"enchilada" poems
I'm Bailey.
I sometimes forget to recycle.
I'm from singing camels and trigonometry.
From soap bubbles and yellow scarves, Irish hymns and Zucchini the ferret,
piano keys, bluebonnet seeds, and DO NOT ENTER signs.
From salt.
I'm the color of hosed off sidewalk chalk.
I'm all summer in a day.
I'm a conglomeration of artistic thoughts that make me look more profound than I actually am.
I'm your infinite playlist.
I'm from elephant necklaces and rosemary bushes
from high-heeled taps and Camelot
threadless socks, shopping carts, and impromptu salons.
I'm the fifth ninja turtle.
I live where you laugh so hard you cry.
I'm from carrots and ranch.
I'm a happy cow from California, a fortune cookie with your enchilada, a drill team skirt over marching uniforms.
I'm from unfinished crossword puzzles and forgotten dead languages
from pixie dust and snapcracklepop
from actually-it's-pronounced's, because-i-said-so's, and that's-not-my-name's.
I am Nancy Drew with a Peter Pan complex.
I come from honeysuckle candles and sunroofs of pickup trucks
broken-down fences and peach salsa
the second you step onstage.
I'm from in between.
I'm Bailey.
I don't drive the speed limit.
And I'm from you.
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:08 PM UTC
You smile when you see me writing
tenably watching like a child
when I turn my prose into rhyming
I smile back: "this one's about you"
when I kissed you this morning
I suddenly realized you taste just like fruit.
Like a Pineapple, of all things considered
sweeter than a whole bunch of grapes
your skirt flaunts your skittles
and your legs take the proverbial cake
Piña Colada to go with my Enchilada
pretty please let me taste the rainbow?
I don't like Pineapple on my burger
on my pizza I don't feel it either
my taste buds become a bitter turbulent river
but I just love it on you,
that little thing that you do
dancing in that lil' grass skirt
make it our own Hawaiian Luau.
Your juicy lips
are a 100% from concentrate
like drinking from a can of Dole
blowing me a kiss, giving me a smooch
please drown me in them
a Pineapple falls ways far from an Apple
and SpongeBob lives in one of them.
From your eyes to your thighs
I think of way back when
my favorite fruit in the garden
you humbly became
it's been just peachy from there on end.
With the words we shared
as we laid in the hay
your laughter intoxicated my lungs
right down to my pores
and through my veins
and that's a good thing
always a good thing
put your hair up
the mirror loves a silly face
your sly smile for the camera
my photogenic exotic babe.
Endangered in this world
you are the only one of your kind
like an extinct Dodo Bird
please stay by my side
and let me one thing in you confide
that the forbidden fruit wasn't an Apple
alas, unknown to Adam
it was a Pineapple.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:35 PM UTC
I pity anyone visiting us with
A language besides English;
Who tries to understand the words
We like to use with relish.
We seem to say so many words
Just to keep our lips busy.
It occurs to me the so much of it
Has never graced a dictionary.
Upscaling, downsizing
Offloading the whole magilla
The whole nine yards, bottom liine
The big honcho, the whole enchilada
I was completely plussed and then
I had my self a hissy fit
I didn't know I had a flabber,
'Til someone went and gasted it.
Hanging out, kicking back
Into myself and whatever
***** it, man. I am like, wow.
And y'know, yodda yodda yodda.
Some mean kinda fudpucker
Betcher bippees, yabba dabba doo.
Mazoomas and headlights,
Totally hyped megabitch, too.
Talkin' about 'sup bro
Stufflike windas and winders.
Jammin and gittin widdit
And sumpinbout pillas and pillers.
So, I goes and he goes,
And I'm all jazzed and by golly.
It really rocks, rad to the max
Get down to some serious party.
Sixes an sevens, p's and q's
What's your point? Get real!
It's pretty much a ******
So, what's the big deal?
Too much, I mean it's tough,
And stuff, and really far out, man.
Twenty three skiddo old bean.
Just a flash in the pan.
It ***** It blows, It bites, big time
A wicked righteous mindfuck.
Get jiggy with it. Kiss my crank;
Slob my **** Lord Love-a-duck.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
I frequent a little taco stand
Every time I'm out in the Mid-West
With Elvis behind the counter
Dressed in his leather best
Janice Joplin doing the dishes
With enchilada breath
Arguing with the fry cook Jim Morrison
Over the best way of cheating death
Jimi Hendrix works the tables
That they have set up out front
Recommending the mushroom taco
With the psychedelic crunch
Marilyn Monroe...the entertainment
Nightly serenades the gents
Wearing her favorite T-shirt
Bobby Kennedy for president
I highly recommend the little taco stand
If you ever find yourself out West
Who's going to show up to take your order that day
Could be anybody's guess...
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
a dear friend asked just yesterday
how does your marriage last
thirty years and counting, friend
would have to challenge even the best
two words said i
that's all it takes
“making love” a marriage makes
but please consider my definition
before you reach the wrong conclusion
they call it making love
but when synonymous with
one night stand
a party grand…
really?
inflicts only a world of hurt
a soul bruised and burnt
call it what you want
but for certainty
love making it is not
you may disagree with me
but you’ll not disagree with this
the objectification of
our dear and fairer gender
never built a civilization
a community
or a family
only a heartache
love making then is work
love making begins
by dating those we love
not just for the win
but for life
more parts are we
than only one
love making it cannot be
until all three
a body undressed
a soul vulnerable
a spirit transparent
are undone completely
love making
the complete package
the whole enchilada
it’s a full meal deal
and inseparable from
talking
walking
working
calling
sending cards
touching
cuddling
holding hands
tender whispers
kissing softly
hugging gently
need i go on?
because when done right
amazing are the nights
but oh, even so much more
are the days,
the months
and the years!
now...
go make love!
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
The first enchilada was created in the summer of 1968
In a small house near Seal Beach
In Southern California.
The house was owned by a friend of my dad's
Or my mom's
And we had gone over for dinner
I was eight
I would like to say that it was a cool beach pad
With wood paneling, all the rage back then
And an Eames recliner in the corner of the living room
I only remember the paneling
but since I am writing this
The Eames piece stays
We had gone for dinner
And the owner of the house had made enchiladas
Beef ones as I recall with sauce from a series of Old El Paso cans
I can still smell and taste them
They were the first world food I had ever had
Besides canned Chinese food from the supermarket which doesn't count
And because I loved them with their ground beef and sauce
Their hot oil softened corn tortillas, sour cream, cheese and green onion
And little tiny bits of black olive
They became the prison guards
Throwing open the gates of my suburban Connecticut upbringing
Letting me leave the confines and walk freely in the sunshine for the first time
They were followed by many other firsts
Sushi, Crepes, haggis, tiki masala and sea urchin to name a few
All of which owe their very existence in my life
To that first enchilada.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
**Bought poetry magazine;
It's in English...
I do not know if my inability to understand the poems comes from not fully understanding the language, or because I am a not-well-read-ass.**
*He comprado una revista de poemas;
Está en inglés...
No sé si mi incapacidad por entender los poemas proviene de no comprender completamente el idioma o porque soy un asnito que no ha leído lo suficiente en su vida.*
I thought Café Americano would translate into American Coffee or just Coffee, but it does not, it is still Café Americano (but I have to order it with a snotty accent to be understood).
Pensé que Café Americano se traduciría a American Coffee o sólo a café, pero no, sigue llamándose Café Americano (sólo que tengo debo pedirlo con un acento mamoncito para que me entiendan).
**Now, secondary characters in my dreams speak English.
They say naughty word;
But in this language I am not disturb,
Thanks to the my access to american and british media, I am numb.**
*Ahora, los personajes secundarios de mis sueños hablan inglés.
Dicen palabritas sucias;
Pero en este idioma no me perturbo,
Gracias a mis años de ver porquerías en el cine, la T.V. e internet, estoy acostumbrada.*
Taco Bell's Spicy Chicken Enchilada Platter
No puedo evitar desearlo cada que lo veo anunciado, y siento que es traición a mi patria.
lol
ji ji ji
LOL
JA JA JA
1 dollar
15.10 pesos.
Wow
Puta madre.
One pomegranate, $2.50
Una granada, $37.75
No pomegranates for me, thank you
Puta madre.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
I bang my elbow in the shower,
takes a second to realize why
not that I was careless
or enjoy pain, again
but the cascara
cowbell, saxophone,
hands around my shoulders
that are not my own
sunlight squeezing lemons,
flower dress upon the hill
potato enchilada
still
digesting
messing
with my footwork
possibly
maybe
I was careless.
Showers are not the place for salsa.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 9:43 AM UTC
I’ve got to tell you,
yes, you, Muse,
that you can be a real little **** sometimes,
just flirting with me
and merely swirling your skirts.
And I’m so ******* vulnerable!
You hear that? I’m weak!
I’ve been meekly saying yes, yes,
thankee missus, so pathetically obsequious,
while tugging my forelock, or something else,
before scribbling about these ridiculously tantalizing
little glimpses you’ve been flashing me,
just the merest ****** of insight,
when I so desperately need, you know,
the whole ******* vision, the complete picture.
Yes. The whole enchilada!
Now look here.
You’ve got to go a hell of a lot farther than just flirting with me!
I need some of your hot little chilli, see?
Something, you know, incendiary!
You hear me?
Maybe sink my teeth right into your euphorbia poissonii!
Yes!
Even if this ******* well kills me.
Mike T Minehan
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC
odd. i see two chairs.
one room and one room
keeping the herd
while the nether
keeps the
paired.
a brute union of tough love and apathy
and middle-class *******
chafing on the sun drenched schema
of our dispossession.
like clever lads with epilepsy
only
the lights change
when
the frequency of
your questions
overclock the
enchilada.
the whole thing. baked in alaska.
striking a match
with a land
slide.
but absolutely, "no slide rules ".
every thing
to scale.
so the truth expands as you extend humility.
like an olive branch
in your boulevard
of baroque
naps.
life, is how sleep gets up in the morning. to yawn at the dream.
and
never quite
seem to remember
to tell
but recalls
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Television cooks rarely do
Fish, chips and mushy peas
With spotted **** for afters.
No
It’s got to be
Creamy coconut curry
With Balingud Zalud
Soaked in Chimichurri sauce.
Or Jalapena Lime Slaw
Accompanied by spicy Sriracia mayo
And Rachero Sauce.
Plus a side-dish of fluffy soufflés.
The starter is a vibrant veggy ratatouille
With sashimi, tacos and tortillas.
But then there’s always vemuelli noodles,
Pommes frittes
Teriyehi
Thana messala
And Enchilada Casserole
Covered in Romesco Sauce
Or Hollandaise
With Falafels and couscous.
Then Neapolitan Ice Cream souffled Erotica.
All impossible of course.
But don’t we love
The sheer seduction of those Words.
Paul Butters
© PB 28\4\2020.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 7:25 AM UTC
There once was a man in Arvada
Who'd come all the way from Nevada
Wanted out of Vegas
Crook came to plague us
To Blackhawk for the whole enchilada
This chap had a thousand in his jeans
Like a cheap skate played nickel machines
He then put five cents in
Pulled bar back with a win
Cashed in, stuffed pockets bulging at seams
This gent was now sky high about life
Didn't care, left nine kids and a wife
Took chair to play Blackjack
Got chips, greased his hair back
The dealer sensed this fellow meant strife
The guy played, won, his streak unmarred
Counting Aces, kings, Queens, Jacks - every card
He raised some suspicion
From the owners position
They'd seen this before and come down hard
They escorted the cad out, such a pity
Got caught again, thought he was witty
So he drove far away
To the New Jersey bay
Was so close to Atlantic City
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
.
Wine, enchilada and pickle sauce,
corks and safeties,
just like The Penguin In *******
in Ronnie and Kenny's shed.
The Idiot ******* Son
sits eating the deadly Yellow Snow,
whilst Joe hums Zombie Woof
at the Poodle in his Garage.
Dinah-Moe Humm finally gets off;
in the Dangerous Kitchen,
with the Muffin Man's ***** Love,
and the Illinois Enema Bandit.
The Fine Girl and the Latex Solar Beef
bathed in The Blue Light,
shout 'Pick Me, I'm Clean',
along Inca Roads, to Find Her Finer.
Cosmik Debris exclaims Zoot Allures!
From the fat, floating, maroonish Sofa
because the Bow Tie Daddy
sings Nasal Retentive Calliope Music.
Yo Mama! there's the Disco Boy
who gets in More Trouble Every Day,
so The Torture Never Stops,
with Damp Ankles, Peaches & Regalia.
Sam With The Showing Scalp Flat Top
dances with Camarillo Brillo upstairs,
catching Stink-Foot once again,
like In France from the Valley Girl.
And so the Watermelon In Easter Hay
rides off with the Duke Of Prunes
to the Carolina ******** Ecstasy,
visiting Billy The Mountain, and Montana.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Frank Zappa
(21st December 1940 - 4th December 1993).
Musician, Diplomat and Lyricist.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
We're all longing for just a touch, just a glance, just a little love to hold us over till the next deposit
And I'm positive that I don't need your fingers on my body to know you want me
Yet I'm starving
Yes I'm hungry for connection of skin to skin interaction
Not a fraction but the whole enchilada
If I can't have you all, I don't want nada
Just please don't tear my dress
Its Prada
.....
Fine tear my dress, tear me open, leave me begging to be healed through osmosis
A subtle or gradual absorption or mingling
Hours late and my toes are still tingling
I can't quite put my finger on it
or my mouth around it but
You taste of pineapple and victory
I feel full and satisfied after having had my portion
Still I'm a glutton not for punishment but the pleasure of your pain
But first things first before I bury my body in yours
Before I get down on all fours begging for your assistance
Because I lost my breath somewhere between the car, the counter and the floor
I don't need to know if you love me
I don't need to know if you're faithful,
I do need to know if you've got a ******
And I don't need to know if you're not fond of em
I don't need to know if you're invested
BUT
I do need to know if you've been tested?
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Shadows move with my feet on the cobblestone
from the sunlight dancing on the picado banners
that stretch between buildings
And offer some reprieve
From the Texas sun.
The mouth-watering scent of pan dulce
Draws children to the glass fronts of the old bakery,
And they flit between sweet breads
And figurines of brilliant colors
Crowding stands run by elderly craftsmen and women with big smiles-
San Antonio,
There’s something in your streets.
Something binds me to your old, leaning buildings,
And the murals that decorate them,
San Antonio,
My first memories of reading
Reside on 600 Soledad Street
between the shelves of the Big Enchilada,
And dapple down through the glossy, colorful limbs
of its Chihuly spine.
You exist in the border between coastal plains and the hill country,
Mesquite trees and palm trees living side by side
Just as the German and Spanish settlements do,
The missions becoming as much a part of the land
As the Guadelupe.
With tequila on my tongue,
And boots on my feet,
I’m prepared to bask in the warmth absorbed by sandy loam
And breathe in the smell of elotas on a Sunday afternoon
To the sound of San Fernando’s bells,
Oh, San Antonio…
I’ve never wished for a better dwelling,
Even one with cooler summers
And smoother streets,
Oh, San Antonio…
I’d be a fool to leave you,
To call another home,
And I’ve never found myself foolish before,
So my dearest, sweetest, most proud San Antonio,
I am here to stay.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
I had finally decided
I was going to start smoking tomorrow,
it seemed like a good time to start something new.
I did my research and I knew
I was going to go ********
I was going to become a Marlboro Man.
Yeah baby, I was going to
go for the gusto, eat the whole enchilada.
That's just my style,
never half-throttle,
always 110%.
So I was chilling out
getting ready for tthe big day,
had flipped on the tube and
wouldn't you know it,
the first thing I watch
is a ****** commercial
of a guy taking a shower
covering
a hole in his neck.
Like, how's a guy supposed
to wash his hair
with a hole in his neck?
That's why I hate TV,
especially the commercials.
I was really looking forward
to becoming a smoker.
Now, there's no way in hell
I'm gonna do it,
I gotta keep my hair clean!
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
hey big daddy dude
i sure like
your baby blue eyes and
i sure like your lean style
i wrote this
little drug poem somehow
hey broham
can you do
a little something for me
right now
just bring me a phat bottle of
that cold pimp-juice and
some of that
smooth dom perignon
oh yeah
something is going down
at the Paris Hilton Hotel Plaza
can you dig it big daddy
my crazy cat brother
where life is so grand
man i am just sitting
up on top of world
riding up on six white horses
as i drive in my pink-virgin cadillac
so welcome to my world
inside the big white house
full of diamonds and pearls
the whole enchilada girl
yes white coke in every room
this ain't some coke in a can
yes we are having a big fundraiser
yeah its party time up in the cut
fifty thousand dollars dreams but
brother man
set it out on the red carpet floor
turn on the groovy and the juicey
psychedelic lights somehow
roll out the big bowl of chili now
the big bowl of white coke and
you are still a bad girl now
have some white coke and a smile
taste some white coke with your fingertips
then snort some white coke up our nose
add some heron with some blow and
through your veins is where it goes
your eyes open then close and
you come riding up on six white horses
look man this is so groovy
like a ten cent movie and
no more **** pain
when we get coked up again
roll out the Benjamins
to climb up that phat hill
Jack and Jill
can you do
something for me
let the white lady in
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
30 Days
A flaw in my personality, can be easily detected,
need lots of attention, or I get dejected,
just really can't stand, the thought of being rejected,
though I may seem cool, calm and collected
so I go out searching, looking for some action,
I hate spinning my wheels, getting no traction,
find me something fancy, new kind of attraction,
I need the whole enchilada, not merely a fraction
no I just can't stand, sitting idly by,
always needing something, I can catch on the fly,
got to keep busy, or my mind will go dry,
then I'll remember that I'm lonely, and I just my cry
Yeah I pretend that I'm tuff, I can take a hard fall,
when the pressure gets high, and my back's against a wall,
and I finally realize, there's just no one to call.
I reach in my pocket, and whip out a Pall Mall
gotta settle my nerves, get under control,
play my guitar real loud, and wait for the patrol,
to wrap me up, and shove me in a hole,
30 days should be enough, to locate my soul
well there's no real beginning, so I guess there's no end,
if your looking to me, for a message to send,
your in the wrong place, sorry my friend,
make up something new, yes I like to pretend
Gomer LePoet...
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 5:20 PM UTC
fer christ sake
-----
WE GOT IT !
they come and go
WHO CARES !
////
You obviously don't
Or you'd do something about yourself
To ensure the lasting effects
Of your relationships
///
REMEMBER
pouring HOT SAUCE on a ****
Doesn't turn it into an ENCHILADA !
//
and making love
Is just
MAKING LOVE UP !
but
You still stink !
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
They say
Only the fittest survive, sardonically.
The whole enchilada’s pressing on my throbbing
Head. Like a drained sponge, dehydrated
I can only hear jeers, see mocks, talk
Nothing with my quivering lips, to the
World that says I am drowning to doom in the
Tough Ocean of the world. But they know not
That I can swim
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
.
**
o l e l
l Ho e
e l e H
H H o o
o l e l
l H o e
e l e H
H Ho o
o l l
l e e
@
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
In enough said
Keep the poem
Ponytail rides
Winning water
Time to time
All for
What manner suppose
Grim bib enchilada
Darker beans
Fishtail
Knows
My way out of
Cramped neck
Bee cross
Locked in candidate
Smock now
Look at that
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
Portobello mushrooms, I use them all the time
No matter how topped they always taste just fine
From cream cheese and crab to chicken fajita
No matter what you just want to eat ‘em
Philly beef cheesesteak, they’ve also been topped
So many possibilities, I’ll never stop
Bleu cheese and steak makes a hell of a filling
Portobello themed restaurant, I’d make a killing
Chicken Alfredo, or coconut shrimp
How about spinach artichoke dip
Turkey and dressing or how about pulled pork
You’d want to eat those with your fingers or fork
Taco, or nacho, or enchilada
How it gets better, I got zip, zilch, and nada
Or I don’t know how about spinach frittata
You could go Greek, lamb, feta, and Kalamata
Mediterranean, flavored quinoa or couscous
So many options, man just turn me loose
Lemon pepper, scallops, or Oyster Rockefeller
Or Chicken Rice saffron, it would be yeller
At this point, I feel like Bubba from Forrest Gump
Going on about toppings, oh well over the ****
Buffalo Chicken or Asparagus turkey parm
Just about anything you can get at the farm
Goes great on a mushroom I think you can see
Most people wouldn’t, but, hey they’re just not me
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC