"colombian" poems
In Spanish, VIVIR means To Live, the proper conjugation of which to when you say something as improper as “I live” would simply be translated to “Yo Vivo”.
I live, as a Colombian-American.
I live, as “You don’t look Hispanic”
I live, “Woah! You and your brother look nothing alike. You’re so… white.”
I live, “My mom came home once and talked about a man who simply replied with a horribly pronounced “Me gusta” when my mom said she was Hispanic.”
I live, “My dad condones abusive behavior because he thinks Latina aggression is ****
I live, my mom asking me “Would you rather celebrate the Sweet Sixteen or have a quinceanera party?”
I live, as the white boy sitting across the room in Spanish class asking “When will I need this in real life?”
I live, as the “Yes I DO have a friend with a skin complexion similar to mine, and yes, he is Hispanic.”
I live, most of my friends are beautiful people of color.
I live, when will you open up the tab in Google and search some Hispanic History to fill your mind instead of “Latina ****
I live, the messages on the Internet saying “You’re Hispanic? I bet you’re great in bed.”
I live, there are NO gender neutral nouns in Spanish
I live, yes I DO love coffee
I live, no it did NOT stunt my growth
I live, one kiss per cheek at family meet-ups
I live, “Eskimo” nose rubs
I live, "if you’re hispanic, why aren’t your ears pierced?"
I live, being expected to remember Spanish just because it was my first language, but growing up with an American dad made me whiter than fresh bed-sheets sold in America, made in South America, Hecha en Peru.
I live, my mom breaking into tears as she is so proud that I can sing in Spanish
I live, my mom used to be so embarrassed, when I replied “un poco” to her friends asking “Tu Hablas Espanol?”
I live, "if you’re Hispanic, is your mom an Alien?"
I live, "But your dad looks so white!"
I live, being subject to racism hidden in a joke, hidden in a remark about how pale I am, hidden behind a judgmental look, hidden behind a scoff, a laugh, a pity shrug, a fetishized assumption.
I live the bulletproof clothing and horrible crimes I am warned about when I say I wanna go to Colombia I wanna go to my mom’s home.
I live, as a Colombian-American.
I live.
Yo vivo.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
You lived alone in the solititude
Of pure hundred years in Colombia
Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue
Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag
On your poverty written Colombian back,
Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera,
On none other than your bitter-sweet memories
Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro,
Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life
In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014,
Only to succumb to untimely black death
That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor;
Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard,
You were to write to the colonel for your life,
Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked
For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed,
Come back from death, you dear Marquez
To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism,
From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land
An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre
Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough,
For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories,
I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo,
But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia,
Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo
On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art,
When coming to America to look for your culture
That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen,
Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them
Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Summer breeze,
the sun beats down on me.
It leaves me a mark,
paints me like my ancestors.
A radiant glow.
An exotic flower from the tropical
gardens of Colombia.
Just like an exotic flower from the tropical
gardens of Colombia.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
Spirit awakens
rises slowly from the depths
riding the steam
Colombian roast
dancing
Malian rhythms
caught in the air
_breathe in_
tenth-floor Westpark
northern coast
southern isle
Time is a ticking oyster
and This
dazzling, lazy morning
her mother-of-pearl
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along
Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria
Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs
Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia
They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates
I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!
Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate
I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic ******* hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!
I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
We are a global society
When we want oranges in the fruit bowl,
When we want out of our rut
Just long enough
To brown in a patch of Spanish sun.
We are a global society
When the Japanese car breaks down
And we are in need of a cheap fix
To keep food on the table,
Some Latvian mechanic
Who helps us find our way home.
We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When the zeroes run low
And there are spaces,
Foreign faces,
To which we can point
And blame.
We are a global society
With our sweat-shop chic,
American coffee chains
Selling Colombian ground beans,
Frappuccinos in plastic cups-
Made in China
And served by a Romanian barista
In Italian heels.
We are a global society
When the demand is high
And the payment is low.
We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When hands reach out for help
And our pockets are too shallow,
Our time, too brief
To commit to a unity
We feel is dragging us down.
We are a global society
When the football is on,
When the lager is Belgian
And the supermodel, Greek.
When we cradle that bag of Cheetos
After smoking too much ****
We are a global society
When oppression is overt,
Caricatured in bulletin posters,
Threatening to land
Upon our own front door.
We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When poverty seems contagious,
When we have to clean up
Someone else’s mess,
Still we scar the Middle East
Only half-interested in an exit.
We are a global society
When we get sick,
When we borrow another doctor
For our ailing NHS.
When cities of white people burn,
We are a global society,
When Africa is divided,
We are nowhere to be seen.
Prime mover of the commonwealth
Yet we fall beneath the breadline
And living easy is so rare.
We are our own nation,
An island nation,
Under the false flag
Of a golden age
We were conned to believe in.
Our nation, our island nation,
Lost amongst a sea of misinformation.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
If I was a coffee drinker
I’d balance your body like a rosetta
I’d kiss your cheek with my
Colombian coffee breath
the flavor of our love like
your crema on my tongue-
notes of rich chocolate evenings
and salty, very salty
your bitterness like the very first time
notes of my coffee cherry-
no, your coffee cherry
the aftertaste like high acidity
your complexity gets lost on
my caffeine intolerance
but I still feel your finish
each time I swallow
I still find notes of you,
cupping me
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 3:39 AM UTC
What would I do without you!
Well I certainly couldn't be ME!
"Coffee, you've never let me down."
And you taste so much better than tea!
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 12:12 AM UTC
I am terribly sorry that I ran into you. I can see that you are a bit puzzled because you think that you know me. Perhaps we have met a time or two or maybe every holiday last year, but I don’t blame you for forgetting. You see, I have changed…quite a bit and I can tell that you are very confused. It’s not the way you are looking at me or the way that I am looking at you, or the way that you are looking at me looking at you or the way that I am looking at you looking at me. Wait, why are you looking at me? Oh yeah, you are probably wondering whether or not to ask me if I am that sweet little innocent queer barista at the nearby coffee shop down the street or the ****** up **** that your daughter so disgustingly fell in love with during her crazy high school phase. Yeah… that may or may not have been me. You know, you might want to tell your daughter to call me because she left some things at my house and I have been trying to get them back to her for years now.
Oh uh…Who am I you ask? It seems that you still aren’t following me. I mean my identity means nothing to you…or at least it shouldn’t, but I will try to enlighten in the best way that I can. You see, my identity has always been the person that you see before you. It’s just that for most of his life, he was trapped under the softly sweet smelling perfumes and make up that tortured him for a good solid 15 years. His identity masked from everyone around him. The man you see before you is indeed the imaginary boyfriend that your daughter claimed to have all those years of middle school because she refused to bring him home for fear that her parents would call her a lesbian. He may or may not also be the **** that you refused to acknowledge every night at dinner on every freaking holiday he was at your house every year during high school; Your daughter’s Lesbian friend that was conjoined to her hip 24/7. Little did you know, I was the boy she wanted to marry, the one and only person she ever felt loved her. He hid in plain sight for several years. Yet you never noticed. That is, until the night you caught us.
You see, I am not the Lesbian that converted your daughter. Or even the **** that ruined her life. I am the boy who has always been by her side through everything. The man who promised to forever remain by her side, through whatever life tossed her way. I fell in love with her on the first day of 6th grade and I haven’t stopped loving her since. She will forever be the love of my life and….Wait why are you crying? I have some news that might cheer you up. You know that sweet boy that your daughter has been seeing, who she has refuses to bring to dinner? Yeah…you may or may not be looking at him. Let me introduce myself, I’m Aimes.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
Fanatics fixed their eyes upon
The screen to cheer their team
The mood there in the air was tense
Tricolor seemed out of steam
The clock was counting down
The time was drawing nigh
Doomed to lose and head on home
Bid Russia their goodbye
An errant shot deflected out
Gave them one last chance
To score a goal and prance about
Show off their famous dance
From the corner, the ball soared in
A hero rose above
Mina smacked it with his head
And won his country's love
England shocked to see the win
Snatched right from their grasp
Colombia delirious
Successful at last gasp
And thus the game was sent along
Into the overtime
Two periods were played to nil
Two teams full in their prime
Penalties would now decide
Which team would advance
The locals glued to their tvs
The nation in a trance
Falcao scores! Kane as well!
Cuadrado, Rashford too!
Muriel then strikes one home
Tricolor up three to two!
Ospina blocks the next one
Hypes up the frenzied crowd
But Uribe hits the crossbar
And the silence echoes loud
Trippier knots it up again
We're down to final shots
Bacca fails to get his through
Past Pickford's valiant swat
Fate rests upon this final kick
Well placed with perfect spin
Just past Ospina's outstreched hands
Dier seals the win
The cafeteros reel from shock
No sign of jubilation
But still the crowd, crushed in defeat
Show their appreciation
Colombia eliminated
We give them all a hand
And though their World Cup here is done
I'm now their biggest fan
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
A spiral galaxy of cream in my coffee dream
The dark caffeine universe my sunrise today
A bridge between waking and sleeping again
And the morning paper’s sadistic nightmare fun.
A milky way of latte mixes with banking binge
The espresso speed of the incredulous ******
Front-page stupefied, newly poor church-mice
Await another failed pension rescue bid today.
A drip, drip, drip of freshly brewed Colombian
Aroma comfort a promise for work-less workers
Catastrophe curious seriously seeking employ
Vladimirs and Estragons still waiting for Godot.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
O my little darling,
let’s drop by the coffee shop,
we'll have a quick hot-brew.
There's nothing like
a mug of strong Colombian!
Then we can head over to Kyoto’s,
we'll have some platters of delicious-sushi.
I really love the sashimi.
There's nothing like eating spicy raw-fish
coated with that fiery-hot wasabi!
Hey you girl,
I don’t want to sound too pushy,
but it’s getting kind of late,
let’s head over to my place,
we'll mix up
a couple of slow screwdrivers.
There's nothing like
those tasty midnight cocktails,
I love sipping them,
especially with you.
O you’re my prefect date,
so scrumptious,
so true,
I think I love you!
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
My coffee and I have quite the relationship
So hot, but knows when to cool down
Dark, smooth, tasteful to the tongue
She keeps me up all through the moonlight
Until my eyes peck the sun
Sweet *** of coffee
How is it so?
You are so arousing and pleasurable
I can not let go-
I always want more
I never stop at one glass
It takes me at least three cups
To make the night last
I am addicted to her
Columbian bliss
Sweet kisses of her flavor
All over my lips
Again and again
Until my cup runs dry
Until I fall asleep
Until I see her next time
She makes me warm
I like her this way
When she eventually cools down
I do still like her just the same
Quick, and easy to finish-
But such is a rare occasion
I don't usually wait or have the patience
She doesn't care either way
In the end one thing is for certain
I like coffee any time of the day
So to speak
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
Colombian drug lords, so
fearing the dog's superlative
abilities, put a hit out on the
medal-winning K9 agent
Colombian drug cartel has put out
a $70,000 hit on a drug-sniffing
German shepherd after she helped
authorities discover nearly 10 tons
of the group’s *******
Sombra “Shadow” in English,
has since been relocated by authorities
after the Urabeños, considered
Colombia’s most powerful criminal
organization, put the price on her head,
reported the BBC on Thursday;
the 6-year-old canine having an
incredibly successful career as a
drug sniffer thus far; having
uncovered a record amount of narcotics
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
1. If you aren't moving your hands while telling a story, it's a boring ******* story. Add in something to make it exciting, like a chance encounter with a tiger. So what if no one believes that tigers walk down 5th avenue, at least your story doesn't **** any more. You know whose story ***** now? That ******* who doesn't believe a tiger can make it in the big city.
2. Make bad mistakes every once in awhile. How will you know that you don't want to be part of a Colombian Drug Cartel unless you try it out for a few weeks? Who knows, maybe you'll find out it's your true calling. Maybe you'll stage a coup, take over the whole thing and get the hot girl in the red dress. But no, you're sitting at your computer reading this. My point is, drugs are bad ok?
3. Don't be that guy who thinks he's better than everyone else because he always "does the right thing". You know why he's never made a mistake? Because he doesn't have a real life. His life is as real as a Ken Doll's unmentionables. Yeah it's all smooth and shiny, but he can't have any fun with it. What's the point of having a life that can't be potentially ruined by terrible decisions?
4. Take chances. and I don't mean by putting "Piccolo Pete's Face Burning Tabasco" on your hotdog. I mean walk up to the next girl you see and give her a passionate kiss the likes of which she hasn't had since 3 days ago when she drunkenly made out with some random dude at a bar. Yeah, you may feel like you've just been kneed in the groin and/or maced multiple times in the eye...but you know what? You just made out with a beautiful woman, and you've got a good lawyer.
5. Don't take advice from people you don't know. Especially some random person on the internet, those people are just shady.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
because when I'm with her I can do anything and when she's gone I'm pretty much useless.
She's like *******
because she's even better with a little ****
She's like *******
because well, she's white. (But that *** is pure Colombian)
She's like *******
because even her scent is enough to make me succeed at all business.
She's like *******
because I've only hit it a few times but play like I'm an expert on it.
She's like *******
because anyone with a Scarface poster in their bedroom has probably not actually had HER in it.
She's like *******
because her head game could make my nose bleed if I'm not careful.
She's like *******
because I haven't slept right since I've been without her.
She's like *******
because I'd give
every dollar I have
for another taste.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Looking back
years later,
I probably should never
have been on that flight.
Here’s the reasons why……
Shortly after takeoff,
and three cocktails later,
I spied a gremlin hanging out
on Engine Two.
Every time I looked,
smallish with green skin and red lips,
it smiled with an impish grin,
then went about its business
dismantling the cowling.
It seemed like
I was the only one who noticed
the little creature.
Other people were looking out
of the same side of the plane and
nobody was saying or doing anything.
Had they slipped me something?
Was the gin spiked?
Was I hallucinating?
Was God sending me a message?
Needless to say
we landed safely in Bogota
a few hours later.
It was a beautiful vacation!
But on my return flight,
things turned sour.
I was busted
for possession of narcotics,
spent six years in
a Colombian prison,
it wasn’t Heaven.
Like I said,
I probably should have never been on that plane.
Now looking back years later,
I think the gremlin was trying to warn me,
I wished I had taken heed,
given up the thought
of trafficking.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
When we first met, I didn’t think we’d be friends,
but a year later, I couldn’t imagine us being apart.
Sometimes I still wonder if you remember the day we went prom dress shopping together,
in the crisp Florida heat,
and the next night, telling me you’d gotten a new love interest,
a 500 ml purple bottle of Robitussin cough syrup.
I know I’ll still miss you when I take my prom pictures next week,
right in the color you always said made my wavy black hair look best,
or when I keep getting the Google notifications that you signed me up for,
the ones about Olaf and the Frozen cast going to Broadway.
Remember the nights we spent gossiping about the hotties of Pretty Little Liars?
Or the late night sing-a-long pizza parties,
long discussions surrounding your cute Colombian boy,
how you always swore marry in rich to a successful business man.
I don’t know what I was waiting for from you.
After you half-consciously walked out of the room, opened the window to look back in,
just to hurt me, to see the wall that had sprung up between us,
the one you’d always blamed on me, but that we both remember you building yourself.
But from what I’ll always remember,
you were the slippery eel, the leech, in the strength and weakness of my life,
who ****** on my happiness to fill your own open voids and problems,
dragged me away from m life and my friends, to fill your place yourself,
bulldoze me out of my own life, my own home and place.
So, dear eel, continue on.
Swim through and far away,
from the lake, that still yet remains in my memory.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
A spectre resides within me,
tormenting me relentlessly,
disrespecting me in my sleep,
does this haunting have no end!?
There's a ringing
in my ears, just before
the pain sets in.
A constant-thumping,
a sharp-stabbing
behind my eyes,
disrupting me
from a glorious
deep slumber.
Then the panic sets in &
I must soothe this beast,
before I am driven mad.
And O what decisions!
Two or three scoops
of Colombian,
Kenyan, perhaps
some Guatemalan!?
Black, cream or sugar!?
What will suffice
this evil tormenter,
this wraith of the night!?
And O Dear Lord,
I cannot think clearly,
how can anyone
so sleep-deprived,
so panicstricken,
make such choices
this late, so early
in the morning!?
Dear Lord, please
help me make it
through another day,
please make
it go away!
Just black......
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
Hey honey what your drinking?
Here have some wine , here comes the whisky
Did I just taste ***
Im preety sure that was a white liquor shot
O man nice bottle opener
Lets have a beer
O man I love you guys
Whisky shots
Ill just have a glass of ***
STOPPPP
**** hits
O is that a joint?
Sleep ,
Sleep
2 hours later
Is that a
Black label !!! in the counter AHHH
Im a bad colombian
Dad is stillgoing
I feel like throwing up
Colombian Christmases
Morning hangovers
Wake and bake joints
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
the first thing people would say upon our engagement is show me the ring like some bling is an ode of your love to me. i am not a homemaker i am a homebody. i excel in colombian coffee and monday night pub specials and cheap wine with expensive labels. i excel at being one of the guys and by being one of the guys i mean not being your wife. i filled the crevices you scraped in me like some kind of sculptor smoothing over past mistakes like being your wife was some kind of placebo pill i can sweat out with half-empty pizza boxes and grease stains on a couch that was never mine. when i first tell people about us about what i've done they say
but you two fit so well
but i liked you together
but you were going to get married
but but but
but they don't see your knuckles almost shaking hands with my jawline or the time i stared at you deadpan i'm not scared of you and i think that's what scared you that i'm no battered wife that i'll take you all bleed you dry then smile from the corner.
i am no battered wife like the woman who raised you
whose christmas-gifted blanket i'm currently curled under but whose 4 a.m. whispered words i cherish more he can't make you forget what you felt like your lies would forge me into the *bat **** crazy ***** you christened me but what i felt in your booze-stained breath amaretto-sweet words ice-diluted eyes was i am no battered wife
i am no laying next to you in bed at 30 with kids i couldn't convince myself to want and bruises that fit your fingers on my ribs. i'll take my tuesday tequila and too-loud laughs, my scrounging for quarters for just one more cup of coffee over your stability smirks.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
She sat, back to the paint-drip
furnace and the little, drywall
mountain beneath the single-
pane sun. Though we were hunched
over a tablecloth of ink and Xerox
study guides, I knew we were there
with our legs swung over, dripping
parallel to the faults in the face
where it threatened to split itself
and leak sweet, Colombian dirt.
We could feel the push of fifty million
coffee grounds at our steamed-milk heels
and the edge crumbling off into teaspoons,
but we didn't move.
We watched the teal-crystal sky
boil over instead.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
We once wore tie dyes,
smoked herbage,
all styles, all kinds,
it blew our minds.
Swirls & waves,
Colombian & Mexican,
a little bit of Thai,
the stick.
We were walking
kaleidoscopes,
amateur-gurus,
electric experts,
explosive flames,
so vibrant,
so vivid,
energetic & dreamy.
And when coupled
with some Zeppelin,
the Stones or Geils,
we were
the
coolest humans on Earth.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
Blurring nights to be a teenage queen.
She's oh so sophisticated,
Mouth full of slurred words and red wine,
Lipgloss lined lips and
Eyes perfectly defined, winged,
lashes cloaked in black,
Mascara'd run if it weren't enclosed
In lash reformatory.
Her hair, to be described
Would take as long, as the length goes on.
She has an acquired taste,
Like a roasted Colombian mix, or a spice tea,
She
Is intriguing and alluring.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC