"gringo" poems
The Beatles are legend forever!
The Beatles and Elvis Presley
Pop singers immortal love all!
McCartney, John Lennon and
George Harrison with ****** Starr
Make The Beatles a music group!
Music mesmerised many in 1960s!
The Beatles were welcomed ever
With Red Carpet welcome everywhere!
Love me do and Hard day's night still
Ring in the ears with haunting spell
No one can forget even today, well!
John Lennon or Paul McCartney,
Single or group is The Beatles in one!
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 2:09 PM UTC
In a ****** society
Chicanos thrive
culture changing
as we try to survive
the vatos in the calles
**** our own kind
our culture we can't find
Aztec ancestors
Spanish savages
the blood of warriors
but our native tongue is tied
family from mexico, access denied
a fence divides
we act out in aggression
now la raza has tension
tattoos with meaning unknown
ignorance is whats really shown
our culture is lost
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
I am the first born millennial grown in the digital garden from transplantation.
The data stream flows along with my bloodlines,
Divided, interspersed, like a lava lamp of my own identification.
A bloodline that once worked the fields, and now works the fields of existence,
A bloodline that made its pilgrimage to new land in order to satiate the body,
has now grown to satiate inquiries within the self.
I reflect upon those occasions where I have been told:
“why do you care about the state of affairs for them, you are not of them, you do not act like them
so
you can’t be one of them”
and I clench my tongue, forgive them father, they know not of what they speak”
“Perdonalos padre, no saben nada de que dicen”
The climate of academia is both inviting and yet marking, I feel connected to both intertwined
bloodlines, and markedly separate in a way neither will ever know
“mijo, él esta ****** no dice nada que él no entiende”
But I understand, my name, my appearance, my lineage, they all mark a separation of that cultural
heritage, a combination, a divider,
that lava lamp burns hot from the up down theatrics of where identity will lie
I am the new millennial
Expect us.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 3:01 AM UTC
Wife-beater, drum player
blower of holy pan-pipes
Plumed, bejeweled in ****** plastic
Inca priest, mestizo beast
multi-kulti prophet
(who chooses to live in the USA)
where liberals kow-tow
while you show them how
to adulate indigenous
crypto misogynous
eager to pay eager to please
diversity’s devotees buy your CDs
a perfect idiot from the mythic Sierra
naming your brood after Andean peaks
pre-Columbian pachamama freaks
eat it up: your Inca schtick
(but ask the battered gringa-chick
about your unsustainable ways:
who hits who smiles who beats who pays ?)
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
A black puppy chases
His mestizo mother up the beach.
A few adults sit sipping Corona Extra,
In lazy hammocks.
Down below, lithe legs
Scramble for solid ground
Along the supple, dark, surface,
Chasing a mini black-and-white ball,
Until it finds a home between
Two pieces of driftwood.
The pull of the sea is strong.
You can almost feel it from
The tables above the shoreline.
The coast seems chancy,
But beauty hides the beast, and
The waves get their chance to throw
The crimson-burned bodies
Around for a time.
Black sand covers all, as we lay,
In a melted pool of jade,
Of perfect temperature.
A one-legged Civil War vet stands peering out
At the ocean, perhaps wondering why
The sky is gray.
Two nuns wander into the horizon.
The vet doesn’t move his focus from the sea,
And the nuns keep to their path.
Did I remember my camera?
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:56 AM UTC
I am the vessel of my ship,
I am to wrestle a little twit.
Will you help me find my virginity?
I think I've lost it somewhere,
Or someone borrowed it.
I am a farmer of black beans,
I am the Tarmac at the airport,
Will you join me for coffee?
I think I'm seeding the soil,
I found purchase in this toil.
I hate traffic and sputnik,
I love triptychs and music,
Is it you, me and everyone we know?
I guess we can play monopoly,
Just lay down your weapons, I'm fun you see.
Of course you can trust me,
I'm not a wet black bean,
Can I sing the national anthem?
I speak ****** and some other lingo,
I read French and women undress.
On second thought I'll be a stallion,
And yes I'm part French-Italian.
How far does it go?
I'll tell you what, do you know the muffin man?
The one that lives on Drury Lane?
If you do open up, let Thomas the train do his run.
A hippopotamus would laugh at this,
These lines said with such a clever lisp.
It'd have to be high as a koala bear,
Eating eucalyptus leafs at the fair.
I couldn't be more assured of this,
I wouldn't be reimbursed to read miss.
Doesn't it hurt? Aren't you choking yourself?
No me feel no pain,
Cookies are like nova cane.
Last but not least,
It feels better than summer heat,
The question everyone is a critic for,
Are you happy?
If Lois Lane was a *****
Cookie Monster a compulsive eater.
Then of course I'm sure.
May 20, 2011
May 20, 2011 at 8:53 PM UTC
(I live in Cali, Colombia)
1. My sketchy run-in with the cute gluehead.
2. You say you’re armed, my girlfriend says you can’t have my camera.
3. I guess I’m bilingual, but man do I feel stupid right now.
4. No, coworker, I don’t feel like sharing with you why I’m going hiena in the break room. (culprit)
5. What a pain that I don't remember your name.
6. I ate my brains for breakfast with onion, tomato, and toast.
7. If my daydreams were broad cast right now your boyfriend would probably hurt me.
8. You, my friend, are my friend.
9. Just dropped a drumstick 3 songs into our very first gig.
10. No sir I don’t want to buy that gun...oh...what’s that? You’d like the contents of my pockets?
11. My pleasant walk to wherever.
12. Clandestine house-party tonail clipping session.
13. My beard is doing a fantastic ashtray impersonation.
14. Beérjá vu.
15. “Um...did I really just say that?"
16. Gringo moment #247.
17. Well well welcome to ***** Wonka’s South American silicone factory.
18. Are my neighbors being cold because they know I puked in their front garden?
19. Everyone is staring at me...must be time for a haircut.
20. ”Is this who I’m supposed to be?"
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
The scene was chaos almost like black friday at El Wallmarto.
people being pushed around by gringo's who didnt
even own a pair of spandex tights.
Or even know the glory of winning a no holds barred naked lumberjack
with a ***** splintter match.
The people needed a hero.
they screamed for the legends return please poppi
save us from the ordinary.
My amigo's were persecuted and i sat helpless traped across the boader do to a bogus lack of green card.
I must have left it in my other tights.
but once again like a old man on crystal **** and ****** the champion has returned to claim his crown.
And to shake his groove thing all over Hello once again.
With the strength of a small well shaved bear.
And the eye's of a low flying seagull I shall drop some splatters
of wisdom apon my fellow amigos.
Chips and salsa for everyone .
no longer heartbroken from my hellcat seniorita Drew
yes her bite marks i wear proudly in places I need to tan.
Let the little gringos sing like pretty little birdies
and senoiritas run through the fields like in thoose not
so fresh comercials.
Go tell amigos everywhere pour the cervesa
For El ******** Rides again.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
My idol walks. Behold her beauty
born of Nicaraguan night
summoning poetic duty:
tremors of volcanic light!
Clouds of ash and lava dropping:
I come back… I going shopping.
Sounding her primeval waters
crater lakes, her green lagoons,
fabulous—this diverse daughter’s
humid palms and storm-tossed moons;
ascending up her jungle mount:
Transfer dinero to my account!
Stone-faced idol, pre-conquista;
rice with beans or sacred maize
labyrinthine Latin vista,
cumbias and sacred lays.
Hurricanes and quaking earth:
****** what’s your dollar worth?*
She who left her quaint dysfunction
reeking of colonial woes
for the multi-culti junction,
holy in her porno-pose;
scowling like exploited nations:
How you say… congratulations!
Gushing like a flow of lava
running down her placid gaze,
ripened flesh; the scent of guava,
passion-fruit in paraphrase…
Monkeys howling, torrents pouring:
Poetry to me is boring…
Rubén Darío’s wonderland:
Flor de Caña the anesthetic.
Marx’s tropic reprimand:
Sandinismo as emetic.
Verses don’t impress this lass:
Please—the car need fill with gas.
Lost in hurricanes of thought,
pounding the roof, God pours, it rains.
What was it, really, that I sought
In her land where the poetry reigns ?
It’s love. At times I long to shoot her:
Why you waste time on that computer?
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Una voz ancestral,
un tambor africano
y un verso elemental
peruano.
El ***** en el Perú
actualmente no sufre,
ya no hay esclavitud
ni azufre.
Le dieron tibio baño
en tina de jabón
porque en su ama dio el germen
que no tuvo el patrón.
Del seno de mi abuela
a mi madre brindó,
el hijo del amito
mamó, mamó, mamó.
Y mi abuelo con su amo
en la Casa ´e Jarana
cantujaron de alirio,
cantujaron replana.
Y en la casa ´e jarana
-con el Amito Viejo-
bailaron mis hermanas
zamacueca y festejo.
El padre de mi amito
de mi abuela gustó
y mi abuelo a su amita burló.
Yo le dijera "primo"
a ese blanco travieso
de cabello enrizao
y de labio muy grueso...
El ***** en el Perú
actualmente no sufre,
ya no hay esclavitud
ni azufre.
Más ha sufrido el *****
nuestro hermano de Cuba
descendiente directo
nagó, yoruba.
Más ha sufrido el *****
muerto en Santo Domingo
por los diarios abusos del ******
Más ha sufrido el *****
cantor de Panamá
que el ***** jaranista
de acá.
Más ha sufrido el *****
labrador de Haití
que el zambo guaragüero
de aquí.
Más ha sufrido el *****
del morro y la favela
que mi padre y mi madre
y mi abuela.
En fin, más sufre el *****
de Harlem a Lousiana
que nuestra gente negra
peruana...
Y al "problema del *****
-segregación racial-
el mundo permanece
neutral.
Quiero aguda mi rima
como ***** de lanza.
Que otra mano la esgrima
si alcanza.
Yo jamás con voz hurgo
perentoria.
Yo ja... ¡Johanesburgo!
¡Pretoria!
Cuando en Johannesburgo
llegue el "Día de Sangre"
yo quiero estar allí,
compadre.
Cuando en Johannesburgo
llegue el "Día de Sangre"
debemos estar todos
¡Hijos de negra madre!
Con la voz ancestral
el machete en la mano
y el verso elemental
hermano.
1.3k
By daylight,
they sold
burgers & chips,
the atmosphere
a bit chill,
touristy.
But at night,
things heated up.
The dance floor rocked,
the tiny rooms rolled.
They sold something
tastier than
meat and potatoes.
Many a ******
lost their pesos
to such festivities.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
i
Animater I'm anhungered
Anigh to thy brunette canvas
Thou art a calliope to mine loin's
A second pulse of mine calotype Atlantis.
ii
In Corinth, wherein mine greecian ancestor's do cometh
A cambric carriage with thy grisette dress
Me to be the poetic ******
Thou to be mine Spaniard address.
iii
We'll gad like frat-house student's
Learning lessons, not by ruling stick's
Footing the hills, of forane real
We both shalt be an epilogue, romanticism's epilogist's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Elsa-angelica dedication
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
The Wealthy must pay their fair share
Here in the “Golden State”
Fifty three percent or so
Here by the golden Gate.
They will likely move to Utah
where the skiing’s just as great.
We rule by Proposition,
It’s Democratic and it’s fair!
But when we have to pay for Pensions
It seems the money isn’t there.
California pays its workforce
with Golden I.O.U’s.
We hope Obama bails us out
Before they all come due.
Our growing Mexican population
plans for la Reconquista.
They smile as each old ****** dies
They mutter “Hasta La vista”
Governor Moonbeam’s back in charge,
The Terminator’s gone
Pelosi’s back in Washington
What could possibly go wrong?
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
¿Y fue por este río de sueñera y de barro
que las proas vinieron a fundarme la patria?
Irían a los tumbos los barquitos pintados
entre los camalotes de la corriente zaina.
Pensando bien la cosa, supondremos que el río
era azulejo entonces como oriundo del cielo
con su estrellita roja para marcar el sitio
en que ayunó Juan Díaz y los indios comieron.
Lo cierto es que mil hombres y otros mil arribaron
por un mar que tenía cinco lunas de anchura
y aún estaba poblado de sirenas y endriagos
y de piedras imanes que enloquecen la brújula.
Prendieron unos ranchos trémulos en la costa,
durmieron extrañados. Dicen que en el Riachuelo,
pero son embelecos fraguados en la Boca.
Fue una manzana entera y en mi barrio: en Palermo.
Una manzana entera pero en mitá del campo
expuesta a las auroras y lluvias y suestadas.
La manzana pareja que persiste en mi barrio:
Guatemala, Serrano, Paraguay, Gurruchaga.
Un almacén rosado como revés de naipe
brilló y en la trastienda conversaron un truco;
el almacén rosado floreció en un compadre,
ya patrón de la esquina, ya resentido y duro.
El primer organito salvaba el horizonte
con su achacoso porte, su habanera y su ******
El corralón seguro ya opinaba YRIGOYEN,
algún piano mandaba tangos de Saborido.
Una cigarrería sahumó como una rosa
el desierto. La tarde se había ahondado en ayeres,
los hombres compartieron un pasado ilusorio.
Sólo faltó una cosa: la vereda de enfrente.
A mí se me hace cuento que empezó Buenos Aires:
La juzgo tan eterna como el agua y el aire.
942
My *******
My redneck
My backlashing
My slave selling
Mi ******
e
Mi amigo
a hick
that's a ****
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
In this border town where lines are smudged
a ****** girl finds her place
hot nights and spanish guitar lulls her into a past lugar..
where hands and mouths and more touched and found
and now..
she's still that same ****** girl
guitar strings wrap around her history and she grabs hold
just as she was about to fall into a sad memory..not that old.
a border town..or further south can bring reality to the guesses of the masses
that beauty and love can exist in between the spaces
where the should nots and could nots can't get to no matter the color of our faces
she won't stay here... but she's glad she came for awhile.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
Your people have been here
for one thousand years and more,
longer even
than this country here.
Much, much longer.
Yet they'd tell you to leave
if only they knew
who you are,
what you are.
But they don't,
and you hardly don't.
Your Spanish is broken,
self-taught because your dad wouldn't,
not even your grandma would.
It's practiced in retail
selling credit cards
to people who can't afford them,
and not at home with family.
Your recipes are a mix
learned from your mom
and that grandma,
to your step family,
and even the ever present internet.
Your name?
It looks French, people say,
even though it doesn't at all
to anyone with even a passing knowledge
of that language or this name.
It's pure Mexican,
so pure not even a lot of friends know it
and are amazed to hear
that you're not really white.
There's others with it though,
some looking far less French than you.
You've never had a quince.
You never set up an ofrenda.
You never dealt with la chancla.
You got the hugs and kisses
and mijas and sweet things ending in -ita,
and you always had the food
and more of it
because you're too thin, mija.
You have so little though.
So little that when you look
at yourself
in the mirror
you see a ******
Toss away that guilt though.
Get back what you can and more.
Don't be like your father
ashamed of what Spanish you know.
You're a Mexican too,
you just have to practice more.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
Trodding in a sweat soaked fashion along limestone calles.
Sandals gradually changing from worn to white as we faction the way.
Our Maya entourage in tow toward their Sacred Cenote.
So here we are now what a strange ****** array.
Did that turn down second guessing pass us by? No se.
Will we awaken destructive ripples in His waters we play?
Enough offering hands of cervezas, pan dulces?
To quench hungry prowling here in Death's domain
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
I´m wearing a vest-top, arms bare
But my trousers and trainers say i´m no ****** don´t they?
Probably not, my pale skin gives it away
And my fair hair draws eyes this way
I can but try not to be ******
The language is my aim
But for now my attempt is best made
In other ways
I conquered the buses today
No ****** takes buses on first day
This ****** at least has attempts made
At the lingo of no ******
So maybe one day
On this adventure
I´ll be no ****** no more?
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
We rode on endless ribbons,
driving through rain-soaked jungle,
low clouds enveloped the countryside,
steam painted the glass.
It was a million degrees
on the inside & not a single
window was open.
Body odors wafted
throughout the cab,
while pigs & chickens
made the usual noises,
babies cried & the locals
murmured in hushed tones.
I was the only ******
lost in the seated crowd
without a cell phone.
There was no way I could make a fuss,
for I did not speak the language
& they'd never understand
a single word anyway.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
forget the danger of losing gold. "In one of the Golems,
he has defeated the aggressive love of all mankind, creates other basic words, the scale will diminish, will emphasize the value of this information,
will end and save all the Goleys."
Also, this translation, Zizkov's version
Prague Tower of the video and the historical part,
a new challenge for me, was when I was a nationalist leader.
This is not available in general Doxosdetzur
Gilead Orthodox, Jewish, traditional, white and white in front of two friends, two nymphs, two basic materials,
shrunk,
fat, you must make black and white peanut, ginger and two blacks, dark, white, white, white, white from Spain to white, white, white
and white. Anastasia will be lost for many years and part of the neck,
19, and they are the camera that "John, for example,
understands, consumed black, black, black, black",
Prince Friedman and Fox. **** white colony of the shameful bird,
the naked sister, the shape of 18, 1-1 is a white collar co with deeper pearls with a lot of Chihun Fu Fu. The deep hair,
the knife, the big test, finally flirting with 4.
So it's a white culture of the nation. Many types of 2 MAMBA are violent
and dangerous at high risk.
In the United States, ultimately, to strengthen the titanium hood
of Mormpidia. At my school,
let me star with three remaining goals! The popular Dora Teen Latina two Face Hong ****** face white face
and white face face to face with her glasses, Lise babe Domme dam, cut! Latina ***** strong whistle with some asphyxiating
white mouths and big baggage, Tight Latina close;
Eva Ellington for ******* ****** thing
and ATM before Ariel works with diligent dioceses
in a prison cell to suffer the embarrassment
of the young brunette dirtbag core people ... Little father and *** ****** power face all the prostitutes bacteria
To find Latin, Latina services running towards the friend
poorer; his ******* train of two men dealing with changing
a person to have sexually transmitted babies
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
☭ ♡ ☭ ♡ ☭
You posed yourselves (in radical English)
with fellow-travelers on the barricades.
recalling bygone barrio fusillades
though you speak only red diaper Spanish…
Beholding the party cooperative
where ****** tourists are shown Cuban truth,
you cherished the lies of your leftist youth,
half-informed, predictably progressive.
Stuffed full of radicalized rice and beans,
flatulent, dreaming of ignoble Che
you charmed the sultry proletarian queens.
In your new Guayabera, bonafide,
you hailed the revolutionary day;
pale thorn in the suffering People’s side…
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC