"cruises" poems
Mark A. Williams
SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018
___________________________________________________________
Wow Mark,
Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!
Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.
All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.
(RIP Jimi Carlsen)
Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!
Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.
I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.
I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together.
Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
maybe the buildings are hollow,
occupied only in facade on the first floor of storefronts
maybe this whole town is a hologram
of neon against puddles
on the pavement.
maybe the citizens are ghosts
floating by
in circles, or squares of city blocks,
around a routine,
or droning through on electric scooters
as if on muted theme park rides
to the next sensory diversion;
to the nearest gastronomical pleasure;
toward the weekend and its next party
celebrating the loss of time,
I see their tired faces
staring out from the glass
of coffeeshop windows
on every block.
I see their piles of beer cans
beside the trash chute.
I hear them singing
on booze-cruises to nowhere
What part of this cycle
that turns days into dust
moves us closer to heaven?
What feast from what new restaurant downtown
will feed our souls?
From which lonely night do we finally emerge
beside the one
whose presence fills
these hollow buildings
to the top-most floors?
Which of the empty lots
between us do we fill
with a conversation
about how this is all a dream,
or how we'll keep each other awake
on a bench
beneath a street lamp before dawn
waiting for the first bus to take us home.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
The warmth of the sun settles, hugging the lake.
The dragonfly flies low, hovering above the tranquil water
the light seeping through the paper thin skin,
it hums across the lake, refracting light off its wings,
An array of colors make patterns on the wings,
wearing it like a cloak, a rainbow embedded within.
The colors tilt and shift as the dragonfly gracefully cruises through life,
laying close to the water but letting the air propel it forward,
floating between two different worlds,
it is like a dream where our thoughts are separated from reality,
and are scattered like refracted light for us to assemble.
Through a screen of our dreams, a world can be seen.
A world of hopes and desires that is dormant within
The light of life just soaks us bare,
our skin turns frail,
under the scorching glare,
the glare of eyes that want you to be,
someone that is accepted by society.
the dragonfly bathes itself in the sun,
the iridescent colors shine on its skin,
flying and floating, he’s determined to win
a predator, determined to get what it wants
nothing blocking its way or paving its path
making the most out of life and never holding back
spread your wings like the dragonfly
that hums its way through life,
dipping its wings in the sun to shine,
breaking free a life of colors,
that we leave locked and forgotten,
behind a reality made of black and white,
the black ink seeping through our minds,
injecting us with ideas of the 'ideal life'
where money and fortune, and status define.
Bathe your mind in the wonders of the world,
soak your heart in life's warmth and glow,
and pave your own path,
with the dreams you sow.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
Her ballet shoes still hang
outside my bedroom door.
I see them every morning,
before my work at the store.
As my car cuts and cruises,
through the country's autumn streets,
My mind slowly wanders
to a harsh, wooden seat.
The judge's decision was irrevocable,
my wife left with everything.
I last saw her ride a taxi, tossing
to the sewers, our wedding ring.
Work is always such a challenge
when my customers just stare.
They know how harsh it was,
but they don't really care.
The judge's decision was irrevocable,
my wife left with everything.
She even took our daughter,
that precious little thing.
As my car cuts and cruises,
through the country's autumn streets,
My mind slowly wanders
to my daughter's little feet
Her ballet shoes still hang
outside my bedroom door.
They once were used for dancing,
but not anymore.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Lone leatherback cruises up from the deep, pausing on the fragile reef
to feast ancient eyes upon the show, a bright parade laid out below
butterfly couples paired for life, graceful angels in black and white stripe
brilliant clowns and their toxic lovers, a plodding gang of giant groupers
puffers bob like comic balloons, humble gobies on every menu
beaked parrotfish grinding the coral down, in the ears a constant sound
cowfish blowing puckered kisses, sea stars catching fishy wishes
white-tipped, hammerhead, tiger sharks, triggerfish mean bite worse than their bark
untamed unicorns too wild to ride, dogfish snapping, biting alongside
coral trout color-shifting fools, attracting ladies in dull-hued schools
**** headed wrasse rumbling through, thick lips mumbling go get a room
sea horses nod in labyrinth caves, razor-toothed eels lying in wait
if tentacled embrace should be your fate, nudibranchs will light the way
to a place of bliss, none of this can exist, without the builders
coral and algae bewildered, the ways of man egotistical
rising ocean temperatures, carbon emissions, and el Niño
victim of abundant greed, say goodbye to the Great Barrier Reef
so massive is this magical place, one can see it from outer space
astronauts witness its demise, ninety-percent barren, bleached bone white.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
Spring comes little, a little. All April it rains.
The new leaves stick in their fists; new ferns still fiddleheads.
But one day the swifts are back. Face to the sun like a child
You shout, 'The swifts are back!'
Sure enough, bolt nocks bow to carry one sky-scyther
Two hundred miles an hour across fullblown windfields.
Swereee swereee. Another. And another.
It's the cut air falling in shrieks on our chimneys and roofs.
The next day, a fleet of high crosses cruises in ether.
These are the air pilgrims, pilots of air rivers.
But a shift of wing, and they're earth-skimmers, daggers
Skilful in guiding the throw of themselves away from themselves.
Quick flutter, a scimitar upsweep, out of danger of touch, for
Earth is forbidden to them, water's forbidden to them,
All air and fire, little owlish ascetics, they outfly storms,
They rush to the pillars of altitude, the thermal fountains.
Here is a legend of swifts, a parable —
When the Great Raven bent over earth to create the birds,
The swifts were ungrateful. They were small muddy things
Like shoes, with long legs and short wings,
So they took themselves off to the mountains to sulk.
And they stayed there. 'Well,' said the Raven, after years of this,
'I will give you the sky. You can have the whole sky
On condition that you give up rest.'
'Yes, yes,' screamed the swifts, 'We abhor rest.
We detest the filth of growth, the sweat of sleep,
Soft nests in the wet fields, slimehold of worms.
Let us be free, be air!'
So the Raven took their legs and bound them into their bodies.
He bent their wings like boomerangs, honed them like knives.
He streamlined their feathers and stripped them of velvet.
Then he released them, Never to Return
Inscribed on their feet and wings. And so
We have swifts, though in reality, not parables but
Bolts in the world's need: swift
Swifts, not in punishment, not in ecstasy, simply
Sleepers over oceans in the mill of the world's breathing.
The grace to say they live in another firmament.
A way to say the miracle will not occur,
And watch the miracle.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
When words are not enough,
and the world won’t get off her back,
she dances the Devils way,
She’s a princess,
wait she’s a queen,
wait she’s an angel,
wait she’s everything,
a Goddess,
the hottest performing artist I’ve ever seen,
and she’s dancing,
dancing is her therapy,
I mean,
I’m not James Brown,
but it’s a man’s world,
even if Rihanna runs this town,
See,
she’s been suppressed all her life,
and I’m not just talking about Rihanna,
I’m talking about every girl that was ever forced to be a wife,
just to survive in this life,
she was touched by her father,
or brother or cousin,
when she was just a little girl,
I know we all wish it wasn’t,
but it is true,
so what’s a girl to do,
when she’s a clean 13 messing with The ***** Dozen,
this isn’t battle of the sexes,
this is war of the worlds,
wants to be a woman but she’s just a girl,
no No Doubt just burnt out nerves taken turns,
she never asked to be born,
with the burden of being beautiful,
but she refuses to conform,
she is attractable irrational and radical,
so when it’s all too much,
the stares and the catcalls,
the aggressive forceful touch,
the nails across her back like a blackboard,
and the moans become just white noise,
she takes it all in,
she forgives the man because he’s just a boy,
he is an angel even if he has fallen,
she takes it all in,
and she uses all of those abuses,
as the fuel with the tools which induces,
an allusive state of truth which,
allows her to move with intuitive smoothness,
and lose herself in the music morphing into what a centrifuge is,
separating fluids transforming what was otherwise useless abuses,
into a truth that cruises and confuses the stupid stooges,
she dances,
in a statement of glorious refusal to submit to their ideals,
she is more than a princess queen angel goddess,
she is fire burning up all preconceived notions of *** appeal,
the real deal,
dancing sweating cleansing her soul and her pores,
moving faster in progression refuting repression,
overcoming an obsession of oppression and knocking down all doors,
she is not a possession,
though she is possessed when,
she’s a dancing expression of how we all feel and more,
no words are enough,
she shows what we all feel,
she reveals what,
was before thinly concealed,
she is the perfect expression,
of imperfect circumstances,
she is poetic stanzas,
she is the paint on the canvas,
there is no question that she is the answer,
and all of this is made clear when she takes it all in,
let’s go of everything and dances…
∆aron L∆ Lux ∆
#strength #metoo #dancer #ballet #blackswan
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
Little Box talks back
With a new set of teeth
And pink gums
A fake nose and a wax mustache
She disguises her voice
To sound like Groucho
•
Little Box opens up
And cries to her psychiatrist
I don’t know why they hate me
I’m such a sweetheart
I volunteer at the zoo
And teach Mandarin
To their bratty children
•
Little Box is not happy to see you
So she closes herself up for months
Years, decades, and two millennia!
She tacks up a sign that says
Nirvana
•
Little Box is undead
She sleeps all day in a coffin
Hands over chest
At night she cruises the mall
For juicy victims
She prefers type A
But AB if she has to
What can you say
Vampires can’t be choosy
She likes your stupid brother
•
Little Box is on the psychiatry couch
Everybody hates me
Nobody loves me
Little Box lies on her side
And spills her guts
•
What’s in Little Box
A perfect orchid
A chocolate-covered strawberry
A new iPhone
With a glittery sleeve
Amber earrings from Pushkin
Keys to a new Porsche
A retro Chanel brooch
A Getty scion’s left ear
A Czar’s *****
Gifts so rare
Please don’t stare
•
What’s in Little Box
Rancid chow mein
A sliver of cold pizza
Last week’s hummus
You’re a starving orphan
From East Brooklyn
And you’ll eat it
•
So you want to **** Little Box
You want to know her secret
She won’t open up
She won’t give it up
And you are genuinely repelled
By her filthy ribbon
•
You want to DO the Little Box
You are a sorry story
You big creep
Why don’t you get off the couch and find
A real girlfriend!
•
Boss Box
White, square, and without a soul!
•
Please don’t analyze Little Box
She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill
Her mother Precious Jade Purse
Has been regifted
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
A light came into the world,
Wearing a long dress,
The nicest smile,
Carrying the greatest heart of gold.
That light had a son:
Our best friend, father and Grandad,
The most wonderful other half
To an already lovely woman.
Together they had a family,
Joining heritages,
Crossing seas,
Found themselves in Leeds.
But that was only the beginning of the journey:
Between the weekend trips with their good friends,
The cruises where they laughed and danced,
Wearing his best bow tie;
To the sofa days,
Keeping up with the Gaelic.
A man with many loves,
And Ireland remained one.
I remember when Grandad would visit home,
And he would share stories of their travels.
He was so kind-hearted, and so accepting.
His mother's light shone on him.
Years pass us too quickly.
Thank you for being a great father to my father and his siblings, and the wives and husband they love too.
Thank you for giving Granny such a wonderful journey in this life. May her voice still linger in your ears.
And thank you for being our Grandad. Our days with you will never be forgotten.
***
Mar 19, 2024
Mar 19, 2024 at 1:53 PM UTC
You wait on the smooth and shiny floor
of the arrival area with mixed feelings,
you're a groom expecting his bride
to be led to him slowly and unscathed
on the sliding plastic pieces of carousel.
You think about how relieved you are
for making it out of the plane,
how you managed to mumble
an indistinct farewell to
the pretty flight attendants
that filled your in-flight fantasies.
Then you also think about
the last time you came through this airport
and your luggage did not arrive;
how the uncountable footsteps
and phone calls yielded nothing.
That's when little beads of sweat
begin to flock on your brow.
The first few luggage are discharged
through the small opening in the wall,
arriving with subdued fanfare on the carousel.
An all black Samsonite cruises by,
followed closely by a blue Nike sports bag
that puffs out its chest as if in a military parade.
Then a green and white plaid bag drifts by
and you wonder if the owner is from Ghana
or perhaps a proud Nigerian.
The plastic draped Travelpro catches your eye,
half torn to shreds - a good reminder
of the hazards of cargo handling.
Four minutes go by
and you've become a detective
swiftly and skilfully scanning the bags
as they drive by in their solemn procession.
Then you spot that red and black duffel bag
wearing your Mum's purple ribbon
and your eyes instantly light up.
Your cheeks push up in delight
and your lips become glued
in a perpetual clown smile.
As it moves close and you pick it up,
you notice the early rays of light
that have begun to filter in
through the concrete slits in the wall.
Suddenly you realize:
what a great day it is!
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
It's just an old beat up truck.
Nothing more.
It's nothing
but it means so much.
There's too many memories.
I watch in silence
as she tries to switch gears
with a frustrated attitude.
She yanks the gear shift back
trying to shift into second.
I set my hand on her arm
Hey,
She looks up and stops.
Clutch in and ease into second.
She takes a deep breath and starts back in first.
She shifts into second easily now.
I smile
and stay in silence.
She cruises down through the field
and I set my hand on her arm again.
She looks up as the truck slows.
I tell her it'll all be okay
and that she's doing great.
Which is true.
I tell her I love her.
Because this is just another memory to add with this
old beat truck.
The same one I've been told that I should trade in.
But it means so much more than getting a new truck.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
I’d have to be really quick
to describe clouds -
a split second’s enough
for them to start being something else.
Their trademark:
they don’t repeat a single
shape, shade, pose, arrangement.
Unburdened by memory of any kind,
they float easily over the facts.
What on earth could they bear witness to?
They scatter whenever something happens.
Compared to clouds,
life rests on solid ground,
practically permanent, almost eternal.
Next to clouds
even a stone seems like a brother,
someone you can trust,
while they’re just distant, flighty cousins.
Let people exist if they want,
and then die, one after another:
clouds simply don't care
what they're up to
down there.
And so their haughty fleet
cruises smoothly over your whole life
and mine, still incomplete.
They aren't obliged to vanish when we're gone.
They don't have to be seen while sailing on.
Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
Black gravel and slime
soaked
in sallow streetlight
Rap music wedges through
the crack in a broken hinge
The dishwasher in the kitchen
swears
and drops a hot pan
A rich man in a rich car
cruises by, smothering my darkness
in headlights
highlighting the grime
on the toes of my Chucks
My break is up
But I will just
stay here,
toss my cigarette stub
in the greasy pepper can
and have
another
smoke
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
Poetry whirls down drains,
cruises down highway lanes..
toll free.
Poetry is a clear potion,
a natural motion.
Poetry is the bird gliding high,
and of course, the sky.
Poetry is thundering elk
through forests and glades,
and the wolves that keep pace.
Poetry is the ****
Poetry is democracy,
and its unfortunate hypocracy.
Poetry is eternity vanished in an instant.
Poetry is a slaughterhouse,
a vegetable garden.
Poetry is cat and mouse.
Poetry ascends to descend,
breaks to repair,
it's uncommonly rare.
Poetry is the longest minute
and the shortest hour.
Poetry lives when it is dead.
Poetry comes from the body,
thought by the head.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Well, that’s what I want to do.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon,
When we are watching something weird
Before the Channel 5 news
Cruises through, like a liner,
And disturbs the World’s Worst Hurricanes.
I want dribble the cream down
To the tops of your knees
And watch each droplet coat,
Like a new skin,
Milky and new and thick.
Then I’ll reach for my tin opener,
Peach slices, neat, from the nearest Co-Operative
Arranged like humps of a lizard
Once believed to exist.
You'll let me, won't you?
You with your hair,
And your nails
And your laugh.
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Jump on the boat and take is real slow
Throw the canvas and splash that oil
Squash the duck feathers and fill the mill
As the harmonica cruises craft the talk real slow
A touch of the knee and the spark shatters
A charter of recklessness heckled in two-tone composition
Not a monochrome but a jest of kaleidoscope cores
A fearless horizon of sirens and chaotic applause
A sate of pureness, meekness;widely see this woman words
The worth of how she works, the sweat in her sincerity
Spot the little life that she holds, clutch her lifetime ascensions
The silhouette that shows and fades away,chase her palm
Stroke her freedom, take her high to the clouds and show her
Ask her to sing her sweetest prescribed proscriptions
Be the operator that jerks her stringed rhythmic blues
Shine ohh diamond, Strike ohh as you expand…… touch the sentiment
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
Daddy's drinking the stinky water again, it makes him angry...mommy tiptoes around when it makes him act strangely. She makes me hide in closets but I just wanna play with my dolls, But I think my daddy likes them because it makes a poke in his draws. I think I have a brother I know it my mommy had a baby, but daddy only wanted me so they gave her to this strange lady. I miss my little brother, I wonder if he does too, I wonder if his daddy makes and watches him if he ties his own shoes. I don't think my mommy likes play fighting with daddy sometimes she bleeds and gets bruises, and daddy leaves with his pretty lady friend I think they go on fun cruises. And my daddy comes back and drinks the nasty dark soda, and tells me how much fun we're gonna have when I get a little older. I don't like when my mommy has to go to work sometimes daddy makes me sit on his lap and I have to smell his stinky beard.....And I cry when he touches my girl parts, I hate it and it feels weird.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:43 AM UTC
quite stealthily,
the big fat yellow bootay
cruised
by the very intent,
young brave lad
so carefully
sharpening
his
blades,
oh,
so,
quietly.
oh,
so,
slowly....
a skill she had
perfected these many months
on the run.
and what fun months
they were.
she slid by
oh.
so,
very,
silently,
then a nice
distance away
she turned
her big fat yellow bootay
around.
and.......
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Wee Cute Sparrow
Sparrow sitting in the tree
her's a juicy worm from me
I stepped upon it on the floor
eat it and I'll fetch some more
Hmm...nothing..
Come on little feathered guy
eat so you can soar and fly
wriggly little worm for you
got some for your wee pals too
"Sod off!"
???
"Now then funny skinny man
sit down and listen if you can
I'll tell you all about the worms
that make my tiny tummy turn..
They taste of mud and sticky *****
to swallow one is such a fight
to feel one crashing round my belly
makes my legs both go to jelly
What sparrows like is m + m's
posh boat cruises on the Thames
burnt toast served in crystal glass
squashed worms? You can kiss my ***
One thousand years ago or more
we'd eat a critter of the floor
but sparrows now eat something else
so EAT THAT F*****G WORM YOURSELF!"
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 8:48 AM UTC
Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat
Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes
An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan
Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...
**
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
There were happy times while at Home, where the sun
Licked the rims of our glasses and sent wayward strands of light
Streaking across an almost-empty tabletop,
Save for a slight shifting of sand in the only hourglass
I would ever need to own.
There were sad times too, don't forget
Like whenever the storms intruded on our mid-afternoon slumbers
And sent our dreams flying in a saturated mess of
Unfinished riverboat cruises and superhero simulations;
Underneath it all, though, it became impossible not to try it again.
We're going to return here someday, paying close attention to
A world that had preserved itself for the sake of preservation
A life that had spent its last weekends alone on the edge of the sea
Where everything within it collected and became a mosaic of
Saturated dreams and hourglasses cut in two -
Sand mixing with sand.
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 12:03 PM UTC
You see in the days of the virus
It is ****** too hard to bare
We are missing a lot of things
Like footy and other sports oh yeah
But one thing we can’t go on
Unless you want to stay on it
Every night and day
Not doing anything but counting
How far we go
Oh yeah don’t take me on a sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
There is no chance to go on a sea cruise
If you do break the rules
You have to stay at sea
You feel like captain cook
Or even ****** well worst yeah
There is no entertainment
Just cooped up in your cabin
And if you go for a walk on the ship
You have to wear a mask
To stop Corona from spreading
Please don’t go on a sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
There is no chance to go on a sea cruise
Why does god do this to us
Cruises can be fun
With fun for all ages and
Lots of great food as well
But now we decided to enjoy
A lovely trip on the waves
But the biggest thrill now is if you
Cut yourself while you shave
They don’t have local tv
So you can’t watch the news
Unless you had internet
But still people break the rules
They leave the boat spread Corona
All over the fucken place
At the moment it isn’t the best thing
Is to go on a great sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
No more getting on a sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Yes it is best not to board a sea cruise just go home and party on
To YouTube music vids
And think about other people
And stay home if you are sick
Don’t go near the ruby princess
Because it is contaminated of Corona
People being told not to leave their cabins so the virus doesn’t spread
Just ****** well keep away from this sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Please keep away from our sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Yes indeed don’t go on a sea cruise
PLEASE
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 1:27 AM UTC
(Memories of a Far Away Land)
I miss the mornings when I could listen to the roosters that loudly crowed.
Open the window to the scent of fresh tortillas, from the abarrotes it flowed.
Everyday I would wake engulfed by mountains and their fresh fresh air.
Alonzo's voice carrying loudly, "Empanadas, Empanadas, get them here."
Daily cruises through the streets of Juarez Mexico I often will reminisce,
Ending up in Downtown Centro to buy whatever, it was anyone's guess.
I miss going to the little grocers to buy, mandarins, avocado and mango,
The long waits in line on the Bridges of America trying to cross to El Paso.
Bathing in metal tubs, washing clothes by washboard with your bare hands,
I'll forever keep the precious memories safely in my heart, of a far away land.
Lopez ©reationz 2014
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC