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"maricones" poems
The young maricones and the ***** muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours' pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of palpitating ****** oysters Surround my solitary home, Enemies of my soul, Conspirators in pajamas Who exchange deep kisses for passwords. Radiant summer brings out the lovers In melancholy regiments, Fat and thin and happy and sad couples; Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon, There is a continual life of pants and ******* A hum from the fondling of silk stockings, And women's ******* that glisten like eyes. The salary man, after a while, After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night, Has decisively ****** his neighbor, And now takes her to the miserable movies, Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes, And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes. The night of the hunter and the night of the husband Come together like bed sheets and bury me, And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are ************ And the animals mount each other openly, And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically, And cousins play strange games with cousins, And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient, And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought, Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast, And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly On beds big and tall as ships: So, eternally, This twisted and breathing forest crushes me With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth And black roots like fingernails and shoes.
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Gentleman Alone
The young maricones and the ***** muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours' pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of palpitating ****** oysters Surround my solitary home, Enemies of my soul, Conspirators in pajamas Who exchange deep kisses for passwords. Radiant summer brings out the lovers In melancholy regiments, Fat and thin and happy and sad couples; Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon, There is a continual life of pants and ******* A hum from the fondling of silk stockings, And women's ******* that glisten like eyes. The salary man, after a while, After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night, Has decisively ****** his neighbor, And now takes her to the miserable movies, Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes, And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes. The night of the hunter and the night of the husband Come together like bed sheets and bury me, And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are ************ And the animals mount each other openly, And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically, And cousins play strange games with cousins, And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient, And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought, Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast, And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly On beds big and tall as ships: So, eternally, This twisted and breathing forest crushes me With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth And black roots like fingernails and shoes.
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38
His first love should've been basketball and his second, girls because his name was Juan and he represented the white, red and blue bandera, *Dominicano puro cien porciento del capital entiendes compai?* understand homie? and that label meant that he threw empty beer bottles at abandoned houses and smoked second hand **** because he was too broke to buy from the good dealers and he hollered at girls with wide hips and short skirts that walked by (oye mama tu si eres linda ven aquí!) they would giggle and roll their eyes at him but of course because he was one of those light skinned boys, the type with light eyes and smooth brown hair that every girl dreamed about, they would holler at him back the very next day // His first love was basketball and his second, was not girls, his second love was words; it was the craziest ******* thing in the world, to be a boy and not be crazy over women is one thing, but to be Dominican and not in love with every muchacha en el Barrio es una cosa de los maricones! as his best friend would say as he shook his head disappointedly, muthafucka had the finest beauties the Caribbean had to offer swooning as he spoke, and he was in love with palabras de los gringos? but it didn’t matter, he loved words like the junkies loved drugs and like his best friend loved women, and while every other sin verguenza on his block would dance to the hypnotizing beat of merengue and bachata, he would watch by on the roof of the abandoned building nearby and he would write it all down: how the lights of the neighborhood had never seen more alive and how old man Victor looked youthful dancing next to the neighborhood ***** and how his mother looked happier than she had in a long time, swaying her body to the calming voice of the old music she hadn't head in a while and yes he was still the boy that threw beer bottles at abandoned windows and smoked second hand **** because he was too broke to afford the real stuff and he still hollered at girls who wore shirts too low but in the shadow of all the happiness up on the roof, he was not Juan, best basketball player on the team, Dominicano cien porciento y no te lo olvides, repping the white, red and blue bandera instead he was Juan, the light skinned boy who liked the palabras de los gringos because of the way they rolled off his tongue and he had decided that he liked it better that way (h.l.)
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Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
amor de pendejo (foolish love)
His first love should've been basketball and his second, girls because his name was Juan and he represented the white, red and blue bandera, *Dominicano puro cien porciento del capital entiendes compai?* understand homie? and that label meant that he threw empty beer bottles at abandoned houses and smoked second hand **** because he was too broke to buy from the good dealers and he hollered at girls with wide hips and short skirts that walked by (oye mama tu si eres linda ven aquí!) they would giggle and roll their eyes at him but of course because he was one of those light skinned boys, the type with light eyes and smooth brown hair that every girl dreamed about, they would holler at him back the very next day // His first love was basketball and his second, was not girls, his second love was words; it was the craziest ******* thing in the world, to be a boy and not be crazy over women is one thing, but to be Dominican and not in love with every muchacha en el Barrio es una cosa de los maricones! as his best friend would say as he shook his head disappointedly, muthafucka had the finest beauties the Caribbean had to offer swooning as he spoke, and he was in love with palabras de los gringos? but it didn’t matter, he loved words like the junkies loved drugs and like his best friend loved women, and while every other sin verguenza on his block would dance to the hypnotizing beat of merengue and bachata, he would watch by on the roof of the abandoned building nearby and he would write it all down: how the lights of the neighborhood had never seen more alive and how old man Victor looked youthful dancing next to the neighborhood ***** and how his mother looked happier than she had in a long time, swaying her body to the calming voice of the old music she hadn't head in a while and yes he was still the boy that threw beer bottles at abandoned windows and smoked second hand **** because he was too broke to afford the real stuff and he still hollered at girls who wore shirts too low but in the shadow of all the happiness up on the roof, he was not Juan, best basketball player on the team, Dominicano cien porciento y no te lo olvides, repping the white, red and blue bandera instead he was Juan, the light skinned boy who liked the palabras de los gringos because of the way they rolled off his tongue and he had decided that he liked it better that way (h.l.)
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42
Salt Lake city what the **** Dancing with a spider, a cow and a hawk Vino, whiskey, cerveza, maricones con destreza Perdiendo la cabeza Jotas de hoy
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Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
April poetry: salt lake
La verdad es que grietas no faltan así al pasar recuerdo las que separan a zurdos y diestros a pequineses y moscovitas a présbites y miopes a gendarmes y prostitutas a optimistas y abstemios a sacerdortes y aduaneros a exorcistas y maricones a baratos e insobornables a hijos pródigos y detectives a borges y sábato a mayúsculas y minúsculas a pirotécnicos y bomberos a mujeres y feministas a aquarianos y taurinos a profilácticos y revolucionarios a vírgenes e impotentes a agnósticos y monaguillos a inmortales y suicidas a franceses y no franceses a corto o a larguísimo plazo todas son sin embargo remediables hay una sola grieta decididamente profunda y es la que media entre la maravilla del hombre y los desmaravilladores aún es posible saltar de uno a otro borde pero cuidado aquí estamos todos ustedes y nosotros para ahondarla señoras y señores a elegir a elegir de qué lado ponen el pie.
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Grietas
scar noun 1. my body shudders at the thought of laying itself bare to another stranger 2. I hate when I’m asked where I come from. What do you want me to say? I come from the beaten and bruised, broken hearts and empty promises. From the midnight tv screen, hiding under the covers, watching as those maricones, culeros, puercos transform into beautiful woman before my eyes. I'm one of the puercos too, my father knows, my mother knows. 3. make the first incision along the sternum, large enough to allow your calloused hands passage into these crimson walls. carefully, reach inside and remove the faintly fluttering beast from its cage of bones. feel as the diseased flesh begins to heal under your touch. they say the heart can recognize when it has found its way back home. 4. it is your blood that runs through my veins, your whispering breath that flows through my lungs, my thoughts of you consume me.
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Dec 27, 2019
Dec 27, 2019 at 11:16 PM UTC
Dictionary Definition #1