Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Le Beau Oct 2019
Militia at the gate boarding prisoners for the state.
**** model climbing out the pool in a polka dot bikini.
Cigars being smoked in the back of the coach, walls being plastered with paint.
Theresa being smashed because she a rich proustite.
Disgusting scenes on television displaying an exorcism.
Lacoste logo on the T-shirt of the guy playing golf.
Many casualties after the dinner banquet got shot up.
Theresa lost her  job now she fussing with moms but Julio about to **** her ****.
Flamingo girl dancing on a rotating stage, shaking her curvy hips ¢ bouncing her *******.
"The cigar factory is impressive enough it only needs an investment too be better."
She won't sit with a common ***** an arrangement that didn't happen.
Roulette table catching fire the dealer smuggling cash.
They just bought some champagne but they didn't buy her ¢ she don't wanna talk to him, he was a long time ago.
Flashbacks making her reconsider so she went back to the party.
Robert must be a body guard but even closer than that if he stealing kisses from a married woman.
Julio just domed a ***** now he scrambling for his freedom.
Counterfeit money like monopoly making smiles ¢ frowns.
Taking a walk on the beach as the sunsets talking life.
The most exotic creature he's ever known, quite a danger to his health.
She hasn't changed a bit making her recognizable even after separation.
She came back for a kiss from the  only love of her life.
Her husband wants Theresa while the wife wants the body guard.
Julio still in college yet he hanging out with gangsters.
Rebels being shot for trying to escape being captured.
Julio kidnapped the wife ¢ the body guard but the gorillas came out the jungle ¢ stopped him.
"We are you. You are us."
annh Jan 2019
Cuban motorists
expect the odd puff of wind
‘nother day, ‘nother Zephyr
Wrote this completely oblivious to Sunday’s tornado in Havana. An untimely post - kia kaha! :(
Mustapha Olokun Nov 2018
the chevy hard knock.
varied origins of afro youth,
in the tint of dark,
in the Havana rock.

rich rock in the palm,
pummels in the trunk,
and the narrow cracks
of La Habana funk.

rugged daughters,
draw the physical art,
sons form the
majestic canvas.

trumpet songs,
echo her soul tonight,
and she wails at hints
of the mornings right.

driven on the uneven black,
is hope of excitement.
curiosity risen from the street,
of opportunities coveted.

what more, in Cuba,
to live and die,
to love and feel,
to suffer and sweat.

It is all beautiful,
and it is all classic.

eyes beholding
futbol on corners,
tough children, play much
on rough dust.

a Cubana, with skin
as buttered chocolates,
crossing from shade to sun,
****, and gracious.

tonight is loading,
buffering the cigar smokes,
the groovy 76 being shoved
with memory and revelry.

Here, in Havana.
sound is telling
a living story,
an active pleasure.

.. and it is all classic.
All classic.
here,
In Havana.
For imagery of an upcoming musical piece.
Khoi Nov 2018
The infamous Cuban fog
Roll's of the ceiling
Arroz on Pollo
*** and ice
Flamenca tunes serenade
the
crescent moon
Decadent
bites
Celebrating
Havana Nights
I thought I'd write something
From my bucket list
Could you contain my sighs of solitude
by harboring the anxiety in this fragile sea?
On your streets lies the tenderness, aging,
incandescent wind shelters and recalls
them in the distance
the flame anchored in your colors.

Habana,
Lucid, shadowed reminiscent garden
in an infinite insomnia
harnessing the dawn.
Throbbing uniquely,
uniquely understanding,
following the beat, freshness,
watercolor eyes of the city.
Giraldilla, proclamation, mystery,
chaste voice in a calm urge.
I consecrate your vitreaux,
sensing your baroque capitals,
Dusty, unraveled.
I'd like to talk:
Game, rainbow, love,
People, noise, cars;
Essays on flavors.
A captivated rumor,
your arbor dances a naked certainty:
A park, a cloud, summer, God.
The boundary hurts the clef,
the litany resorts to music,
when the stars nurse your elusive chant.

Far… blood calls for your passion,
Languishing, nobody edifies it,
in the absent dwelling of your sun, your moon.
The corner dwellers come to my mind,
the adjacent towns, trembling bedrooms.
I seek within you, dear city,
that home, The Cathedral,
that childhood, concrete flesh,
mother's kiss fading goodbye:
upholds my venerated memories.

Translated by Vanessa Cresevich
Book:  Under the Light of my Blood
Lilly Gibbons Jan 2015
Water swept softly, caressing the malecon.
Fisherman hung tirelessly to rods unbent,
Lovers perched next to seagulls,
Looking to distant dreams,
Embracing one another, folding arms against freedom,
Denying the waves flirty approaches.

A place where coloured plates were signs of class,
Fumes of gas enveloped rusty car interiors,
Locals spoke of their better selves,
All a show, an act of unity,
Clothes hung loosely, less is more.
Skin soft from the sun's spirit.

Tourists hummed over finely tipped cigars,
Remains of better days memorilised with frames,
Sweets passed as currency for cemetario tours,
Family tombs, shines, the dog at her side,
Saint Amelia listens to gratitude for answered prayers,
Where gomez, Alvarez, gonzales make hay,
Guantalamera sung gently in the bay.

Queues formed on corners, no end to each line,
Rations existing in such plentiful times,
Disregard for professionals,
Hailing of crimes,
Hemingways cocktail maker still pouring in the Floridita,
Murals of Che plastored to the walls,
Architectural past dotted out in each street.

— The End —