"barrios" poems
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities
Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes
Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *********
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry
Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!
What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?
Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies
Younger and younger people falling to HIV/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Southwestern Dis-United States of Memory
Piñon smoke and sagebrush, voice of New Mexico night driving into an Arizona dawn rising over dreaming pueblos, low-ridden plazas, kivas and ruined cities’ rubble traced and highlighted by sunlight, Anglo angling into Aztec toward Zuni over arid zones… A to Z to El Dorado; a voice covers the high hills with a dusting of snow—every word hangs in the notes of the song: music to fall apart to, breakdown to, hurling the soul into the bottomless well of psychotic nostalgia: música de cavanga, falling into the depths. Melody pushing to the threshold of a bar and leaving you there with cash in your pocket and no ride home. The warmth inside beckons—you step across as the song fills, swells, intoxicates, then excavates the wall of the dam until it collapses. The fatal mistake: you read too much into the lyrics of shallow love songs. The deathwish beast of despair arises, the flooded plains dazzle your eyes, the Indian girl smiles on the rim of the grand canyon, the tattooed cholo pulls a knife in the trailer park, the dark waters under the bridge murmur and surge with regret; el río de Las Animas, Durango CO, Aztec calligraphy on the wall: Las Cruces, NM; Clifton, Morenci, Globe, AZ: stepped pyramids of copper tailings, gang-warred walls in fallen barrios covered in Chicano hieroglyphics, the ruined huts of shepherds and cowboys, pit-house dwellings’ flaked arrowheads and pottery fragments scattered forever in the coyote laugh of desert dusk. Crepuscular colors on the names of mountain ranges: Santa Catalina, Sangre de Cristo, Sandia, each one a separate sunset delirium—then you ride through the night to the city of palm trees and the orange-lined boulevards of Heaven.
The singer herself grew old but her YouTubes live forever.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Deambula por los barrios más oscuros de Madrid
una joven de ojos claros y labios carmesí.
Pregona a viva voz su mercancía variada;
pócimas para el amor, felicidad enfrascada.
Los clientes extasiados le suplican "¡Venid!";
su gama de productos les induce al frenesí.
A mí honestamente no me interesa nada
más que su sonrisa y su piel inmaculada.
Cruzamos la mirada y me acerco lentamente;
siento en mi interior una alegría antes carente.
Compartimos un saludo, un beso, una caricia.
¿Quién podía adivinar que escondía tanta malicia?
Tomamos una copa y charlamos vagamente.
Reímos y lloramos. Nos besamos tiernamente.
Desnudó ante mí su cuerpo y me amó sin justicia,
pues ahora entiendo; su intención era fictica.
Aún sin amarme me entregó lo que añoro.
Su cuerpo junto al mío fue para mí un tesoro.
Su **** tan dulce. Su entrega pasional.
Mi mano en sus senos y un "Te quiero" banal.
Al llegar el alba vi que se había marchado.
Ese fue el fin de nuestro amor condenado.
El vacío que causó me ha dejado malherido.
Se llevó mi corazón y lo vendió al olvido.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Rio Olympics
No more fun and games,
Olympics in Rio,
to get ready for the games,
they cleared out the barrios,
where does tomorrow go,
once it’s gone,
from expectation to memory,
along with the setting sun,
Son,
you don’t know me,
allow me to introduce myself,
I’m Aaron Lux I’m a writer,
and I believe knowledge is wealth,
stealth lover yes,
not a stealth fighter jet,
because if you ask me how we can stop ISIS,
I’ll say let’s release the Happy Mist,
they’ll just call it Happy Clouds,
serious as a heart attack with Cirrus clouds of Happy Mist,
or better yet,
Nimbus clouds,
and citrus sounds,
our reigns begun,
this is a flood not trickle down,
no more fun and games,
Olympics in Rio
to get ready for the games,
they cleared out the barrios,
where does tomorrow go,
once it’s gone,
from expectation to memory,
along with the setting sun,
and speaking of sun,
we are live at the Apollo,
like the Greek God of the same name,
trying to fill all theses hearts we meet that are hollow,
hello,
do you want something to believe in,
well how about world peace,
for the people and the planet that we live on,
honestly,
and that is why when I see war,
I don’t think the only way to stop it is violence,
because if you fight fire with fire then you’ll burn the whole world down,
and I’m an eager volunteer fire fighter that’s first in and a final finalist,
where is the Happy Mist,
let’s cover the gun smoke with love soak,
let’s saturate the masses maybe then they won’t be so classless,
and let’s write down this idea before we forget it in our deep pocketbook…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
Inspiration from making amazing quotations
The nation's defending its life with its shields
But the swords are all rusted the kingdom's been busted
and the ******* are bathing in gold that they steal
While the people are lying their babies are crying
their rhythm is dying 'cause heartbeats are gone
But they carry it trying to stop themselves crying
as they can't do nothing but watch on and on
As the bankers get richer the poor men get poorer
the ones in the middle are learning to steal
Where before they just borrowed now they got new sorrow
but still they don't know that they ain't down at heel
They think they are poor so they vote in the richest
just hoping the ******* will keep them in funds
While the genuine destitute lie in the street
and the taxes are funding those twats' cummerbunds
There's a baby who's crying not just 'cause she's some brat
who ain't got no ice cream she's dying of cold
Yes it happens in streets prob'ly near where you live
it isn't just something in stories of old
There are people out there in the gorbals and barrios
the projects the banlieues the hoods and the schemes
Where their lives are the ghetto there is no way out
but to hope or to rap or to wing on a dream
They ask why you ain't reading you try but it's killing you
trying to provide for a family of two
When your mother's alone lying slumped on the sofa
and work w-w-working is all you can do
When the **** do you think I'm supposed to be doing
this **** that you say I cannot live without?
If you listened to lyrics from songs you disparage
you might start to feel an iota of doubt
They're intelligent, eloquent, more so than you
with your old boy school accent and ballot box blue
Can you rap, can you rhyme, can you keep it in time
can you tell of the **** that your family's been through?
No you sit in your office and scoff at the people
who spend their whole lives in a world that is real
They don't give a **** if you judge them or not
but they just want to shout at you
FEEL, ****** FEEL
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
And the night bus was late and it took a different route.
It passed the buildings, barrios and fears of my childhood. The banks, neatly groomed. The fancy buildings where most of the people I once knew live. There the sexless book club where I used to wonder about the knight B4.
I know there are walkways connecting the blocks where thousands of people are now asleep or lovingly kissing or exchanging ****** favours for small change in the under ground cellar boxes. Or people locked up in prison for no reason at all. Or people up at night wishing upon stars that they cannot reach.
The bus takes another turn.
There are garbage among the dillapidated parking lots.
I see my neighbourhood. I can smell my neighbourhood. The despair, the hunger.
It scares me to write about it.
Perhaps you dwell somewhere here, but it is not likely.
I can't find you here.
We have so little time
To be born in the riot ,
And it is the riot,
What happens in the riot,
That decides what matters.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
Figurilla india tallada en sándalo,
todos tus detalles han sido esculpidos
por la mano de Dios, el artesano mayor.
Contigo a mi lado exploro lugares
nunca antes pisados,
en fantasía propia de gitanos e incienso,
de colores ocres, de oro y café.
Inspiras recuerdos
de tiempos pasados,
de siglos antiguos,
de calles y barrios.
De Babel, donde nos separamos
y te llevaste tus labios,
que se alejaron cansados,
sin entender otro idioma
que el de los besos robados,
que a través de los tiempos
por azar encuentro
al hacer de tú boca,
entre todas las otras,
un monumento,
adorno principal de este templo.
Madera fina y aromática,
trae contigo la armonía.
Sándalo cubierto de flores,
de danzas y amores:
Si tengo tu boca
¿para qué querer otra?
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
We speak the explicit language of damage
Whether it's through anguish or famine
It only takes a little while to examine
Until we learn the language well
And eventually become fluent
To create this worldwide hell
Where the warfare is incongruent
We speak this language for many reasons
We speak this language through every season
The dialect varies from country to country
But all that really matters is who's hunting
The end result is the same
For damage done before
We inflict retributive pain
To even the damage score
Damage lowers our health
Damage increases their wealth
Damage puts us on the shelf
Until we damage ourself
The damage is done
So we must run
But at some point we turn around
Planting our feet into the ground
Becoming the damage cause
Doing what we've learned
We attribute this to our flaws
Not caring who gets burned
There is a damage sandwich
Within our damaged land's width
We're caught between being imposed on
And becoming oppressors
You're either forced to keep your clothes on
Or become an undresser
Perceptions of greater and lesser
Further complicate the scenario
We receive them through our stereo
To look down on those of other barrios
All of that damage can be parried though
If we work as a team
Better yet a species
To live in a utopian dream
Instead of our feces
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
Rio Olympics
No more fun and games,
Olympics in Rio,
to get ready for the games,
they cleared out the barrios,
where does tomorrow go,
once it’s gone,
from expectation to memory,
along with the setting sun,
Son,
you don’t know me,
allow me to introduce myself,
I’m Aaron Lux I’m a writer,
and I believe knowledge is wealth,
stealth lover yes,
not a stealth fighter jet,
because if you ask me how we can stop ISIS,
I’ll say let’s release the Happy Mist,
they’ll just call it Happy Clouds,
serious as a heart attack with Cirrus clouds of Happy Mist,
or better yet,
Nimbus clouds,
and citrus sounds,
our reigns begun,
this is a flood not trickle down,
no more fun and games,
Olympics in Rio
to get ready for the games,
they cleared out the barrios,
where does tomorrow go,
once it’s gone,
from expectation to memory,
along with the setting sun,
and speaking of sun,
we are live at the Apollo,
like the Greek God of the same name,
trying to fill all theses hearts we meet that are hollow,
hello,
do you want something to believe in,
well how about world peace,
for the people and the planet that we live on,
honestly,
and that is why when I see war,
I don’t think the only way to stop it is violence,
because if you fight fire with fire then you’ll burn the whole world down,
and I’m an eager volunteer fire fighter that’s first in and a final finalist,
where is the Happy Mist,
let’s cover the gun smoke with love soak,
let’s saturate the masses maybe then they won’t be so classless,
and let’s write down this idea before we forget it in our deep pocketbook…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
Amanecemos por la tarde, bajo la sombra de los edificios, huimos del sol por que nos quema y no nos deja pensar, sin lugar a certezas ni a aclaraciones nuestras almas se asoman como la luna (siempre en las noches y solo a veces al final de la tarde).
Ya todos los lugares están copados, la sombra es corta en los barrios bajos y hay que acelerar el paso, refugiarnos del sol antes de que el alma salga de pronto y nos sorprendan empezando a gritar; todos lo saben la noche hace invisible la propia oscuridad y encierra en un dulce parpadeo la cordura.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
White hot homeless men
with crossed fingers in the lost
barrios of Barcelona
make chills in the shadows
and
In the red air
with the salty blows
of sea chant
I kiss your wet forehead
Well-liquored in broken languages
Giants all of us
Dancing in the wasted ashes
of whatever rosy bars
This must be where the homesick find
warm corners
and
Sleep.
This must be where sad lovers
touch hands and sing
each others names
inside
the skylines of stone angels
This is where your
vanishing heart fell on the floor
and you blushing
had to watch me hold it
This must be where I die in the slowly somedays
Something will change
or I’ll sell my blue veins
and last teeth
for a castle carved in
the hills
and let your cool snake tongue
slip in my American ****** mouth
Then
All the slow tortured deaths
in the world
will seem like tickle fights
between dumb children
Take me through the streets
poor streets
Spanish angel
I taste history in your
wine breath
I promise in blood never
to promise again
if we bury each other
in the used sand
and never set foot in the
cities
again
This will be where I die
feeling the
heavy of your
eyes
burning my chest
the same someday
slowly.
Then all the slow
tortured deaths
of the world will
seem like a lost lustful trick
played on strange strangers.
Fill me up with hot air
and hope for
Fill me up with hot air
and hope to
god
I don't fall
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
Hazy morning, early rise, brewing up coffee to wake up those droopy eyes,
Soft tunes in the back, depleted, but knowing hard work, it always pays back, paying dues, work flow heavy, tryna take over the world at eighteen already, got that villain mentally but I ain't no villain, motivated minds do the best killing, surpassing every obstacle you can with no questions asked, that's just how I do, wait on that aftermath, if you ever doubt me, hear this wrath, once was a man, broken who lost his path, came up from the ground, chose to rise n run, changing the game hoping this will lead me to my fame, cause even in the darkest hours, I'm in deep thought, thinking about things that can soon be ours.
-Pablo Barrios
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Summer nights, at a view, constantly gazing, talking ideas, just me and you, tryna look through the city lights, but my eyes can't get passed by you, don't know what perfect is, but i can say it's my point of view, put my cleanest clothes on, looking saucy, just tryna to impress you, keeping it real, no gimmies, just so I have you, feelings were never the same, but if your views change, know that you'll be past over due, I'll be moved on, tired of seeing repeated deya vu.
-Pablo Barrios
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Adapting re
voluntary reading
to the future, when we've
nothing to do so, sub-con
science frictions call all men liars.
I am by no means chief,
I came from the Calebland Productions,
early Eighties,
Macintosh and Appletalk, and Silicon Beach
grand brainstorms insisting if we heat it
the entire idea of dust as us and our mites…
just willing to revolve with the planets will
enough all those old winds that twisted
like we did last summer,
wind up like
those ones, wow, so real.
Northwest Passage is open, and yet,
none acknowledge life in full control,
something literarily evolving
where the crawdads eat the corpses,
Bayou Blue, Barrios and Pepitons,
cheri mio, we had some fun,
we all sung, on that by
you seem to agree, we won.
we won the evolutionary war,
mankind, wombed and un,
ever so long ago, none knew, we did
but time is a bit of a Ouranos cycle,
looks like a great ocean churning gyre,
of which the last swirling tide reminder
fit to an old spider web designer,
loser backslider
with a gambling wife,
who took a chance on me,
what do we see, but what we get,
generously, love is there
for the looking for,
and for remembering finding, and
really, when a man
from the molds
that made our we this kind of old man,
an individuated
NPC, in a cast of thousands,
acting stand in assistant to the
assisting intelligence time accounting,
massive messaging, is a thing
are you aware…?
your connection can self correct,
your bluetooth can whistle
in your ear,
eh,
we made it up.
The loss, we, laughed and made it all up.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC
Bustling bowl of barrios
Favelas far as eyes can see
From valley lows to ridges' rise
Graffiti calles cobblestone
And canvasses of keeps of shop
To juxtapose the Foch and fortune
Shadows of the mountain clouds
Which peak into the heavens
As an angel weeps above the heart
For stray dog sweaters en el parque
Niños on the pocket's watch
A beggar's hands still offered prayers
Quichua silent voices counted
In basilicas of gold
All built atop the blood and bones
Of cultures bought and sold
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
From the bottom of my lungs
Smoke sits
rising falling like ashes from misquite pits
Them blunts stay lit
Enticing spiritual fits
As I
Contemplate on which move to makes
For heartsake
I ain't no savior just coming outta line like behavior braver
Than the rest of the simps
Acting like brain washed chimps
I broke out the cattle through galaxies I battle
Just to shatter your rattle
Now its nothing but tattles
Tails who put you in jail
It never fail
But society so lost who can I call to bail
Me out this system stuck in a prison
With no where to go my flow
Be mojo tearing up tracks like flow jo
Keep y'all in slow mo
Peep My scenario
Reaching through all Barrios in the ghetto
Don't be dead rose pedals
When things come to settle
We taking thangs back
They way they used to be
Just ask the past ancestries
Breathing through the wind
Here I come again strapped up
For Armageddon
No more letting up soon to abrupt
Wicked politics ******* devils *****
Now there's an uprise surprise
The revolution won't 've televised
Right before ya eyes
We set bullets and guns by our side
Now where you ******* can hide
Once we collide
For all the homicide ya did and hid
My history from me ***** please
We ain't taking no mercy
Leave ya beggin like Percy
Stiff as Lurch See I be the revolutionary
Only way I die is young in the cemetery so you enemy
Can follow me
But I'll be back in the form of energy crumblin empires with My next of kin
Indians Blacks and Mexican
Coming to atone America for all there sins
Soon to be Wailin' ever since Trump got the win
Hahahahaha times up clock is tickin
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 5:27 AM UTC
La aurora de Nueva York tiene
cuatro columnas de cieno
y un huracán de negras palomas
que chapotean las aguas podridas.
La aurora de Nueva York gime
por las inmensas escaleras
buscando entre las aristas
nardos de angustia dibujada.
La aurora llega y nadie la recibe en su boca
porque allí no hay mañana ni esperanza posible.
A veces las monedas en enjambres furiosos
taladran y devoran abandonados niños.
Los primeros que salen comprenden con sus huesos
que no habrá paraíso ni amores deshojados;
saben que van al cieno de números y leyes,
a los juegos sin arte, a sudores sin fruto.
La luz es sepultada por cadenas y ruidos
en impúdico reto de ciencia sin raíces.
Por los barrios hay gentes que vacilan insomnes
como recién salidas de un naufragio de sangre.
376
Virginia es un sueño en nuestras mentes
cada vez que oscurece
atardece
y los viejos coches recorren las calles
en las calurosas noches
Camisas
que proyectan pequeños ángeles
DiCaprio es un sueño en nuestras mentes
cada vez que nos colocamos
atardece
y los viejos coches con matriculas “5HE BAD”
Camisas
anchas y antiguas
Pistolas, cruces y agua bendita
Cocaína
Cocaína
y mucha más cocaína
1996 es un sueño en nuestras mentes
cada vez que enciendo la tele,
este cigarrillo
y los jóvenes amores recorren las calles
prendiéndolas con el fuego de la Virgen
Pistolas, ángeles y estatuas
Arquitectura románica romántica
La playa es un sueño en nuestras mentes
cada vez que cojo
esta pistola
Sword 9mm Series S
Peces neón, soy un ángel
lo soy
lo soy, cariño
y he caído del cielo
Pastillas que alteren nuestras mentes
matricula CAP 005
Montague
Vivimos como en una película
te veo a través del acuario y soy una sirena
lo soy
lo soy, cariño
y me ahogo en tu boca.
Mosaico
amor divino
las fiestas locas
y las antiguas bellezas
y tu sobre mi cama
Graffitis
barrios bajos
esperas en mi ventana
y tu eres mi estrella Valentino
mi reina de Virginia
Helicópteros y palmeras
Tiremonos a la piscina
sumérgete y bucea bajo mi cuerpo
estemos mojados
última noche de este largo invierno
y tus besos en la mejilla ya no me interesan.
Dejo caer el cigarrillo de mi boca
y el suelo prende con la gasolina
estoy herido entre tantas luces de neón,
cruces de neón
Grito en la playa
con todas estás camisas anchas hawaianas
Quítate el velo y prométeme tu amor
tu prohibido amor
En la feria
junto a todas estas luces de neón,
peces de neón
Me apuntan con un arma
te pongo el anillo
y mueres en mis brazos
Entre las sábanas
encuentro tu amor
apareces y desapareces
serpiente de Virginia.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 1:36 PM UTC