"cantina" poems
Chewie hasn’t touched his food
I hope he’ll be o.k..
It hasn’t been the same for him
Since Leia passed away.
He’s a melancholy Wookie
as anyone can see.
He mopes around the ship all day
And he’s molting terribly
Twas bad enough when Obi-wan
was struck down by Darth Vader.
But it’s no surprise when an old man dies
That’s expected, now or later.
Our Princess was a force you see
Bringing gales of laughter
which is why we want her here
and not in the hereafter.
He’s a melancholy Wookie
as anyone can see.
He mopes around the ship all day
And he’s molting terribly.
I hope one day we’ll meet again
In Mos Eisley’s Cantina
That gold bikini may not fit
But we’d still be glad to see her.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
Con el alma herida por un mal cariño
Que sin condiciones le entregue mi amor
Llevo ya dos días en esta cantina
Dos días, encerrado tomando licor.
Un mariachi toca, yo sigo tomando
Y vuelvo a pedirles la misma canción
Esto que me pasa no es nada envidiable
Ni al peor enemigo se lo deseo yo.
Tóquenme mariachi otra vez la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón
El abandonado, toquen la de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Aquí esta su cuenta, me dice un mesero
Ya me debe mucho, pégueme señor,
El mariachi dice, ya estamos cansados
Y yo solo contesto, háganme un favor.
Pa´ variar un poco tóquenme la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón,
El abandonado, tóquenla de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Con el alma herida por un mal cariño
Que sin condiciones le entregue mi amor
Llevo ya dos días en esta cantina
Dos días, encerrado tomando licor.
Un mariachi toca, yo sigo tomando
Y vuelvo a pedirles la misma canción
Esto que me pasa no es nada envidiable
Ni al peor enemigo se lo deseo yo.
Tóquenme mariachi otra vez la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón
El abandonado, toquen la de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Aquí esta su cuenta, me dice un mesero
Ya me debe mucho, pégueme señor,
El mariachi dice, ya estamos cansados
Y yo solo contesto, háganme un favor.
Pa´ variar un poco tóquenme la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón,
El abandonado, tóquenla de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
Out in the West Texas town of El Paso I fell in love with a Mexican girl. Night-time would find me in Rosa's cantina Music would play and Felina would whirl.
Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina Wicked and evil while casting a spell. My love was deep for this Mexican maiden I was in love but in vain, I could tell.
One night a wild young cowboy came in Wild as the West Texas wind. Dashing and daring A drink he was sharing with wicked Felina The girl that I loved.
So in anger I Challenged his right for the love of this maiden down went his hand for the gun that he wore. My challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat, the handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.
Just for a moment I stood there in silence, shocked by the foul evil deed I had done. Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there I had but one chance and that was to run.
Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran Out where the horses were tied. I caught a good one It looked like it could run Up on its back And away I did ride just as fast as I Could from the West Texas town of El Paso Out to the bad-lands of New Mexico.
Back in El Paso my life would be worthless Everything's gone in life, nothing is left. It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden My love is stronger than my fear of death.
I saddled up and away I did go Riding alone in the dark. Maybe tomorrow A bullet may find me Tonight nothing's worse than this Pain in my heart. And at last here I Am on the hill overlooking El Paso I can see Rosa's cantina below My love is strong and it pushes me onward Down off the hill to Felina I go.
Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys, off to my left ride a dozen or more. Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me, I have to make it to Rosa's back door.
Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel A deep burning pain in my side. Though I am trying To stay in the saddle I'm getting weary Unable to ride
But my love for Felina is strong and I rise where I've fallen Though I am weary I can't stop to rest I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle I feel the bullet go deep in my chest
From out of nowhere Felina has found me Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for One little kiss and Felina, good-bye
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
There was the usual exchange of foul words and light shoving around,
but then "Windy" rushed Billy and threw him down to the ground.
He sat on Billy's chest pinning his arms down to the floor.
He punched and smacked Billy's face. Each blow was more vicious than the one before.
Billy called upon all of his strength that he could possibly muster
and tried to work his 41 caliber out of his holster.
"That's enough Windy! You're killing the kid!" some concerned bar room patrons did roar.
A gunshot was heard. There wasn't a single spoken word
as Frank "Windy" Cahill rolled lifelessly to the floor.
Billy struggled to his feet. His bloodied face was so swollen he could barely see.
His smoking gun was still clenched in his shaking hand.
Congratulations Billy. Now look what you've done.
You've gone and killed your very first man.
Tales of this incident have been told far and wide from one extreme to the other,
such as the merciless killer kid who gunned down the helpless blacksmith
and then left the bar whistling without a care or bother,
but eye witnesses attest that the first version describes it best
and that the following quote seems most accurate and right.
"I never saw no killer. I saw a scared beat up boy run out of the cantina that night."
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
That badass girl’s got curves
like a Spanish guitar
a few scratches, a lot of scars
you can see almost any Saturday
at the Bullets for Martyrs Cantina
if she's not strung too tight, she’s a
lean, mean beautiful Argentine into
that whole revolutionary scene
singing Seremos como el Che
all olive drabbed and black beret’d
always quick with a ¿Como estas?
Eh, I'm okay I says, mis chica mas
bella, pero su ese Che es muerto
but here on the B!ue Mesa is where
the truly live come to live - ¿Comprende?
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
Mi' Padre' was stabbed in a bar fight.
The cantina is the deepest of wells.
Mi' Madre' put mi' ropa in la mochila.
La pandillas tiene mi' hermano - He fell.
Madre' sold her finest of silver
To buy maquillaje to color my face.
She said, "Better that you should have her"
To the man who had come from The United States.
Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.
I was but only sixteen.
I had never been touched before.
There I was in such a new land,
Our cothes crumpled on the floor.
The whole time I kept my eyes closed.
I longed for mi' familia and home.
He held me and slumbered when it was over.
My tears were hot and I felt so alone.
.
Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.
I was told to learn to speak English.
To abandon the language I knew.
I did not speak of my heritage,
It was better that I was kept from view.
I learned to cook like an American wife,
And soon I could speak like the rest.
It was difficult, but I learned how to fit in.
I even changed the way that I dressed.
Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.
These days, I spend keeping shop,
When the children are still at the school.
They are the heart of my life.
They are named Sally and Raul.
The nights are the hardest to get through.
I still dream of my other life,
Before I was given to my husband.
But I love him now, I am his wife.
But,
I remember when -
Yo era una nina novia.
El era un hombre mayor.
I wanted to run away fast, go back home,
But nothing was there for me anymore.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
~
*...he dreamt of her,
the one who could dance about
twin suns in cantina lace,
course through the veins
like power converters,
and scare far more
than a pack of raiders on the prowl.
...she who laid out
in the sands of Anchorhead,
and became a seductive sculpture,
her howls mixing with the wind
through Beggar's Canyon,
and turning into flame,
ascended like nomadic campfire
in an ocean of night
as far off as Mos Eisley.
...the one resembling Camie,
who bought farm water
for her off-world thirst,
he dreamt of her, you know,
he dreamt they would inevitably marry,
and settle down deep in the feral
of their desert love.*
~
Mar 4, 2023
Mar 4, 2023 at 1:21 PM UTC
St Simons Island, Georgia USA
East Beach, 12/4/2011
"Your focus determines your reality." —Qui-Gon Jinn
Witnessing an
amazing low-tide
phenomenon,
as if a walkway to
a parallel world
has suddenly appeared,
extending one-half mile
from East Beach
out to sea
People are slowly
gathering, walking, stopping,
stooping, staring in silence,
speaking softly—
I'm as eager
as Simon Peter
to join them, yet
somewhat afraid of
walking where
there has been
only seawater
minutes before—
Chattering dolphins
beckoning in the distance
instill confidence
So I join them,
stepping from the
beach onto the
other-worldly terrain,
first 42 steps confirming
we are not alone!
Surrounded by
a menagerie of
sand ***** clams,
beach flea amphipods,
sea roach isopods,
ghost, hermit, and
fiddler ***** even
cannonball jellyfish—
shades of the
Mos Eisley Cantina
on Tatooine
in miniature
But beware of
semidiurnal
tidal cycles—
Twice a day
at high tide
the sea, like an
unstable vortex
of a Chappa'ai,
consumes the
phenomenon,
even the beach itself
to the edge of
the dune
"The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience." —Frank Herbert
"So long and thanks for all the fish!" —Farewell message from exiting dolphins, translated by Douglas Adams
Mark Toney ©️ 2023
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 11:31 PM UTC
Jim Morrison is alive and well
I found him in some juke joint cantina
Down in the deserts of southern America
He was sitting in a dimly lit
Booth in the corner of the room
Digging on some blues band blowing blues
And nursing a bottle of whiskey like a pro
Slowly channeling the shaman within his soul
As I approached in dumbstruck awe
He waved me to take a seat on the bench
Adjacent to where he himself sat
We ate from a plate of enchiladas and ten-cent tacos
And spoke of the poetry of Rimbaud and Baudelaire
He dreamed a dream where he and Kerouac
Took a trip from France to San Francisco
And read volumes of poetry books
From famous beat authors
And reminisced about their pasts as famous men
We continued to allow the whiskey
To slither like serpents down our throats
As ancient poems sauntered back up
Like lyrical word *****
I told him of a dream where he and I
Ate off a plate of enchiladas and ten-cent tacos
In some southern American juke joint cantina
Listening to joyously lamented blues
And discussing the great poets of the past
We laughed and had a great time
As the Doors of our perception
Bled poetic verses of imagination
When the night was over
And the dawn began to arrive
We parted ways with many thanks
And a hugging hand-shake
He went his way
Off into the the waiting sun
A Lizard King in celebration
And I went mine
Off into the depths of shadow
Taking a late moonlight drive
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 11:34 AM UTC
matrimoni australiani non mancano mai di farmi un po 'tantino geloso di tutte le persone che hanno avuto la fortuna di parteciparvi .Perché quando prendo una sbirciatina a un matrimonio come questo da Sarah Bamford Fotografia So solo che gli ospiti sono ancora parlando di quanto sia divertente che avevano in questo matrimonio oggi .E ' la perfetta combinazione di moda e sentimentale .e c'è molto di più vi aspetta qui .
Condividi questa splendida galleria
Da Sarah Bamford Photography.This matrimonio era pura perfezione .Beatitudine Vintage ed eccellenza fai da te.Ogni splendido dettaglio è stato creato dalla sposa e lo sposo compresi i menu .centrotavola .la torre torta .bouquet e ospite book.The sposo anche fatto i tavoli di accoglienza da vecchi pallet in legno.Tale quota coppia un uno su un milione amore e la connessione e traspariva il giorno più di ogni altra cosa .Erano così facile andare e gli ospiti ci sono svanite abiti da sposa corti dalla bellezza di tutto questo.La cerimonia si è svolta nel bellissimo giardino percorso di Seppeltsfield Cantina abiti da sposa corti nella Barossa Valley .con la reception in un epoca ispirata tendone sul prato sopra .
Questo matrimonio aveva tutto.Una grande festa nuziale vestiti da sposa splendido .musica acustica dal vivo durante la cerimonia .polaroid .e naturalmente una torta ciambella di nozze per coronare il tutto !La giornata è stata perfetta e l'amore tra Olivia e Matt era indescrivibile .. Ancora una volta .pura perfezione e ispirazione Fotografia
: Sarah Bamford Fotografia | Doughnuts : Athelstone Bakehouse | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Venue - cerimonia e il ricevimento : Seppeltsfield
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=118
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Ya me voy para siempre
Para nunca volver
El amor que yo quise
No me quiso querer
Ya me voy derrotado
Me duele el corazon
Por que el amor de mi alma
Por que el amor de mi alma
Solito me dejo
Voy a vagar, por ahi
Trataré de pasar
Mi vida mas tranquila
Si sigue este dolor
No le sorprenda que
Mi hogar sea una cantina
Ya me voy derrotado
Me duele el corazon
Por que el amor de mi alma
Por que el amor de mi alma
Solito me dejo
Voy a vagar, por ahi
Trataré de pasar
Mi vida mas tranquila
Si sigue este dolor
No le sorprenda que
Mi hogar sea una cantina
Ya me voy derrotado
Me duele el corazon
Por que el amor de mi alma
Por que el amor de mi alma
Solito me dejo
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
It was as if
I were witnessing
a classic Hollywood western.
There I was
stuck in Lubbock
on that windy as hell day,
so I dropped into
the local drinking establishment
to guzzle some whiskey
for a spell.
It wasn't long before
she drove up
riding the prettiest Harley ever,
all chrome and polished black
with the sweetest sound
a bike could make,
it purred like a kitten.
She leaned that baby
up against the wall outside
& strutted like John Wayne
(some would argue Marlon Brando)
into the cantina
where she bellied up to the bar.
Every male jaw in the joint
was dropped
watching her down
three shots of Cuervo,
pay the check in hard cash,
a big bill,
and saunter right back
out of the place
like she owned it.
She was mesmerizing,
fluid motion,
tight jeans,
a rattlesnake sway.
Every man stood at the window
to watch her kick her stand up
& disappear
on that long black ribbon
into the falling sun,
breathtaking...
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
Adonis esta viejo!
El caballo de la region,
esta perdiendo la razon
quiere aniquilar el Padre del pueblo,
pues este le recordo…
que no es ya el Adonis que enamoraba por monton.
que por su ego y corbardia,
anda solo por cabron!
Adonis esta viejo,
no le fian en la cantina.
Ya las mujeres andan corriendo el cuento….
de que ya no es buen amante,
que ya ni sirve pa’ comapañia!
Adonis esta viejo,
se ha mirado al espejo y no le gusta su reflejo.
aunque joven se siente por dentro
el espejo reflejas su piel plegada,
esa pansa bien crecida,
y el pelo se le esta raleando,
por atrás se ve su calva brillando.
Adonis esta viejo,
Adonis el mujeriego,
Adonis, el que todas la mujeres querian,
Adonis, el que sembro alegrias momentarias,
Adonis, que no anclo en ningun puerto,
Adonis, el que nunca pasaba una noche solo,
Adonis se quedo solo y sin su hombria.
Adonis no penso,
que el tiempo pasaria.
Adonis esta viejo y no lo gusta lo que ve en el espejo.
LeydisProse
6/13/2017
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
i.
fascination
sings "tainted love"
in a los angeles bar.
tests lips
on picnic tables.
feel the bark in my
back against the tree
and the backseat
of my car.
ii.
infatuation
takes shots of tequila
in mission cantina.
eager, greedy
sliding up my skirt
in the bathroom.
follows the path
to sneak glances
in my bed.
iii.
satisfaction
sits on your couch
drinking wine coolers
in the dark.
silent infomercials
and jungle beats
your hips and mine.
rough hands fading
down my leg.
iv.
desperation
whispers by a pool
hushing crushed hearts.
not the time
not the place
a forced reality to face.
avoids complication
holding my tongue
inside my chest.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC
Stormtroopers
descended on Baja,
rolled over
the disrepaired highways
under the crescent moon,
both crazier than loons.
Dressed in full battle gear,
our billfolds
were stuffed to the hilt
with pesos,
mouths watered
for some aged tequila
& worms.
We met Rosa & Lupita
outside the cantina,
the drinking place
guarded by ten-year olds
carrying machine guns
covered with duct tape.
In the morning,
we were penniless
with hurt heads
& sore feet,
the amigas were gone.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC
Alcohol.
And train schedules.
A commuter's tightrope.
The last stop, Hpnotiq.
Where it rains sadness.
Where they're numb
To the moment of inertia.
Preferring instead to
Live on the rim.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 7:19 AM UTC
Brittle bright iced morning
Sun screaming across a harmonic sky
Misty windows clearing.
Work clatters to a halt
You sip cantina coffee and listen
As children beg biscuits
October afternoon
The Sun, behind the mist, between the trees
Pretends to be the Moon.
The iron runs steaming
Its slow warm dance across the shirts and sheets
As quiet evening falls.
You spark words with a friend
Discuss the politics of open love
With no point to defend.
I saw you once resting
Sweeping the hair from you lips with your hand
You gave a glancing smile.
These fine thoughtless moments
Like unexplained dreams will last forever
Are dreams but dancing dust?
Is all of this madness?
If so I cling to this insanity
Plain, Beautiful, Hopeless!
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
From thirty thousand feet above the desert floor I see it there below.
A city with a legend, the west Texas city of El Paso.
my mind is somewhere down there as I fly above the badlands of new Mexico.
Rose's cantina.
Bullets and badmen.
Don't take your guns to town son.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
I remember that night quite well
Went assuming you'd be there
Knowing it would be hell
Nervous shakes, biting lip
Laughs too loud
Daydream trip
I slipped into thought
Forgot where I was
Summer night, boiling hot
Crimson lipstick stained
On my white button up
Smile hiding heart pained
You appear as I hoped
Black shirt and tie
My heart in throat choked
After years of pining
Unrequited love
Was all I was finding
Your dark hair twisted
Light eyes to contrast
I regretfully resisted
No contact at all
Not eye or speech
Yet deeper I fall
Fast-forward still
Later that night
Heat subsides to chill
Lights reflect in my eyes
Strung like pearls on a necklace
And I'm hypnotized
Standing there wishing
Your hand was in mine
Romanticizing, reminiscing
A walk alone in the midnight garden
An open frame of mind
Instead of a heart hardened
It wouldn't have felt so out of place
For me to have met you there
To have a silent and secret embrace
For you, I felt so open
But you never found me there
I had just been hoping
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
Every time I see a
McDonnell-Douglas
80,
Or MD-80,
I sweat the deadened
Drop
Of a labor
I’d wish not
Remember.
We called it,
“The Oven,”
Name and noun
For the belly,
The belly of the
Beast –
Texas high noon
And no water,
While
Tossing luggage:
*******
Prongs
And cadavers,
Hours on end
Under Spanish howl
And deafening
Jet engines.
I soon left,
The tarmac,
The turmoil
And clamor
Of airport operations areas.
I picked up,
Walked to the
Cantina
‘Cross the way,
Grabbed a beer,
Grabbed a U-haul
And grabbed my
Girl
On the way out.
I’m here now,
North
And of no end to
Mechanism,
My commodity
Food,
My machine,
Now a car,
Though admittedly,
When I look to the
Sky
And spot an MD-80,
I remember my
Toil
And sympathize for my
Sister,
A blonde and the
Youngest of the brood
Who continues to
Stomach that very
Hell
I’d freed myself from.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
I retreat prompted by a certain
Charm for older things
Into my mechanized city:
A scene of 1920's buildings
Awaiting seeker of history.
I sit by a grand oak
With a book in hand
And find a storage dimension
Of Pecan and Ashe trees
Whistling to Poplars in certain
Winds between the River and the
Town that runs through it.
Here in a walk with the River
I want to rest my soul
A destroy all other thoughts
Of complacent voices.
An old cantina was placed
At her heart, inside a Catholic
Crucifix with Christ watches
Over the patrons as they drink
A merry round with old friends.
A profound feeling in the city,
I gaze at the Old Mission
Of the Heart, I remember her well,
The Alamo lights up my city
And perhaps my whole world.
There is a tower of many Americas
Compelling the watchers,
Its as if the mercy of her heights
Allows you to fly in the air
Seeing certain histories from there.
I enjoy her charm,
San Anto at her heart
Is a maiden of loyal charms,
All resignation is set aside
As old voices speak to you,
And they seem to say,
"Welcome, welcome old friends"
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
It's been years now
since I've seen her
I'm getting closer to Caterina
It may be why I'm here
sipping this beer
on the steps of the old Cantina
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
I sip the wine but do not swallow.
I let it fall to the earth at my feet.
Memories of warm arid air return.
A small village of ancestors.
Cellars of wine fermenting.
Near weeping barrels.
Fragrant smells of grape.
Wood fires of grapevines and
olive branches mix with the
fragrances of the evening meal.
My Grandfathers voice faint yet forceful.
My Grandmothers voice scolding yet yielding.
The dance continues.
Night rolls in off the mountains carting the souls of those who have been here always.
Young women parade before the festival.
Wolves watch.
The old men sing and play cards at the cantina.
The sound of church bells chime.
I climb the stairs to the roof.
Humid air flows as a river from the vineyards below.
A place I know and carry in my veins.
The memories intoxicate me.
In Vino et Veritas.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC