"mariachi" poems
Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.
Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.
Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.
The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.
If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.
Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.
Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.
When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.
As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.
8.7k
Sitting in a café in mexico
Listening to French songs on the radio
Drinking a pacifico and trying to remember how I got here
I think I caught the ship in San Francisco
After I caught the blues in Tennessee
And then I got kicked off down here in southern mexico
Yea, I think its finally coming back to me
And im
Sitting in a café in mexico
Listening to French songs on the radio
Drinking a pacifico and trying to remember how I got here
Well I watched Singyn ride the rail
so I jumped on that train
had close calls and broke some laws
never even felt the pain
ran all over town that night red paintbrushes in hand
I cant explain no more cuz I don’t think you’d understand
Well the ‘One Stop Mariachi Shop’
Is where we bought our leather vests
Tried our luck at bullfighting and lost but did our best
Found out roller skates don’t work when you’re on cobblestone
All out of pesos and I just want to go home
(c)2008 CJG
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Con el alma herida por un mal cariño
Que sin condiciones le entregue mi amor
Llevo ya dos días en esta cantina
Dos días, encerrado tomando licor.
Un mariachi toca, yo sigo tomando
Y vuelvo a pedirles la misma canción
Esto que me pasa no es nada envidiable
Ni al peor enemigo se lo deseo yo.
Tóquenme mariachi otra vez la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón
El abandonado, toquen la de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Aquí esta su cuenta, me dice un mesero
Ya me debe mucho, pégueme señor,
El mariachi dice, ya estamos cansados
Y yo solo contesto, háganme un favor.
Pa´ variar un poco tóquenme la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón,
El abandonado, tóquenla de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Con el alma herida por un mal cariño
Que sin condiciones le entregue mi amor
Llevo ya dos días en esta cantina
Dos días, encerrado tomando licor.
Un mariachi toca, yo sigo tomando
Y vuelvo a pedirles la misma canción
Esto que me pasa no es nada envidiable
Ni al peor enemigo se lo deseo yo.
Tóquenme mariachi otra vez la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón
El abandonado, toquen la de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Aquí esta su cuenta, me dice un mesero
Ya me debe mucho, pégueme señor,
El mariachi dice, ya estamos cansados
Y yo solo contesto, háganme un favor.
Pa´ variar un poco tóquenme la misma
Esa que me llega hasta el corazón,
El abandonado, tóquenla de nuevo
Tóquenme diez veces la misma canción.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
today we visit graveyards
turning over the wormy soil
to uncover the exquisite corpse
though we were told to
let the dead bury the dead
on this day we unbury
the dearly departed
relishing transcendent
embraces and cool
cervezas with jolly
amigos and la
familia who have
gone on before
we wrap ourselves
in graveblankets
to complete warm
circles of love
embracing our
beloved companeros;
gleaning netherworld
heavenly rest wisdom,
sharing the laughter
of trite earthly concerns
we’ll roll speckled tortillas
on smooth tombstone mesas
to feast on Mariachi tacos
brimming with spicy queso,
chased with another cool sip
waltzing with the holy bones
to the candle lit reveries
of this evenings
flowing melodies
Mercedes Sosa & Joan Baez
Gracias a la Vida
Dia De Muertos
Diego Rivera
Oakland
11/1/13
jbm
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
if a kiss is worth a thousand words
then with you,
i could talk all night/
converse bilingually/ fluently
we could discuss
the french riviera in spring time
& how lovers stroll through the park
singing/ a clair d’lune
or
you could be don juan
under a window enveloped
in flowers of red/ serenade me
with your spanish tounge
& sweet smile
while the mariachi band plays
amor/ but
if a kiss is really worth
a thousand words
then we could talk
in a language of our own
cause your lips
seem to understand mine/
talking to me/ softly touching
/smoothly matching
like a missing link
making a conversation with you
worthwhile
where words are never wasted
but always well spoken
& unrehearsed/
i like the way you speak to me
black man
so come to me
with your lips
so eloquent & full/
tell me your dreams
whisper me your secrets
in a mellow tone of kisses/
come/
i am listening
& with a kiss
i will answer
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
I blew in from the camino
like a wild tumbleweed,
the smell of iquana
hung around me
like a dark cloud
as I slumped onto
the barstool &
ordered a tequila
with the worm.
The mariachi was as loud
as thirty babies screaming,
I knew it wasn't me dreaming.
In the darkness & haze,
I used my dynamite-eyes
to scan the spinning room
& I caught Lupita looking.
We ended up
on the wilder side of town
that night,
I fought three banditos
and a chupacabra,
beat the snot out of all
of them.
If it wasn't for
this Betty Boop tattoo
on my ***
that classy senorita
would have married me,
lucky me.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
*Margarita...
Just over the border line
Count her in tequila time
With a second hand squeeze of lime
Margarita...
With the slightest of accents
Just enough to wonder what she meant
Takes back all the time you've spent
Margarita...
Comes to you with the blood shot eyes
Enough to make a grown man cry
With the feeling they've up and died
Margarita...
Mariachi music playing on the wind
Wake up with all your money spent
If your not broke at least your half bent
Margarita...
When will her madness end*
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Do you remember that one time we both just happened to stay up until 4:00 in the morning?
Or that time you tried to walk past me but our small talk got too big and we ended up sitting separated by four thousand miles and an electrical outlet?
Do you remember that one time when our elbows touched for almost a second at dinner, but neither of us said anything?
Or that time I felt like watching that TV show you love and accidentally left my door open and you felt like watching for awhile and punched my arm when I pointed out how a terrorist wouldn't be able to activate an atomic bomb
from
like
four thousand miles underground?
Do you remember how your voice shook with laughter when I told you I was flirting with you?
How it shook like a seismograph on the white cliffs of Dover,
How it shook like a tambourine
Like a dreidel
or a top?
Do you remember how the fire leapt and the mountains slammed and the thunder clapped more fervently than a bunch of liberals watching a mariachi band?
or has my imagination gotten the best of me once again?
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
"You say we can't? I say Yes we Cannabis!"
“Hip-Hip...Toke!"
“Hip-Hip...Smoke!"
"Four-Twenty is the time of now
and now is the time to Smoke ‘em all!"
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 4:57 PM UTC
3/25/2016
*probablamente estoy
viviendo demasiado*
the New York skyline
looms In the background,
looming,
dark and imposing like
all those people that will always know
more than me
waking up to tall, grey monsters
kingkong figures walking through
town with their windows, so seethrough.
You can see the island from your
window, all the way down Harlem hill.
I raise a brow, cross my arms, hit my foot against the tile.
I listen to mariachi music
It is very sad
perhaps I'm living too much.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
velvet-soft touch,
a rainbow sunrise,
naïve smiles
reflected in your eyes.
caribbean lightning,
words written in sand,
goosebumps rising
up my arm, down my hands.
tropical jungle,
a caressing breeze,
sun-kissed freckles
spilling over me.
sweat-drenched longing,
a turquoise bay,
your quiet glance
burning like fate.
scorching sunlight,
hunger in flames,
a mariachi chorus
dancing 'round the blaze.
spanish murmurs —
'vamos al bar',
your family waits
with mezcal in a jar.
bare feet wandering,
a crimson sky,
the sea kisses shells
the tide leaves behind.
seductive darkness,
a star-scattered dome,
the high-risen moon
spins legends of home.
a gentle touch,
chestnut-brown eyes,
beneath the palms,
desire comes alive.
laughing gulls,
a tide that won’t part —
and in this sand
i bury my heart.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 10:17 AM UTC
Camper parked by the lake, Friday Afternoon
feet in the water under an early rising moon
cooler full of sonic ice, and margarita mix
blender on the table soon it will fix
Chile pepper party lights already in full glow
guitarron beat hits hard in the mariachi flow
discada full of shrimp as the friends arrive
drinks and shrimp fajitas, let you know you are alive
Meteorites streak a trail across the August night
moon smiles like the Cheshire cat, not sharing much light
bikini-clad women dance to the Mexican beat
the stars and ladies are a stunning visual treat
Cozumel is where you make it
no matter how far from home
Friends and food and lots of *****
you just made port on your cruise
Summer Sun or summer night
Tequila tasting makes you feel right
Saturday morning, skiing and fishing
it's not the tropics, but its better than wishing
Sombrero on my head to shade the summer sun
sitting in my bag chair in the water lots of fun
Lounge chairs on the beach, bikinis on display
splish splash and laughter as the women play
while we a just miles, from our home station
having a good time, just like we're on vacation
Guys gather around, for Cuban cigars
day drifts into the night's beautiful stars
Couples start slow dancing in the summer night breeze
lots of contented sighs let out with a loving squeeze
Cozumel is where you make it
no matter how far from home
Friends and food and lots of *****
you just made port on your cruise
Summer Sun or summer night
Tequila tasting makes you feel right
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
Spring has many calling signs
Like flowers and birds and sun
Or getting home to find
Thirty cars at your neighbor's for fun
For every spring and summer
The family across the street
Plays mariachi louder than a speaker
With their entire extended family to greet
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 5:23 PM UTC
If when I stand out in the wild
and I hear the sound of silence
come to find it be a whole lot of
amplified white noise numbing my mind
I'd rather hear the sound of a Mariachi
Band bouncing off the cold and sweaty tiles
of a Public Washroom wall where secrets
lay on bended knees and golden rings
are held at eye level trying to act as a reminder
of what should be good in life.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
got a new health system for the new wealth victims
take it on good good faith
why try communicate
when the fake and faceless
don't seek illumination
all across the nation
we've got nothing except teenagers coughing
racing each other to the coffin
dear God will this globe stop spinning long enough
for me to tough out these spins
I'm sweating on the bathroom floor
losing all the words I could never ignore
and yeah I like to live in the similes and metaphors
but I'm just looking for a ***** of Babylonia
moaning on the phone as again as I **** my paper n' pen
give me an acoustic mariachi quartet in the morning
urge me from snoring dreams of soaring
because rent is due
and I'm way too broke to waste so much time
sitting here writing for dimes and nickel spots
fraudulent paychecks not enough to cut it
no room left to say **** it
something has to put a stop to this
we've been playing chicken for too long
with your favorite song on repeat on my radio
the flowers are now in bloom
until another winter brings their doom
and we ally say it's too soon
so pour another tall drink into the kitchen sink
and make some time to think
if we keep treading water like this
eventually we'll all sink
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
And sleeping in
And yoga
And the river
And the echo in the woods
And the red or the black
And the arrow
And the Russian ballerina
And the mariachi
And the flowers
And the couch
And you
And you
And you
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
The mariachi band
Is playing dizzyingly
Next to our table
The guitarists
Hair wetly slicked
Back
"We live off of
Tips sir,
Anything
Will help.
Now, something
Romantic for
Your woman"
When they are
Finished their frantic
Strumming
I had him a
Folded 5
They dash off
To the next
Table
I slug a pounder
The beer inside is
Warm and the water
That runs through
The city is the
Same color as the
Water in Disney
World
Dyed that sickly
Turquoise grey
Tour boats cut
Small waves that
Lap the sidewalks
And the fat tourists
Feed tortilla chips to
Swarming clouds
Of small brown
Birds
Another warm
Swallow of beer
And the sunglasses
Perched in my
Greasy hair
Who needs a
******* job
Give me warm
Beer and sickly
Fake water and
A table with her
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
The cool breeze tickles my face,
The sun plays hide and seek.
There is peace in the air,
A quietness that precedes the sunset.
Most of the young baseball teams
Have already left or, are winding up.
The young basket ball players are still busy
Running around the hoop and throwing the ball.
Walkers and runners, people with strollers
Are all there going around that mile long track,
Surrounded by the tall Eucalyptus trees and
Curious squirrels and the dogs that chase them.
The usual Latino picnickers are less in number.
Some are still barbecuing and eating on the benches.
But there is one group under some tents,
Singing with an all female mariachi band.
The same dog walkers that I see every weekend,
With dogs on strollers, in their backpacks, and walking on their sides,
Are having an impromptu meeting with a bunch of their tribe,
With their dogs eagerly expressing their opinions.
There is a Dance 1 show from Redondo,
With the young kids showing off their just acquired talent,
Dancing asynchronously, but trying their best though,
Sometimes, stopping and watching others.
Batting cage is still active, the clunk clunk sound
Adding background music to the park.
People are still sitting around the pond,
Ducks walking eagerly around them asking for food.
There is a group of people busy eating,
Perhaps members of the "Bigger than the Big” club.
I watched curiously about their transition
From standing to the sitting position.
Shadows get longer, sun is bidding farewell,
Dance team dismantles its stage,
Young dancers with wild hopes,
All start walking towards their cars.
©Bharathi Devi
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
Acapulco, the 1950's jet set age
of glamour and allure
a bay of high rise flats
edged along the shore
A golden bay of sandy grains
the longest beach it's famed
with glistening lights upon the shore
reflecting window panes
I find a puffer on the beach
and dive for large pink shells
my soul is filled with adoration
for this city gels
At night the city is on fire
with mariachi sounds
silver blue sombrero hats
colourfully spinning round
The soul is beating loud and wild
inside there is pulse
I feel it pressing me inside
true and never false
The colour hits you like a bolt
vibrant in it's treasure
a spicy flavour on my tongue
Acapulco's been a pleasure
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
Throwing pebbles trying to wake you
The moon light is dim tonight
I grab one more and it went crashing through
Splitting the glass like cracked wood
I quickly held up a boom box
To play our song
But instead the sounds of *** noises and moans slither through the speakers
Someone has switched my tape
Plan B a mariachi band tag along with me
Actually they were just three randoms I ran into on the street
So the piercing noise they're making has polluted the air waves
Rapping your ear
All off tune
There strings ripping apart as they play
Neighbor dogs bay
I finally wave them off saving the day
Or the rest of this night
Now we're at plan G
I skipped C D E and F
Unless you want to see a synchronized dance I made to gone gone
With a hobo who seemed to have rhythm
But only when he's filthy drunk
But plan G will save me and this night
Ready to get off your lawn
The mosquitoes are starting to swarm So here goes plan G a symphony of notes coming from me
Aiming to sweep you off your feet
Hopefully you don't fall from your window
As I start to sing a breeze carry the notes
Turing it into a sweet tune
Dogs howl
Approving
And as you smile and stare
Your eyes shine in the moonlight like pearls
Giving me courage to sing to the heavens
I try to hit high note
My throat cracks and it comes off more like a quack
You laugh
I'm such a hopeless romantic
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
in a Mexican orange
the sombrero will strike a word
here hamstrings sing above
their bright colors allure
and mariachi moon
dance with the setting sun
does whisper god's words
now these eyes shall blaze
the rapture to fulfill a dream
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
I promised her
A G-Wagon and a Camaro SS
Had her thinkin that I was the best
And we gon make it out the hood.
I had promised her
That we gon build a business together
And... You know what?
**** this weather,
Its been raining all my life,
Hell,
"Baby you bout to be my wife."
I promised her a garden of sunkissed
Cayenne roses and
Crepe Myrtles,
Oh **** a graden of Crepe myrtles,
And an ****** from a drop of the finest wine
Fresh from a muscadine fruit.
I promised her the best time in our youth
And a sweet tooth,
She got a knack for sugar rushes
And blushes.
I promised her a gold and diamond pinky ring,
And a Mariachi Band
Dark purple amethyst stones
In her hands,
Laying down on a black sand beach.
Cause life's a beach,
But I gave her a tidal wave of lies..........
A storm is brewing,
And I found peace with ignoring her calls
For the past few days,
Getting lazy,
The air getting hazy
And maybe I'll hit her back when I'm ready.
Maybe I'll get her back when I'M steady,
Ready, willing and able.
She approached me,
"...I thought you said you don't like fables."
I said "Baby I read fairy tales growing up,
And my whole life has been a biography."
Because I feel like someone is writing down everything I do.
Even the love I had for you.
Never knew how to stay true,
But always stuck to myself,
Hell if it was possible,
Stuck to my wealth.
But try me,
Like James Brown to his "hands down."
That's my best friend.
Walk with me
Talk with me,
And watch how good I make you believe in my vanity.
Fall into my trap door,
You walk in on a cracked floor,
And when you fall thru,
I'll call you,
"The Queen of Stupidity"
Only because...
You really thought you was getting into me.
Dummy.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
East Side LV
My country is you.
My nationality is you.
Calles tostadas por el sol,
con palos verdes de flores amarillas.
Folks coming out to walk after 7 p.m. ‘cause of the heat —
elotero tricycle (and golf carts),
mangoneada con mucho chamoy,
trails with broken light posts.
My nationality is you.
Taquería on every corner,
señora selling sunflowers en la esquina,
countless Brown entrepreneurs.
Accent thick as atole, or thin as mezcal —
home away from home, but home nonetheless.
A Yeti trapped in the desert,
front yard nopales, roses, and Guadalupes.
Trunk tamales.
Pick-up trucks, college degrees,
aspirational wealth,
a proudly stubborn Spanish,
unwilling to leave our tongues —
and if they cut our tongues,
we will still dream in Spanish.
My nationality is you.
Mariachi singing the national anthem,
horse-riding vaqueros,
soccer-playing muchachas.
Botánica in the middle of the swap meet,
sacred drummings on scorching hot weekends,
birria Sundays,
underground rivers.
Working class,
rich in culture,
color,
envy of many.
East Side LV —
My country is you.
My nationality is you.
Not sure if you realized it by now,
but this is a love poem to you, East Side LV.
Jun 12, 2025
Jun 12, 2025 at 1:34 PM UTC
blank
blank
blank
blank
blank
blank
filling up space.
a few strangers--
have a dozen eggs.
I've got no time left,
no dignity--
killing myself in an elevator while
someone
is captive.
going to Arizona,
not the tea.
singing mariachi, in Cancer costumes-
juggling fire,
california heat.
loud,
green,0
no time left--
as though none of this ever
happened
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC