Tamales Poems | Examples

Creel, Sierra Tarahumara

He ran to the mountain.
They were arguing again.
This time it rained
warm, covering him
the way she should have
but yelled instead
at father.

When the steam stopped
rising from the ground
and the sun’s bleed
lessened
he walked back
past the tire shop
the old dog barked at him
and then stopped.

He came in the back door.
She had made tamales
and he was eating
quietly by himself-
The battle over.

He sat and ate too
and saw his future-
The mountain, the rain
the mist, the steam
And the silence 
that comes after.

Gumdrops and Raindrops Nursery Rhyme

Gumdrops and Raindrops Nursery Rhyme 

Raindrops patter in such sweet, sweet songs
How I love their song - to sing along.

Jelly beans bloom in the peppermint's lane
Cinnamon bear showers dance in my brain.

Sour cherry drops hang from Boston bean trees
Whistle pops toot a song for my breeze.

Root beer barrels jive with fruity dots
In storms hot tamales do turkey trots.

Splashing through my puddles of gumdrops green
Lollypop flowers make quite a scene.

Foil wrapped kisses sparkle like rain dews
Sweethearts and sweet tarts play peek-a-boo.

Drizzles rain down flat Necco wafers
I duck hard hail so like hard jaw breakers.

Sassafras sky pounds with taffy torrent rains
As sugar babies chant their sweet refrains.

Abracadabra jujubes appear
Licorice buttons and rock candy clear. 

I turn my bumbershoot upside down
To catch tasty rain so I never frown.

3-28-23
Contest: Children Sing to Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper

Mexican Food

I may be unpopular in this thought
But I’ve considered this more than I ought
And the conclusion has presented itself
It comes  from my extra ordinary culinary wealth
So I’ve put an exclamation mark at the end it all
I don’t like Mexican food, I’ve said it and I will take my fall!

The meat looks like brown paste
With no taste at all oh what a waste
And guacamole so slimy in the throat
As it leaves a greenish covering coat
Most things are wrapped in a corn tortilla 
That is classed as finger food implement freer 

So you have Chilaquiles, Pozole and Tacos al pastor, 
Tostadas, Chiles en nogada, Elote, Enchiladas, Mole and Tamales more
All hard to pronounce for an Australian now
For those that like them it’s all up to you
Chow down is what you can do
But don’t wait for me I don’t like it too.

© Paul Warren Poetry

Nothing Moves the Moon

The customs men shake their heads
and watch the women enter Mexico.
Three with skirts, white socks,
one with jeans 
and proper blouse.
Seventeen, eighteen
just out of Concord Academy
in a black Packard Super Clipper,
not quite as big as a hearse.
They buy silver jewelry from the women
and beers and tamales from a man.
Night comes,
they watch the moon large 
over the Pacific.
They lay under the Packard on blankets,
staring at it
while a whitehaired man swats away
with a broom handle
two stumbling young men 
who get too close to them.

What happened, Mom?
We asked her about then-
The summer of 1949.
Did you meet a boy there?
No, nothing happened,
she said.
Nothing happened.
We went there
and came back.

It was the lull in between,
everything happening.
And then- 
Everything happening.

I see it now,
my mother,
the girls,
the moon reflected in their eyes,
the smooth Pacific,
a guitar, a song in the air.

Their moments run through me,
each one,
as though
I had never been born.

Feliz Navidad

 Feliz Navidad, carolers sing so fare
 Smell of Tamales, Posole, red chile fill the air
 Christmas eve, luminarias all a glow
 Spirit and magic of Christmas in New Mexico

Black Police Matter

As I travel through my hometown Chicago's neighborhoods
   There's a comfy, down-home feeling; these places are good
One of the things that makes them this way
   is their ethnic character and pride, that make them that way

When roaming through Greektown, through familiar haunts
   I spot Greek groceries, bakeries, five-star restaurants
Then on a walking tour of old Chinatown
   The Chinese language fills the air, all around

In West Rogers Park, where religious Jews reside
   Signs in Hebrew, Kosher markets, doors open 
And of course, in Pilsen and Little Village, tortillas, tamales
   enchiladas, frajitos -- everything's Mexican, by golly

Yet as I cruise the streets of Chicago's South and West Sides
   All the police cars I see have only white folks inside
Is it really too much, I wonder, as I come to a stop
   to ask that black avenues be patrolled by black cops

Night Sounds

Outside my window
on a dusty 
cobbled
Beach street

Each sound I hear
a vision
Blooming
in night air

A voice calling tamales
in drawn-out 
lamenting sounds


A moto buzzing by
throwing
Grainy sandy sounds

Dogs set to barking
from a pair
of 
passers-by

Deep baritone 
serenading 
soprano sounds
echoing 
down the lane
in high sigh sound

As neighbors quiet 
sounds
Reach children
Settled In 
sounds

The swooshing of
Wave sounds
All 
Around
The town sounds

I hear
Bedtime’s come

 

written 5-23-2020  
Best Free Verse 2020
John Hamilton sponsor

Purim Amp Stamp

We're mailing Purim cards w Latino Food stamps, hence this poem will accompany:

Purim Amp Stamp!

Note the Stamps?

"Not chosen, Just Hurled"?,

Au contraire, They're Lamps,

Hot Tamales Unfurled,

Latino Spirit, Un-cramped,

Eruv Cha-Chas Whirled,

Courtesy, the House of Ramps,

Marano Purim: A Hidden World,

Andale! Andale! Ay Caramba Amps!

Freilichin Purim!!!

(Note: I'm handicapped, hence "The House of Ramps")

How Sweet It Is

How sweet it is

Please Take 5 minutes of your time to read my poem
This sweet adventure actually won't take that long

Step inside my imagination 
Mr.Good Bar gave us a 100 Grand
50 thousand for you and 50 thousand for me
Lets go spend this cash with obligation 

We can go anywhere on this planet 
or travel back in time to buy a Whatchamacallit

But here in present time I've invested in a corner market
Selling warm Boston Baked Beans, homemade Hot Tamales and fresh Swedish Fish
The community is burning a hole in their pocket

I'm buying an expensive fur coat
Then a catwalk down 5th Avenue
And act like life isn't a Rocky Road

You know what forget the money 
I'd rather float in the Galaxy
and watch a Starburst
in Zero gravity

Sponsor: Carol Connell
Contest name: How sweet it is
Date: October 4, 2018

How Sweet It Is

How Sweet It Is

Walking down the Rocky Road 
Pay Day!  Skor!  100 Grand in hand
Passing the Three Musketeers 
The Chunky Jolly Rancher, Mike and Ike 
The Smarties with Boston Baked Beans  for brains
Products of 5th Avenue 
Lifesavers in business
Wise butt Goobers at heart
Their Hot Tamales are the best
I would run a Marathon for a bag
But at a 100 Grand a pop
It’s a luxury only for Now and Later 

How Sweet It Is Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carol Connel
10/3/18

How Sweet It Is - the Love Life of Candy

It seemed that poor Candy was doomed
                    Always looking for Mr. Good Bar
Every Mike and Ike in the book
               She had dated yet none would go far

Indeed, she finds only Airheads
             Like that old Jolly Rancher last week
She wouldn’t know the Three Musketeers
        If they came up and kissed her on the cheek

She’s not shopping on 5th Avenue
                       If you really know what I mean
Hangin’ round with the Hot Tamales
             And night clubs are just not her scene

This Marathon of a man hunt
             Searching all of the known Milky Way
Has lead her to nothing but Goobers
               Oh, when will she have her Pay Day

Her friends have been her Lifesavers
                And one day we know she will Skor
She should Take5, let love come to her
                        Now and Later, for evermore

How Sweet It Is

Finally it was PAY DAY,
and I felt like a 100 GRAND.
Even though you don't make MOUNDS of money,
selling HOT TAMALES from a stand.
I headed to the JOLLY RANCHER,
over on 5TH AVENUE and DOVE.
To grab some beers with MIKE AND IKE,
a couple of GOOBERS, whose company I love.
We may not be a bunch of SMARTIES,
but AIRHEADS we are not.
We know all about sports and WHATCHAMACALLIT,
just ask HEATH the bartender, he quizzes us a lot.       
The THREE MUSKETEERS is what they call us,
we are the best of friends, BAR NONE.
The stories we tell are WHOPPERS,
they may hold ZERO truth, but still a lot of fun.




 9/24/2018

How Sweet It Is

It was a grand wake up call for many
When in the seventies on the big screen
We watched the movie Looking for Mr. Goodbar
The message of caution was unmistakably strong
On the rocky road to Hot Tamales
Going out each payday to discotheques
Looking for love in all the wrong places
Under the lights of the Milky Way
Here there anywhere in our galaxy
Like on a spree or marathon picking up willy nilly
Nerds, air heads, smarties, all losers bar none
Just looking for a tootsie roll or two on fifth avenue
Those days are long gone
Now a chocolate fix is all we crave



AP: 3rd place 2020

Submitted on September 23, 2018 for contest HOW SWEET IT IS sponsored by CAROL CONNELL

How Sweet It Is

O' HENRY'S my name and me and my dog CHUNKY, the SLO POKE dog, wanted to go on a shopping spree on 5th AVENUE since it was PAYDAY. It was a nice ride and the scenery was beautiful, especially the SNOW CAPS in the distance. 

However, our trip was cut short when we broke the WHATCHAMACALLIT on the car when we hit a patch of ROCKY ROAD. BAR NONE, that was the worst road I have ever driven.

We were broke down on a remote country road and we could see ZERO help in any direction. I was worried that we were stranded but just then a JOLLY RANCHER with his two NERD sons, MIKE and IKE, pulled up and asked if they could help.

I explained our dilemma and I heard Mike and Ike SNICKER and say we were AIR HEADS with BUTTERFINGERS. They towed us to a garage and the repair estimate was 100 GRAND, after all we were driving a Lamborghini. The mechanic fixed the car and I promised I would pay NOW AND LATER.

That didn't go over so well and the sheriff has me serving HOT TAMALES and BOSTON BAKED BEANS in the county jail. The moral of this story is don't be a SMARTIE and tell a bunch of WHOPPERS.

How sweet it is poetry contest
Sponsored by: Carol Connell

I Remember Grandma

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

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