some will want to kill me for
If I'm laying on the ground and my blood is spilling on the floor
It just means I died as a man and my message was too great
I won't apologize for speaking my mind, even if this makes you hate
I refuse to be quiet or stay blind
Someone tell the politicians it's question time
A light mist of ethereous rain falls
silent on his thin, sharp-angled
face. He lengthens his stride and
leans toward the wind. He walks
through plundered poverty; crumbled
by the weight of exodus. Abandoned
to the blood-rough nails scratching
on the concrete diasporas of multiethnic
history.
Past the playground echoes of PS #59,
as they drift along the faded asphalt
haze of time. Echoes still ring true with
elemental bones of hope: the children
break out and through gunmetal gray,
graffiti covered doors, outside to the
saturated heat of inner-city rage.
Past gothic orthodox cathedral
mausoleums which sit like ancient
stoics and stare through burnt-amber,
azure, crystalline-blue stained glass
eyes; focused out with a kernel of
eternal mustard seed hope: souls will
come again and warm the sacred pews.
Past the Puerto Rican market
where the pig's head led the
carnivore parade of mastication
promise every day. A meat-market
window of letted-blood and death
reminiscent of Amsterdam whores
with their wares on display for the
dead-eyed stares of the men outside.
He comes to the dust and
grime of an empty lot covered
by old and broken concrete slabs.
He stops and lets his mind drift
back to watch a woman who wears
a ratted fox-tail wrap around her
neck. She holds a long, un-filtered
cigarette, loose, between her two
bright, fuchsia painted lips. She
wears a black velvet hat with veil
to her nose and a straight black
dress that flows below her knees,
mid-calf, above her shiny black,
high-heel, patent leather shoes.
He can almost see through the blur
of a chiaroscuro choreography his
mother, visiting with the Kazakhstan
neighbors, in this dreamlike memory.
The multi-plexed, subsidized project,
where he was born, once stood just
beyond his vision of a mother's visit in
high-heel, indigo, tangerine, sibilant
sounds; lit with electric light smiles
of denial.
She would hold her cigarette between
fuchsia lips and wear that ratted fox-tail
wrap until the cancer cough began to spew
Chesterfield blood on the molted fox-tail
head of her beloved fur.
Then she went to bed. Went to sleep. And died.
Pigeons cooed quietly on that New York City night.
Lisa comes into my room and flops on the bed. The day had been uncompromisingly gray, windy and cold. The night sky was a snowy, blowing darkness, an absolute void that absorbed the campus lights and reflected nothing back. “I’m missing Spring Break,” Lisa she says.
“It doesn’t even seem like Spring Break happened,” I say. “Most Yalies went to Puerto Rico this year, I think, from my sampling.”
“RIGHT?” Lisa said, “EVERYONE says that - we’re in sync. But *I* enjoyed Paris,” Lisa continued, “I liked your family - no - I LOVED your family,” she amends.
“THAT’s a strong take,” I say, chuckling.
“I watched basketball with your uncle (Rémi) and cousins and helped your grandma cook,” she explains, “I felt like a part of your family.”
“Aww,” I say, “You ARE part of my family now - you’re TRAPPED,” and we laughed.
They invented spring break because after several months, the student mind starts to notice a harsh reality - how much their dorm room resembles a cinder-block jail cell - and starts to wonder how a lifetime of study and stress over grades has gotten them no further in life than the average felon.
We’re at lunch. Lisa says, “Ok, what’s new with you?” Keep in mind we see each other ten times a day.
“Well,” I say, I’ve decided that “The Beatles are for spring.” Lisa laughs. “Stop!” I demand, “I’m going deep. Today’s song is Julia,” I say, “It’s John Lennon’s song to his mom who was run over by a car when he was a child.” “I love that song,” Lisa says.
“Ok, what about you?” I ask.
“My song right now is “Move like a Boss,” Lisa says, “When I’m walking across campus, with my air pods on - I’m intense, don’t get in my way - I’m dangerous, I’ll Will Smith you - I scare me.”
“Good to Know,” I say, wishing I’d gotten a lemon brownie.
Then add, “I’ve got this presentation on Monday that I haven’t even had time to *look* at yet. If I don’t get on it by this weekend it’ll be a nuclear-level disaster. I started on it yesterday and the Internet went down for 20 minutes. It was stressful - of course, you don’t know how long the outage is going to be when you’re IN it - and I had THINGS to do - is that convoluted? ”
“No,” Lisa says, nodding in agreement, “losing the Interweb’s traumatic.”
i could stare at your very photogenic (albeit invisible) countenance all day (or mice elf Stuart Little as a poor substitute), all week, the entire month, this remaining year, at least one additional decade, boot no more than a century21!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Looking for a best friend, or...a wurst (liver) re: enemy.
brief bio Matthew Scott Harris doth briefly sketch
almost two win a half score years since me being:
Born January 13th, 1959
I shake my shaggy hirsute hair
in utter disbelief, when the cocked arrow
begat thine conception,
when meal ate mum and octogenarian papa
begat their second offspring and only son,
what now seems to be a stepped-up pace,
where father time doth affix another candle to blow
where the passage of life measured
in swiftly tailored decades
denoting another birthday,
when with the blink of an eye,
I vividly recall crow
wing like a Lil whippersnapper of a boy
leisurely playing monopoly
for make-believe dough...
--------------------------------------------
nothing ranks as the greatest gift
since being a father twenty-one years ago
then bearing witness to grow
increasing autonomy
of my two precious daughters
whereby each will become master
of their domain, and meet a loving beau
(actually thy eldest dates
a delightful young man
from Puerto Re Coe),
whom intuition discerns would be
a near perfect match –
and this papa intuits dough
nuts to dollars – that such an
em man hint gentle, humble,
intelligent lad – doth hoe
pa fully become the future groom
of said firstborn, (which outcome I know
wing couched in a couple of poems
sent his way, and no doubt his smarts lo'
and behold revealed the slightly obscure wish),
where love doth most obviously abound mo'
then prevailed between myself and bride o'
mine these last deuce score
plus (21+) years, but now this Poe
whit aspires to recognize the worthiness of she,
whose chose thyself as a lifetime
groom cuz peaceful status quo
avoiding animosity –
as thyself and spouse gently row
merrily...merrily...merrily
our quiet quite rickety craft
which oft times in the past needed a tow
off the craggy shoals of constant woe.
Bola de nieve
Triste boriken
Esperanza de tu
Regreso
De mar y cielo
Mi gente con Dios
Las palmas te
Llaman
Mi musica te canta
A tus playas tan divinas
Los altos del campo
Tamarindo chula
Caminos solo para ti
Nuestro amor
Tomando cafecito *****
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.
1996-2015
Apology to the missus at nighttime...
first day of January
two thousand and twenty three.
While the wife then in the process
of leaving a telephone message
for our eldest daughter,
(on vacation, thus unreachable)
her cajoling tone of voice
beckoned, intimated, and _underscored
curiosity to discover
how romance blossomed
between first born
and soulmate of offspring
while both progeny and
Puerto Rican young man
both freshmen in the same dormitory
at University of Pennsylvania.
I unthinkingly blurted out
thy spouse acting nosy
triggering cascading denial
of marital transgressions
(quite brutish and nasty of me)
scoring invisible black barbs
upon tender flesh
seriously contemplating divorce
to implement bartered bride
blithely cavorting with bonnie lass
abandoning desirability, eternity, fidelity...
adopting following motto de jure
gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
How innocuous for spouse clamoring
to get low down how biological daughter
came upon midnight clear
acquainting, befriending, cohabiting...
eventual future linkedin lucky man
at least once upon a poem ago
aforementioned perfect match
(like two peas in a pod).
Seconds after the rather
sarcastic word (nosy) uttered
yours truly wished he never blurted
underhanded stinging rebuke.
Whether twas love toward the spouse
who approximately twenty seven years prior
yours truly pledged troth and vowed
to uphold sanctified covenant,
when me late father in law
escorted his "baby"
down the wedding aisle.
Nevertheless I blurted out
acid tinged comment
(as iterated above)
generated an after effect
recounting me being unfaithful husband
suddenly nauseous surge
induced gag reflex
synonymously tasting like bile
no amount of washing mouth out with dial
could affect comparable retraction
wanting to turn back hands of time
best recourse would necessitate
severing ties with humanity
and accepting nothing short of exile
(for questing, trespassing, violating...
acquiescence toward verboten fruit)
walking barefoot over hot coals
every last desolate mile
despite exhibiting weariness
qua swiftly tailored harried style
years later still experiencing
gruelling emotional trial.
There is no real life without love and no love without life. Both can be beautiful, but like roses, they also produce thorns. The two entities must co-exist and draw fuel from each other. There is the pain in both, like power from positive and negative charges. We do not always welcome it with open arms, but there is no life without pain.
Long before I knew or even met her who became 'The One', there were other relationships, most of which were short-lived with sad endings. Two of them are very noteworthy and taught me early-on about life's enduring character. We can be rocked and bulldozed by them if we do not learn to come to terms and 'move on'. Romantic and relationship encounters that go sour and south can strike one at the very core of the soul and render its victims helpless. It is a very curable experience for most of us, but it is also a most memorable one.
For two summers in a row, I was charmed, swept into the arms and hearts of beautiful human beings only to be emotionally beaten up one summer, and abandoned the next summer by circumstances some two thousand miles away. These two promising loves had barely begun before they quickly ended, never having the chance to complete what could have been. From Chicago, one returned to South Dakota, and the other returned to Puerto Rico.
One has to be reminded that events of emotion and passion, though ever so pure, innocent, and sincere, do not have to end one's hope for a lasting love. Emotions and passions come and go like seasons, but like summer always follows springtime, my lasting love came with a beautiful smile later that summer.
07112018PoetrySoupContest, An Incomplete Love Story, Faraz Ajmal