"flan" poems
Poema Code Switching
By Aylin Soto-Aleman, Mercedes Caballero, Jesus Martinez, Marta Silva, Alex Alejandre
16.4.15
El final de una etapa
The end,
The beginning of a new journey
un camino
A un mundo extranjero
Un deseo, un sueño
A dream
Haciendo mi propio path
un camino
rostros nuevos , new failures
historias nuevas , new experiences
a sequel to my story, con hojas rotas
y mojadas
INMIGRACION
La memoria es un salto
entre continentes
crossing invisible borders
swimming in the rios
corriendo debajo del sol
La memoria es los abuelitos
ancestors cooking arroz y frijoles,
flan, driving through for hamburgers,
popcorn, sipping on horchata
Basilica
No todo lo que brilla es oro
not all rainbows and butterflies,
Clarita y sus cien años
Ruben y sus Tacos del Camino Real
El rancho
Midnight movies
Quiero a quien me quiera
It’s been a long day, without you my friend
Mexicanos al grito de guerra
Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light
Tepechitlan, Jerecuaro, Guanajuato
Long Beach, Argentine, KCK,
Chihuahua,
A Distance Between Us
El puente, the bridge.
Three Little Pigs en casa, at home,
don't step out marranitos,
la llorona te va a llevar
Memory is a leap
between continents
Cruzando fronteras invisibles,
Nadando en los rivers
Running under the sun
Born in different places
Pero las mismas intenciones
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
Flores amarillas
Con un flan de coco,
Una botella de ron boricua
Y la taza de cafe cubano.
Las palmas tropicales
Por arriba sobre todo.
Te lo digo ahora,
Va ser una noche muy buena.
No te vayas temprano.
Si te vas,
Olvídate del chocolate.
Tenemos mucho para darte,
Pero eres tu que le hace falta
Llevar.
Entonces,
Siéntate en la playa
Y con nosotros pasaras el rato.
Cálmate por esta noche,
Que las que vienen van hacer
Del carajo.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
a plain poem (the first time I came in you)
a plain poem, light and effervescent, a flim-flan tasting,
plein de absurde rimes, full of nonsensical rhymes,
a lattice of criss crossing pastry sugary lines, the ones,
cannot, struggle to deduce, induce, reduce
from my constipated vocabulary
oh well
~
*the first time I came in you,
entered, bidden welcome,
suffused a bridge between
the party of the first part,
the party of the second part,
sugar lightness airy nonsense,
two spirits dancing the singular
pas de deux of their finite lives,
a performance unbeatable,
unrepeatable,
lost to the perfection annals
Shockingly, Surprisingly, Summarily,
did not compose an ode,
don't mine a new vein of ore,
even write a plain poe poem
as best can recall,
at the candle melting of the
sealing wax of the deal,
gave an honest speech,
instantly falling fast asleep
with nary a grunted word
ever since l,
cannot write of plain love plainly,
so she makes me pay with a
new living elegant elegy daily,
a quatrain, what a pain,
this iambic panting meter
love poem writing
jeez louise,
how I wish could write of
roses red and violets blue,
get back to sleep,
oh well then,
back to work
got to make those sad moans,
hers, go away,
so please excuse me
near ten years later,
still paying the dues of the
initializing error of my way
she rumbles-mumbles in her
pre-awakening dream state,
so please excuse, got to go, think up
some implicated complicated
verses to soothe away
her simple poorly hidden anxieties
you see,
I am happy paying
on and on,
writing like the devil furious,
she is stirring, coffee soon,
cafe au lait
if you get my meaning,
but still cannot beat,
repeat, re-alive
that simple plain living poem notated,
when first I came in her*
<•;)
9/24/17 6:49am ~7:17am
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
1
Late afternoon
leaving the city
the bus route intersects
the terraced houses,
row upon row:
right to the valley floor,
left to wooded heights.
In a bay-windowed room
a child sits at a table
beachcombing the net.
Tea is past
and there is gentle talk of
volcanoes , the Verungas,
and gorillas in the midst.
Outside, and a floor below,
a garden nestles into the dusk,
a blackbird settles itself with song.
Later, at the same table.
there is a silent grace.
A shy five year old
in scary pyjamas
comes to say goodnight.
For supper: a goat’s cheese flan,
a simple salad,
pink wine,
strong coffee.
On the mantelpiece:
the familiar jumble of cards and photos,
a collage of family faces distant shores.
On the walls:
grandmother’s woven rug,
her grand-daughter’s textiled strata,
an embroidered geology.
2
The next day,
so bright and clear,
the garden bench is warm by ten.
We sit surrounded
by the evidence
of this growing season:
emergent plants, the possibility of fruit,
even declarations of vegetables.
As ideas flow
across cake and coffee
so the shadows move,
shaping depths, enriching tones
on greys, within greens.
In the midday sun,
the garden becomes
a wild tracery of lines
as perspectives
distort, corrupt, thicken . . .
and space opens everywhere:
foliage as yet transparent
no shelter to stalk and stem.
Their very arteries revealed,
plants bask in the fragile heat
of ‘just’ Spring.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
The first day,
I met you.
My life changed.
I believed.
The second day,
You said "hi!"
Sparkling eyes
And bright smiles.
The third day,
We had lunch.
Ribs for two
And a flan.
The fourth day,
I loved you.
Did you too?
I hoped so.
The fifth day,
You said no.
You grew cold
Like ice cream.
The sixth day,
We stopped "us"
Back to nil;
Tears were shed.
The last day,
I walked past;
You just shrugged.
We're strangers.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
here we are.
trying to fill the emptiness
the places where we hurt each other
with small talk
and offerings of cups of coffee
and slices of chocolate cake
and flan
as if the sweetness
is enough to cover our faults.
as if sugar is the cure
for the wounds we keep.
and today.
it is.
it is a place to start.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
Secretly?Tall=Tower-fee lucky
777 "I'm Free"-Flowery + $$$
Being Oz-wizardly
Toto lucky bite red slipper
((Cowardly)) Lionly
-Whoa__ She got that Geisha Irony
This is Tokyo
Not the flower shop of Soho
(( Japan Chefs Black Panthers))
Shout box____
Unique flowers of
faces-gather
Too outfox____
One Geisha Flowery room
Twilight-places lightly bloom
Overpowering
Sunflower showering
Going nowhere
Her body heat
Is always
somewhere
Over flowered the rainbow
magic women
romantically spritz and spray
Love me love me not
I am waiting today
Flowered over one
Man?
Her Fortune-beds
The Geishas fine ink
Never pink
The best time to arrive
See her lucky red
((Geisha Flowery))
* * * *
Happy go lucky
Not the back rub
The gift of gab
Time feast Rolex
her index finger
Webs of flower cut
Debs
Was the cover-up
The best of the last
defeat of her
She Petals faster
The zipper-movie cut
Go zip
Irish spring shower
Boysenberry, Cherry, Power
Geisha dance flowery-trick
The vanilla-bean sky quick
The yogurt Greece fly
Her tablecloths
He finger
points cactus sharp points
The climate tells the
clues can you handle tricks
Crazzzzy____
glue
Softly silk skirt steak
Missed a few buds
((Geisha Flowery funds))
Tantalizing tiara pull
Off gave it to the
flower girl china doll
The music
Black Magic
women
Her sheer blouse
loosely fit his fancy
Playing Santana
Sitting with her
tea tiger lily
Felt so lonely
The champagne
half-heartedly
The whole Monet
Chandon
shirts
of Gucci
She's perked me
up Pucci *******
coo
Danger me dandelions
The next recruit
black rose pin
pursuit hungry like
wolf
Duran Duran
The discovery of
custard flan
The Geisha flowery
New York State
Who snitched out
her spouse
Flowers divinity Godly lands
I gotcha
Right in the palm
of my hands
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
What Geromino said when he ran
into General Custard.
"Hey, who ordered the flan?"
It was a catered affair.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Tarte Tatin Man,
He wears pears on his hands,
And he glistens like lamb,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.
Tarte Tatin Man,
He's originally from France,
And has a cousin who's a flan,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.
Tarte Tatin Man,
He wears a coat made of pans,
And bathes in butter, not jam,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.
Tarte Tatin Man,
I feel we finished this dance,
Till we meet again, perchance,
Goodbye Tarte Tatin Man.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
I once ate flan in a pan from a can with a man in a van called Dan then ran!
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
We in the attic blanketed with dust
Waiting stiffly until The Beaumont's leave,
Us portraits and mannequins stuck like rust
Wearing fluffy clothes the butler would weave.
They leave, we awaken and run downstairs
To see the table full of wine and mess
We gather around, the gramophone blares
The butler screams, that old Anderson Wes
He looked as though he never saw a feast
Ran stupidly shaking like a drunk man
'Til the portrait of Paul said to the beast,
"You're waking the neighbors, here have some flan!"
Eyes bulging, eyes fuming old Wes breaks down
His allergy got the very best of him
Rolling on the floor covered in a frown
We watched and listened his life on a limb.
"He ruined the party!" cried Ms. LeBoot,
We were in uproar, covered in white noise
But then stood Mr. Crowser in his suit
Headless, but strong with a booming tight voice.
He said, "We shall not let his death be vain,
As butler Wes would see this to the end
Now let us dine and let us feast through pain
And unveil this dust, with drink it will mend!"
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
There once was a man
Who loved flan
It was his favorite treat
Oh,how it taste so sweet
With a side of human meat
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Stop cleaning up around me
I cannot and I do not
I’ll sleep with her if you want me to
Me and fluid and machine
I’m not laughing aloud
Nina Nina Nina
Coming in but a lot of the same name
And madly
There’s a lot I can’t like
But I’ll have a better imagination window tomorrow
The ceiling flan blades tangle
And I am on a wave of symmetry
We are We are We are
Rebalancing Las Vegas
It’s a development from another evolutionist
And it’s currently alive
I’ll check back later to see if I
still love you
You visited the portable stage
How was the weather in Cancun?
Counterarguments with the same hundred girls
I noticed it anyway
I’m heading home with indebtedness
So therefore
You should at least punch me a call
I realized yesterday that
The public does not exist physically
It’s located within
Also we are photogrammetry
And strategically significant
As microbes
I’m talking in the studio
Mainly to become desensitized
Did you get that disability from extreme passion?
Or did you get that dispassion from extreme ability?
Thank you, Thank you
You’re stuck behind me now
This is another sentence and if you like anything in particular
You need me
This evening I think you actually got my hopes up
When you said everything was up and running
When I supposed what you ultimately wanted was
Everything
Did I have this “Everything” to give?
To hear you slurping everything from suspension
I think the craziest messages just talk
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 1:41 AM UTC
Whether it be just baked beans on toast
or topside of beef for a family roast.
The gravy dripping in the pan
Strawberries crammed in the flan
Or cockles and muscles at the coast.
Mushy peas in a big white dish
is more than I could ever wish.
slap on the mint sauce
and I'll have another course
followed by chips and fried fish.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
Earlier this week I set in motion a plan,
To work my hours and find time to make flan,
On the weekend I'd make it my priority,
To sought out my administrative atrocity,
Two days, nay! A life time's worth,
Of time to finish this boorish work,
Of course boss, I have recreation still,
To coat the shed with eucalyptus fill,
No worries colleague It wouldn't harden,
My troubled schedule to tend your garden,
I will just polish my parents road,
With haste to lighten my cruel workload,
Deadlines are pushing me toward the abyss,
I've been sent to serve as a court's witness,
Out of time, out of mind,
I'm just fine, Last line.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
for magnificence of spirit, holy grade arsenal of blueberry blossom fantasy folly, laughs at the most inappropriate moments, flan with coconut sprinkles and espresso, rip out my insides, and I'll reach out to you, my love, all we've been through.
the song wasn't meant for you but it turned to be yours anyway, a broken wheel on the freeway, some kind of trust or something beyond whatever people can do, letters, tiny, speckles, frightened under the bridge of a passing train, jumping over puddles, children again
or maybe it was, you insist, insist and I have learned from you that I don't seem to have a god ****** clue, and your light shines a whole light brighter than mine so I'll just have to clutch your hand and let you guide us through the underground, resume's and bits of talent, empty pizza boxes on a radioactive island, stranded
but something is ironic about the whole thing, and in your jacket you look look like a lost little penguin, and the absurdities add up and the question marks leave us with humor beyond anything I've known, question marks that bed and make love, little tid bits of apology that didn't make their way to the trial, now their standing there with feet chained to bits of radioactive metal, the apocalypse came before anyone could punish us, and now the jokes on them, or maybe its just on us, because we just can't seem to stop farting!
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
We are so intertwined
Hands and outer thoughts
About the time my sweet
caramel flan
Love caught up needing
a backup plan
Inner mind outer limit hell
Hands touched to be
the heart,
Liberty freedom bell
Inner hands whole world
Of wisdom inside the
wishing well
The Blessed Holy land
Inner heart kingdom
Teamship hands touch
Her outer lips beam
On the outside heart melts
At random
"Worldly Hands So Comic"
the fandom
Only had the right hands,
Prayer to God, he lands
he knows all your traits
Outlooks testing the
limits
Forget me not rise
of flowers
My talent high digits New Year
Starlight holy rain showers
On the outside, he sees the
inside powers
The wrinkled hand artist
swirl
inner circle young ones
Outer tough skin old ones
Scraped knees the outside
Your fragile hands bend
Who sends love in
your head?
The outer lips inner mind
Takes the flight
the fullest moon instead
Will my inner hands meet
the life
I really want positively,
please come soon?
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 8:44 AM UTC
a very old poem i just found.
3/1/2014
I’m going downtown
with my friend named after human faith
in two days.
I’m going to wear 6o dollar jeans and a white striped
T shirt.
I’m going to entertain the fact that I’m hearing
college boys on the rowing team
shout
Hey Ladies
and How Are You
and Girls!
At us on the street,
And we’ll smile and keep walking and if a particularly nice looking one
offers to sell us his sweater for 150 dollars or asks us for our numbers
we’ll stop and talk.
It’s the Friday tradition,
though it seems unhealthy.
We’ll sit drinking large coffees and flan cupcakes by the window side
have people tap on the glass,
and laugh and we’ll cross our legs and hold on to our phones and seem
like we have better things to do but we don’t.
This is how we spend our weekends, and it’s not particularly wicked
but it’s not virtuous.
Just harmless fun.
Maybe she’ll have one of her boyfriends come over and
oh ****
his friend has the same name as-
Well what can I say? It’s a common American boy’s name. They’re the same age and the same eye colour and the same hair colour,
and I guess I’ll walk around the park to tell my other friends on monday
“the other day I walked around the park with-!”
I see myself calling him by his name and closing my eyes
“--, come here and --, how are you and --, what do you wanna do now?”
“you like the sound of my name or something?”
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Where is the wit
That the average Brit
Is supposed to rely
On when times go awry?
Summon that grin
Or something akin
And gaily resolve Life's conundrum
When put upon
Remember that: Non
Illigit' carborundum.
I try to make
These lines to scan
I try to make them rhyme
But when I try
As best I can
These verses are no better than
Base poetic curdled flan
In short, iambic crime.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Fish
in a pond
in a room in the sky
pond is beginning to dry.
Squirrel in a
Tree
in a park
in a town that is old
after dark
the city is cold.
pond .
**** .
little
lights
in
her eyes
teach me to hum
darkest nights
coldest lungs
barely hearing
what is sung
i have become
wretched and numb
abhorrent to face
incredibly small, insignificant
unremembered
a discarded cassette
sometimes, i can laugh at it
how silly to be
powerless
and wrong
worse than *** sandwich, **** flan switch
"giggle"
<spoken in an empty room repeatedly
<for forty two days
<with no bathroom breaks and
<no bathroom humor
words may pass so fast they become
bee *** and glass
breaks
a loving body falls fifty six stories to the ground
telling sixty two stories of how i met you
to seven closest companions
concretizing
every
little
metafloor
koi meets squirrel
head over hurl
floored.
floor 56 look out at the skyline isn't it beautiful? look at the lights!
not as beautiful as you dear.
oh stop.
no really, they make your eyes look all shiny. it's amazing.
well we're in the Center of the city after all.
I wouldn't Trade this for the World.
in the sea
there are
plenty
of fishes
and one
gasping
gilled
breath
not of the earth
but someday
to feel the hard ground underneath,
walk among
the bright lights and
cold stares of
calloused lovers
steps upon cold concrete
in tempo allegro
holding on
to a hum
from very good
one
the song about
when you remembered
to come back for me
and i remembered
how to breathe...
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 10:59 PM UTC
beaming down on me
with a cheesy wheel smile,
cold as ceramic tile. I'm a smoky
silhouette in a licorice sky,
tracing stars like a mad
magpie. A breezy wind is playing
hide and seek slapping pearls
of dewdrops skipping down
my cheek. Rhythmic chirping of
crickets singing leaves me
prancing in pain. Spinning my arms
around, I'm an arrow on
a weathervane. Drunk on lilac’s
flowering perfume. My head's spread
like a plume. Morning sun pops kernels
in the pan, cooking me up like a flan.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 7:12 AM UTC
I am from the Bookcase,
from the Bookcase and the Stuffed Puppy.
I am from the white rocks on the ground,
and the dried dirt beneath those rocks.
I am from The Pomegranate Tree
whose Red fruit is both sweet and sour.
I am from the Aole Vera plant and Trampoline.
From Cordon and Beltran.
I am from tall men and little women,
from the know it alls, and the overwhelmers.
I am from my mothers Homemade food,
from her Choco flan, and Carne Asada Fries.
From the religious conversion of my great grandfather,
and from the crash where my grandfather was lost.
The beautiful sky my parents painted on my bedroom’s ceiling.
I am from the black sheep of the family,
Judged and shamed by others for being different.
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC