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Giorgos Vlachos Feb 2012
Vi en las costas de Trinidad

conchas nereidoasirenadas

tejer sus cabellos ,

cantar Rege los peces

en Jamaica

al amor en Carthagena ,

madurar como mango

a los poetas del Sur bailar

Cumbia

Y vi en sus ojos la revolucion

alrededor de la estatua de Bolivar .


19.10.2000
Max Neumann Dec 2019
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Why? Because people from all over the world have found something here: a place of belongingness.

Please note that I am just a poet on hellopoetry who loves this website sincerely. I am not affiliated or personally related to the founders of hellopoetry.

I rarely ask to get my poems reposted, but I would encourage everyone to spread the message, possibly even outside of hellopoetry, for new active users and possible contributors.

It would break a lot of hearts if hellopoetry wouldn't exist anymore.
W  Jan 2014
Trinidad
W Jan 2014
Let me go to Trinidad
And escape the sins that live in the cold
(Even computer screens can't thaw it)
Elioinai Aug 2016
Germans, love to be funny
German-English, love to be friends
Trinis, love to work hard
English, love to talk loud
Bajan, love to travel
Hmong-Americans, love to look classy
Korean-English, love to hangout
Koreans, look good in "gangsta"
Tobagonians, love to give gifts
Americans, love fresh vegetables
Chinese-Americans, love butter biscuits
Canadians, don't know that one guy
Kenyans, love Ethiopian food
Guineans, are the best Arabic teachers
Jordanians, love Kentucky Fried chicken
Brazilians, love Trinidad
Brazilian-Americans, have 5 kids
Puerto Ricans, love Ecuadorians
Ecuadorians, love Puerto Ricans
Peruvian-Americans, love concert piano
I love people from all over the world, and here is a few statements, some anti-steriotypical, about friends of mine. I hate it when people say Germans don't have a sense of humor, I know at least 3 Germans who are great at making jokes. Canadians are awesome, and don't assume they know every Canadian you've ever met :)
HE lived on the wings of storm.
The ashes are in Chihuahua.

Out of Ludlow and coal towns in Colorado
Sprang a vengeance of Slav miners, Italians, Scots, Cornishmen, Yanks.
Killings ran under the spoken commands of this boy
With eighty men and rifles on a hogback mountain.

They killed swearing to remember
The shot and charred wives and children
In the burnt camp of Ludlow,
And Louis Tikas, the laughing Greek,
Plugged with a bullet, clubbed with a gun ****.

As a home war
It held the nation a week
And one or two million men stood together
And swore by the retribution of steel.

It was all accidental.
He lived flecking lint off coat lapels
Of men he talked with.
He kissed the miners' babies
And wrote a Denver paper
Of picket silhouettes on a mountain line.

He had no mother but Mother Jones
Crying from a jail window of Trinidad:
"All I want is room enough to stand
And shake my fist at the enemies of the human race."

Named by a grand jury as a murderer
He went to Chihuahua, forgot his old Scotch name,
Smoked cheroots with Pancho Villa
And wrote letters of Villa as a rock of the people.

How can I tell how Don Magregor went?

Three riders emptied lead into him.
He lay on the main street of an inland town.
A boy sat near all day throwing stones
To keep pigs away.

The Villa men buried him in a pit
With twenty Carranzistas.

There is drama in that point...
...the boy and the pigs.
Griffith would make a movie of it to fetch sobs.
Victor Herbert would have the drums whirr
In a weave with a high fiddle-string's single clamor.

"And the muchacho sat there all day throwing stones
To keep the pigs away," wrote Gibbons to the Tribune.

Somewhere in Chihuahua or Colorado
Is a leather bag of poems and short stories.
Sjr1000  Sep 2016
Generations
Sjr1000 Sep 2016
(Went out today,
Charter boat
Trinidad Bay
Limited out on rock fish
in two hours
Watching Elks Head
from the ocean,
Grandpa)

Isadore
Called him Izzy
Chewing all day
on a fat cigar
Looked at lot like Jimmy Durante

His father stowed away on a ship
Wasn't going to be a Russian military conscript
Genocidal pogroms were coming
how he knew
we'll never know.

Ended up in Philadelphia town,
Scranton Pennsylvania

Moved along to Brooklyn
Stubby Izzy
fighting it out with the Irish immigrants
Dreaming of having a chicken farm
over there in New Jersey

Izzy met Grandma Sarah at the family clothing store
they fought it out for 70 years
The 60's book
Games People Play
They were the star attraction
The friction was the glue
that kept them together
The friction was the match
that lit their passion.

Grandpa Izzy
funniest man I ever met
Drove an old 48 Ford
selling housewares in the Southern route.
In the morning far too early
Sneaking into his room
tickling his feet to the sounds
of ohhs and hoho's

At five years old
Grandpa Izzy
took me fishing
on some New Jersey pond -
Afternoon sun with yellow colors
bringing all the foliage alive

Sun setting
fish rising
a hand held in mine
defined the peace
I seek
in reoccurring dreams through out a lifetime

A troubled teen
all suicidal
the drive in the 48 Ford
with Grandpa Izzy
running down the Malibu pier
catching the half day boat before it
disappeared

Grandpa Izzy
never lived far from a race track
I don't know about those losing days
but the secret he said
Was to never lose your sense of humor
Always be able to laugh at yourself

Izzy smoked those big old chewed cigars
lived until he was 94

Ended up not knowing
Who or where he was

Maybe we all
end up
that way too

But in my memory
there is sharp focus
he remains alive in me

If heaven is there
I know I'll find
Izzy and I
on that New Jersey pond,
a fishing line
and
peace inside.
Grandparents are mythic creatures occupying a special place in our lives. I also want to acknowledge some were not so lucky as me, and grandparents were objects of fear and terror. Feel free to share your own experiences.
Sjr1000 Apr 2016
She's texting me from
old L.A.
Heading north on the El Camino Real
driving fast on 101

I'm heading west
from Paradise, Nevada
No work here
It's all shut down

Driving through
Susanville
Hat Creek
Shingletown
Redding
Across the burning Trinity Alps
the river sure is beautiful
My heart is soaring,
just missed that landslide
late last night

Meeting my life in Humboldt County

She, from the South
Me, from the East
We cross that
Redwood Curtain
Right into the heart of the Emerald Triangle

Meeting my true love in Humboldt County

They say the streets
are lined with
green gold

The family "grows,"
up in the hills
where everyone is welcome
to trim scene solutions,
the emerald gardens
with trees six feet high
Glistening buds as big as your fist,
Everyone is smiling
Everyone is high
sure I may reek
of that Marijuana resin
but two hundred dollars a day
flirting all the way
all I can eat
all I can ****
sounds a lot like heaven to me.

I'll be getting that 215
growing plants
as far as the eye can see
Another millennium
with back problems, insomnia and anxiety.
My fortune is just waiting for me.

Meeting my sweet love in Humboldt County

Like an old Woody Guthrie tune
you ain't gonna find nothing
without that dough re me

There ain't no doubt
that ****, so pure
will get you so high
you'll be wishing your still alive
No matter how high you get
There will still be reality.

Gotta get out of this indoor grow
Black mold growing up the walls
The floors are buckling
The ceiling too
The electrical is sparking
Another landlord on the hook
What's a boy to do?

The methamphetamine
The ****** machine
Trying not to blow my face off
with a butane tank
making that concentrated cannabis

Cold and wet
sleeping bag soaked on the beach,
A tent in the Devil's Playground
the  homeless encampment
behind the Bayshore Mall
that's what I met
and don't leave your ****,
It'll be gone in a quick minute.

The gardens are beautiful
good chance I'll never see 'em
The man with the ball cap
The big *** truck
holding a shot gun
"Better move on, son,
No trespassing here. "

I'm just
another dread locked kid
on the Arcata Plaza
with a dog I can't take care of

Down in Eureka
on concrete Broadway
Fourth Street
Fifth Street
Old Town
Where the fights break out
The cops they have no patience
Another Drunk in Public
drunk tank
Back on those same streets
at one a.m.

Get too crazy
5150 for an overnight stay,
second floor in County Mental Health,
walls closing in,
Psychiatrist says
"We ain't got nothing for ya,
good luck out there. "

Meeting my sweet love in Humboldt County

Once here
there is no way out
Panhandlers
Hitchhikers
on every corner
No one's giving out
No one's picking up

I'm gonna need my family
to send that Moneygram
Get me on a Greyhound Bus
haven't heard a word from them yet.

Even the police say
No one's gonna accept me,
So they ain't gonna pay.

I've been
Trying to leave a message
for my sweet love,
haven't seen her for a month,
She headed up to Trinidad
with a would be spiritual monk

The Redwoods spiral to the skies
The ranchers own the green
pastured hills
The beaches are vast and empty
The ocean is wilderness wild
waiting for the tsunami
turn your back on the ocean
you may fall in
many have fallen
few survive
on the most exquisite
blue sky day
you've ever seen.

Meeting my true love in Humboldt County.
Inspired by Bruce Springsteen's Atlantic City.
For r who told me to write this a couple of years ago. I should add that Humboldt County is considered the Marijuana capital of the U.S., lures many young kids thinking their going to find riches and nirvana.
jackierutherford Feb 2016
Trinidad and Tobagonians
Haitians
Egyptians

Mexicans
English
Liechtensteins
T­urkish
Italians
Norwegians
Germans

Portuguese
Omanians
Tromelin Islanders

Orcas Islanders
French

African-Americans
Maldives
Ecuadorians
Romanian­s
Ice Landers
Chinese
Argentinas
jeffrey conyers Nov 2012
Let cruise to Jamaica.
And pretend we're Jamacian.
Let cruise to Brazil.
And pretend we're Brazillian.

And we will have some fun.

Let cruise to Spain.
And pretend we'll Spainards.
Let cruise to the Carribeans.
And pretend we're Carribeanians.

And we will have some fun.

Let's put away of worries.
And just enjoy one another.
As we.
As we explore the world.

Let cruise to Trinidad along the coast.
And enjoy all the joy of the beauty of the world.
God has created a beautiful world for all of us to get to know.

And if we must.
We can go to Mexico.
Or change our journey.
And stop over in Britain.
And pretend to be truly English.
Least in our mind.

As we have some fun.

And journey to Ireland.
To enjoy the folks that's there.

We're on an adventuresome cruise.
Where we  are creating our own rules?

As we have some fun.

There be places we might not get to see.
But we will enjoy all our memories.
As we have some fun travelling.
My whole life
is a migration.

I feel the pull of instinct
urging me to make the crossing
to return to the motherland
to be held in her warm
earthy embrace
to settle
into the sand of her shores

But I
do not know the way...

I am no wild animal
this familial memory
fails me
I am left drifting
knowing only
that there is so much of myself
I have not yet met,
that waits for me,
in the arm's of my family's country.

— The End —