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Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon Poem
Slice that ripe green Avocado
Love it with my rice and beans
Oh it looks so ripe and yellow
Slice it like a tangerine
Let's make love under La Palma
Lay out our blanket on the clean
Luquillo sand - allow the Puerto Rican
Sun to bath us with its warm Latino hands
Soothe our bodies, comfort our Souls
Heat our blood as we become one under
La Palma and Puerto Rican Sun
Excerpt from "The Big Apple Turns Brown When
You Slice It - selected poems and essays of my
Nuyorican Culture." 2002 www.authorhouse.com
Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013
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Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon Poem
Who am I? Quien soy?
Quien soy? Who am I?
Black, brown, red, white
Those people-what people
Greasy people-lazy people
Loud people-esa gente those
people, que jente, mi gente,
What people, my people
Wilfredo's coming!
Viene Wilfredo!
Look Out for the mail
That time of the month
Mi cheque: dinero My check
My money to dance, drink and
drug. Tiempo de olvidar
Time to forget
Kept in my place
Just no escape
Jobs pay too little
Checks come too late
Estoy cansado ya!
I am so tired
Me voy a levantar
I shall arise
Up off my booty
Up off my junk
Get out of my way!
Sal de mi camino!
Doors I will, con fuerza
With strength force open
Voy a entrar por las puertas
I will enter in, I will walk
through. Adelante! Oh alma
muerta onward oh dead soul
Adelante! Oh mente renovada
No duermas más! Sleep no
more! I am. Yo soy! Yo vivo!
I am. I live! Esclavitud no más!
A slave no more
No longer a slave!
From my book "The Big Apple
Turns Brown When You slice It.
2002 Authorhouse.com
Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013
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Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon Poem
Las Boricuas Latinas bailan
Dance your Salsa
Dance your Merenque
Dance your history
Of conquest and survival
Las Boricuas Latinas bailan
Debajo de las Palmas
En sue colored brillantes
Against the clear white sand
In broad flowing skirts
Filled with freedom and life
Singing loud, Musica de mi
Proud people
Lifting up the sorrow soul
From depths of despair
Let the Congas rap and the
Trumpets scream;
Timbales, get out of control
Ivory keys chime along
Cantan una cancion Latina
De la Isla del Encanto
Cantamos con el Coqui'
My people, humble people,
Happy people, make your
Sound loud!
Bailan Oh! Chicas
No dejan de bailar
Cantan las historias de
Mi jente - no callan mas!
Excerpt from my book "The Big Apple Turns Briwn
When You Slice It" selected poems and shirt
strokes of my Nuyorican Culture. Published 2002
www.authorhouse.com
Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013
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Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon Poem
Raspar ese hielo
That cold Brick of ice
Raspar ese hielo
Crystal clear and light
Raspar ese hielo
Dame una de piña
Y una de coco
Piragua man
I like the way it taste
So cool and refreshing
On a hot New York City
Summer day
Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013
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Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon Poem
Latin sound, Latín Sound
Latin all around
and upside down
I search for you inside of me
a Nuyorican's destiny
The beat and rhythm,
Is it in my blood?
This Salsa is too spicy for me
The language too fast
The voices too rowdy
And they gather,
they always gather
My father and his brothers,
Pulling out the guitarra,
maracas, güiro and congas
and off they go
trying to sound hip
Daniel Santo escapes
From My uncle's lips
Papi songs along to Willie Colon
and Mamie waits to do her
impression of La Lupe.
On Avenue D
off the Triboro Bridge
stands a prison made of bricks,
it's metal stairs leading
up to the 16th floor or more,
My people walked on green
pastures surrounded by
multicolored flowers, laughing
as they fed their Cows,
Chickens, and Pigs
now they stare at brick walls
and climb up steel mountains
they dwell in a box, no Sun,
no Moon, no black skies filled
with big bright shinning Stars
in a stuffy crowded box, they
sweat in despair remembering
the hopes and dreams
that called them there
that tall and mighty woman
standing on the ocean floor
promised them a new life
so they sit, work, hope, wait
Tears mix with sweat in a stuffy
crowded box - not home,
just the projects!
From my book - "The Big Apple
Turns Brown When You Slice It"
www.authorhouse.com
Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon Poem
Who am I? Quien soy?
Quien soy? Who am I?
Black, brown, red, white
Those people-what people
Greasy people-lazy people
Loud people-esa gente those
people, que jente, mi gente,
What people, my people
Wilfredo's coming!
Viene Wilfredo!
Look Out for the mail
That time of the month
Mi cheque: dinero My check
My money to dance, drink and
drug. Tiempo de olvidar
Time to forget
Kept in my place
Just no escape
Jobs pay too little
Checks come too late
Estoy cansado ya!
I am so tired
Me voy a levantar
I shall arise
Up off my booty
Up off my junk
Get out of my way!
Sal de mi camino!
Doors I will, con fuerza
With strength force open
Voy a entrar por las puertas
I will enter in, I will walk
through. Adelante! Oh alma
muerta onward oh dead soul
Adelante! Oh mente renovada
No duermas más! Sleep no
more! I am. Yo soy! Yo vivi!
I am. I live! Esclavitud no más!
A slave no more
No longer a slave!
From my book "The Big Apple
Turns Brown When You slice It.
2002 Authorhouse.com
Copyright © Jen Terrero Rivera Rincon | Year Posted 2013
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