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Best Poems Written by Armando Macias

Below are the all-time best Armando Macias poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Call of Darfur

The blood flews in Darfur and in all parts of Sudan. What can a social activist
could do to the genocide cruelty affter the Jewish holocaust in Europe in the forties?
Features of grief impregnated in the memory, the dust, the filthyness, the sickness,
and the genocide, are finishing with Darfur to the occident of Sudan. President
Omar al-Bashir, why you kill your own people? The flames incinarated the fields of
refugies in Sudan. The light is litted up of hope which is the last thing that dies, the
littleones and the oldones suffered in silence while the genocide is taken place.
Soldiers kill kids inocents, Mr. Bush, why you being president of the U.S. allowed
shuch thing, is not how the U.S. has a fame of world police? Fourty days and humanitarian
aid ends, to satisfied the stomachs of hunggers by the thoudsands of refuggies, is
El Fasher, Nyala, Kalma, and Kass; the firstones to received help.
One comboy of hope come out of Prmst Sudan towards Darfur. The hope on wheels. The
United Nations eventhough concerned is shining by its absence. Mr. Omar al-Bashir why
you kill little boys and old people, first with bullets, then with hunger to corroide the bones
of the people of Darfur? Take out your sunglasses see what you are doing, in this case
your soldiers. I came from Latinoamerica, I know what military dectatorships can do.
Burning huts, Darfurians scratching the dust of the dry land of Sudan with blood in their
nails, features of pain, gnashing of teeth, parasites from body to body, thisty of water but
no more of justice. Do not cry Darfur the U.S. is coming, but what will happen if Mr. Obama
decide not to intevine? Six million of caskets to Darfur and Sudan, six million Jews were
kill by the nazis in Europe, six million want to extirpate the corrupted and violent government
of Sudan.
Plis no more holocaust, no more genocides, is there no way to live in peace? Can plis, be
kind? Is there no answer? No answers, no answers, no answers, no solutions!

Details | Armando Macias Poem

Sun Down In El Paso

Hank loughs with guilt
thought while the smoke
of cigarrattes tingle
in his mouth.
He has neumonia, "for God sakes"!
But he enjoys smoking until
the last drag.
Finally there is a silence, like a chapel
on Sunday mass; little rings bells
at the distance sounds.
Our friendship is tight
he gave me his hand to pull him up.
The silence remains in the chapel
of his home, another puff, onemore puff,
the last puff.
The bells, still ringing
he has chest pain, but latter a releif
by a glass of ice coffe.
We joke between puffs, we know
life is short; let celebrate our dreams.
Time passed by and the silence in the
chapel remains untouched,
one more whisper, one more drag
he falls sleep with a childish face,
all his worries are gone.

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Salomon Lagrimas

Like a thunder wakes up
in his bed
the quinn of Saba
with a kiss in her mouth.
She shakes her hair (dark black)
like her deep black eyes
flying to the horizont.
Lips drips of honey
tear drops in her face
told good bye to his lover
Salomon the magnificent king.
The Ethiopian Jews in her womb
a totally different nation
want to reclaim their heritage
with the Israli nation.

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The Color of September

Waking up instantly

I breath some color,

the color of September

which Mexico emanated.

Green the Mexican valley

which was turn red.

The eagle realty fly around,

nomad people search it

the land of mild and honey

the horn of abudance.

The wind blew over the lake

which the volcano's snow sent

the eagle soar

when it stop in the nopal (Mexican cactus).

The sacrifice begins

when red emanated

the god get please

one nation emerged.

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Lagrimas In Mexico

Tear drops of the Aztec's empire
where Moctezuma saw the white god.
A man of iron with a curse,
a man of iron with ambition,
a man of iron with pride,
a man of iron with a doom.
People are fighting, fighting for their land,
fighting for love, fighting for hate.
No more Tlatuanis, no more empiredors,
no more conquistadors.
Lagrimas are falling, lagrimas of despair,
lagrimas of exhaustion, lagrimas of misery.
Tear drops flowing in the rio Grande (Bravo),
trying to reach
the land of free,
the land of milk and honey,
the land of the brave.

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The Beauterfly Never Dies

From the cold weather that ends
in the mist of the drops of springs,
tenderly warm and happy
the beauterfly starts to rise.

Beautiful colors in its wings
shadow from the hot sun,
my wife wakes up from a sleep
when the beauterflies take the leap.

The heat of the sun evaporates the water
when they trill to drink,
as the water on wife's hair
they emerge to the unknown scene.

Waiting for the next shadow of winter
my wife and the beauterflies are waiting,
to start the nest cycle of life
tenderly mild and expetedly.