"hispaniola" poems
I am worth being valued for existing
Not only in the moments
That I become relevant, necessary, or useful
For lustful, celebratory or inspirational insanity
I am not a lollipop or an exotic destination
Stop exploring me *************
Because you salivate over this Hispaniola
Beautiful island desecrated and decimated
How many beautiful spirits will you make savages
How many pure rivers will you **** blood on
How many conquests will you claim a stake in
How much balance will you disturb and subjugate
to the trauma of your transitory exploration
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who taste, plunder, disguise disapproval in their apologies and move on
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who pick and choose who's worth
Of validation, when, & how
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who play with men and women
Hierarchize their prey
But fail to acknowledge
Their man-child whitewashed
Hidden agendas & rigged market values
Conquerors haunted by the trauma they've caused
Will not be absolved by the revolution
Neither will the revolution be the breast
That heals conquers who are traumatized
By the realization of their own fuckery
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
S is for Seduction, a vast verb saved for flesh,
But in her outer-worldly tune, my thoughts become enmeshed;
Like at the great Salamis, where strength sought strike the feeble,
Seduction marked our birth, their fall—an end without a sequel.
L heralds in some fifty lads, of whom mere five would pass,
Bugsy, Daphne, Sylvester, and Tazzy, above their peers compassed.
The tests were long, the trials were tough, from nothing we had fostered
A team of lucky, noble lads to fight these migrant monstærs.
A is the assault, outnumbered and outclassed,
Our heroes boldly braved their foes until their stalwart last.
Despite their lead by tyrants, such Nawt of Hispaniola,
Our foes were forced unto retreat, costing us Lady Lola.
M is for the ones who’ve fallen, for them mourn reminiscence,
For those who proudly placed their names for our petty subsistence.
The fight is done, the beasts beat back, denied all loot and hoarding,
And so a statue is ***** Honorum Mikael Iordan!
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
De las Casas records in stark numbers the genocide that took place under Columbus and the Spaniards, writing that when he first came to Hispaniola in 1508, "there were 60,000 people living on this island, including the Indians; so that from 1494 to 1508, over three million people had perished from war, slavery, and the mines. Who in future generations will believe this? I myself writing it as a knowledgeable eyewitness can hardly believe it...."[80]
Columbus and his brothers lingered in jail for six weeks before busy King Ferdinand ordered their release. Not long after, the king and queen summoned the Columbus brothers to the Alhambra palace in Granada. There the royal couple heard the brothers' pleas; restored their freedom and wealth; and, after much persuasion, agreed to fund Columbus's fourth voyage. But the door was firmly shut on Columbus's role as governor. Henceforth Nicolás de Ovando y Cáceres was to be the new governor of the West Indies
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Wanda greets me with a “Hi” and a hug,
?Qué hora es el vuelo los lunes¿ she asks,
Touch-less communication is absent here,
“Ocho y media” I reply in almost Spanish,
To be sure I email my itinerary for pickup,
“Tener un buen fin de semana” she says,
As a parting hug ends the conversation,
On my visit to the right side of Hispaniola.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:32 AM UTC
Which lips did I come out of
that you feel the need to yell
conceived on your tongue
grew in your vocal cords
the tremors
the tremors in which I developed
vibrated so deep
I do not feel swaddled
when your throat opens
I shake
close it for my comfort
I am late
eight
ten
sixteen years
I, child of showers,
I was birthed like no other
but I am still
a carrier of DNA
do
not
adapt
to make me a burden
or blame them on me
cut this cord
mami
take pride in my existence
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
A young boy , sitting under a tall Water Oak Tree , chewing on fresh cut sugar cane with vivid images of Pirates and Caribbean Sea , indigo skies and treasure maps , wooden ships with cannons and Jolly Roger flying high above ! Adventure and mystery amongst each wave crashing into shore , mingled with danger , my cane pole turned into sword , in battle with the British Fleet on the shores of Hispaniola at High Noon , in search of my summertime treat !!
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
One thousand fathoms,
ten cables deep
silent we slumber
dead men we
sleep.
Where the frigate birds soar
and the amber lights glow
we watch in a daydream
from
one mile below.
Everything turned on the
spin of the wheel
everything hinged upon
what we could steal and
then the storm came,
hit us off the
Port au Prince,
sunk and no trace, now
we face up to our deeds
as we flow with the weeds
one thousand fathoms deep.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC