"beltran" poems
You're growing fonder of me, I can tell.
But the position I'm in hurts like hell.
I love you.
I really think I do.
It may have always been there, or maybe it's something new.
We have nothing in common, you and I.
And to say I didn't care would be a lie.
We're just brown.
Together, in this white town.
That's the only reason you have me around.
You're cocky and scholastic.
genius and bombastic.
Capable of being more
Than the school system's *****
I hope you discover all that life has in store.
I love you.
But I hate the things you do.
I don't want to be your mom.
I try hard to remain calm.
Even if I think this path is wrong.
You overt your eyes in the hall
And it drives me up the wall
Your dark hair and dark eyes.
The need for normal will be our demise.
Being brown friends is no compromise.
That's why I'm so hard on you.
Even though I don't mean to.
You're too busy with applications
And pursuing dull aspirations
You're lack of time for love fuels my frustration.
But for now I'll shut my mouth.
Let your plan play out.
I'll find other things for us to talk about.
Like how brown we are.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Father Time stood undefeated.
Bonds came close, but Barry Cheated.
Roger Clemens had a career for the ages
but oft fell prey to roid based rages.
Mariano Rivera was a more worthy foe
No pharmacological freak was Mo.
He threw one pitch, his control well learned,
and he chose to leave on his own terms.
I stood up and joined the cheers
the day Rivera last appeared
and, though I wept to see him go,
Time would never lay him low.
Mo Struck out Time, he had it cooking
A called third strike that left Time looking
like Beltran caught in the bright lights
good morning, good Evening and Good NIGHT!
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
I am from the Bookcase,
from the Bookcase and the Stuffed Puppy.
I am from the white rocks on the ground,
and the dried dirt beneath those rocks.
I am from The Pomegranate Tree
whose Red fruit is both sweet and sour.
I am from the Aole Vera plant and Trampoline.
From Cordon and Beltran.
I am from tall men and little women,
from the know it alls, and the overwhelmers.
I am from my mothers Homemade food,
from her Choco flan, and Carne Asada Fries.
From the religious conversion of my great grandfather,
and from the crash where my grandfather was lost.
The beautiful sky my parents painted on my bedroom’s ceiling.
I am from the black sheep of the family,
Judged and shamed by others for being different.
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC