"mexicana" poems
You, saying love
You, shaman's road
You, a bird
You, a yellow sun
You, Emperor
You, lovely door
You, my Walt Whitman
You, Neal
You, Sal Paradise
You, Pancho Villa
You, La Revolución Mexicana
You, navajo
You, the border
You, the river
You, chicana
You, Mafia
You, redemption
You, poetry
You, Salvador Dalí
You, Picasso
You, stereo
You, love
You, ***
You, youth
You, America
You, América
You, español
You, english
You, country side
You, cat
You, fire
You, books
You, E. E. Cummings
You, Bukowski
You, Octavio Paz
You, Coca-Cola
You, Coke
You, India
You, Mississippi
You, jazz
You, Miles
You, Davis
You, water
You, rain
You, lagoon
You, chest
You, car
You, road
You, reading
You, lines
You, Paris
You, Baudelaire
You, Poe
You, japanese
You, katana
You, Mishima
You, gun
You, rifle
You, cam
You, can
You, can't
You, Durango
You, Arizona
You, desert
You, gonzo
You, mezcal
You, alcohol
You, drive
You, crush
You, alive
You, again
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Yo soy Guanajuatense
Nacida en una sociedad de Mexicanos
Born in a society of Mexicans were everyone is accepted by who they are
Not trapped as a slave or treated different
The American society can’t be compare to a Mexican society
Los mexicanos somos unicos
tenemos caminos hechos por padres mexicanos
Somo bautisados catholicos
nuestra madre es La Virgen De Guadalupe
la cual Juan Diego vio y lo combertio en un santo
Penjamo is city full of colors visible as the rainbow
Our flag known as the tri color is a important figure in Mexico
green signifies hope, joy, and love
white represents peace and honesty
red stands for hardiness, bravery, strength, and valor
the eagle was found by Aztec people
where they would see an eagle on a cactus eating a snake
Tenochtitlan was founded by Aztec people
Which is now call Mexico City
As we believe the history we also believe what
The bible tells us it’s a precious thing for us Mexicans
We tend to speak with god to find solution to problems
Not all cultures have a belief in god
I also find myself in a world full of pain a contradiction to war
Not knowing whether anything could be done
People are dead here and their
Everywhere there is war
Veniendo de México a un mundo con nuevas reglas
saviendo que tu vida a cambiado y estas evolucrado/a
en una cultura que quisas no aceptes
como dise un dicho
mas vale ser aceptado/a por quien eres que por quien te cres
all cultures judge others by the way they are
but we are all humans and have the right to be who we are
only God could judge
when people say you're brown
I said I’m proud
When they say I’ll never learn English
Look at me know your reading my words
Soy 100% Mexicana
con educacion Americana
pero echa y derecha
con cultura Mexicana
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
América, de un grano
de maíz te elevaste
hasta llenar
de tierras espaciosas
el espumoso
océano.
Fue un grano de maíz tu geografía.
El grano
adelantó una lanza verde,
la lanza verde se cubrió de oro
y engalanó la altura
del Perú con su pámpano amarillo.
Pero, poeta, deja
la historia en su mortaja
y alaba con tu lira
al grano en sus graneros:
canta al simple maíz de las cocinas.
Primero suave barba
agitada en el huerto
sobre los tiernos dientes
de la joven mazorca.
Luego se abrió el estuche
y la fecundidad rompió sus velos
de pálido papiro
para que se desgrane
la risa del maíz sobre la tierra.
A la piedra
en tu viaje, regresabas.
No a la piedra terrible,
al sanguinario
triángulo de la muerte mexicana,
sino a la piedra de moler,
sagrada
piedra de nuestras cocinas.
Allí leche y materia,
poderosa y nutricia
pulpa de los pasteles
llegaste a ser movida
por milagrosas manos
de mujeres morenas.
Donde caigas, maíz,
en la olla ilustre
de las perdices o entre los fréjoles
campestres, iluminas
la comida y le acercas
el virginal sabor de tu substancia.
Morderte,
panocha de maíz, junto al océano
de cantara remota y vals profundo.
Hervirte
y que tu aroma
por las sierras azules
se despliegue.
Pero, dónde
no llega
tu tesoro?
En las tierras marinas
y calcáreas,
peladas, en las rocas
del litoral chileno,
a la mesa desnuda
del minero
a veces sólo llega
la claridad de tu mercadería.
Puebla tu luz, tu harina, tu esperanza
la soledad de América,
y el hambre
considera tus lanzas
legiones enemigas.
Entre tus hojas como
suave guiso
crecieron nuestros graves corazones
de niños provincianos
y comenzó la vida
a desgranarnos.
1.7k
8yrs young
lo0000nnnnnnnnggggggggg
thick shiny blue black hair
Air Force Papa wanted a Wash N Wear
He wanted mija* with Dorthy Hamill hair
So I was ordered to March down the street
to Emilias Holy Carport
Emilia La Bautista Mexicana*
She knew no english but she knew Jesus
She'd cut your hair and save your soul
That day i requested un "Dori Hamel" Cut
She smiled and charismaticly said Amen! Te vas a ver muy bonita*
Her holy * tijeras snipped
my hair glided to the cement floor like feathers off angels wings
She made me look right
she made me look left
and when i looked up...
I HAD A MULLET
my tears came down
because of my Dukes of Hazzard crown
and I marched home to Dixie
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
Big brown
back pelicans
sit a top
their
matriarch
perches
casting
their cynical
stares of
judgment
to all
who happen
by.
fat Mexicana
fisherman
skinny
Asian
fisherman
throw their
sights and
lines
beneath
the horizon
line.
dinner or
die.
two teen
lovers
holding hands
as their
walk
under this
splintered
pier,
stars in
their
eyes you
can see
that even
from
way up
here.
totally oblivious
to the half
eaten sand *****
that lie
lifeless
under their
feet.
and the tide
rolls in,
and the tide
rolls out.
and yet
to know
how I
fit and
breathe
amongst
all of this.
escapes me.
like the
punch line
of a bad joke
at a
holiday party
now without
you for
the first
time in
my life.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
They hang limply from the walls as
Old friend DECAY settles
Suburbia Mexicana neons and
Obscene jabs in raspberry
Demonizing the scalp of an 18th cake
The lipstick is not dark enough to
Carry a meaning here
No scent lingers as the calendar turns
Another year burnt to death as
We move further away from coincidence
And desperately memorize the lines of a
Modern work, every brushstroke an intellectual
Marvel so if we stare enough it will enfold on
Itself to glass
Guten morgen, Herr Schicksal!
Would you be so kind as to
Dissolve the peppermint stench
And leave the shower on?
I may see a reflection through the
Steam and like it more than yours
I never much liked chloroform or
Frosted roses
Settle on with
Delusions of Poland
And lazy eye tangos
With naked melodies re-vamped
By a 21st century greaser
Please don’t leave
Hail to Canon, brute of mine!
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Cuando era niña, mi mamá told me to speak in spanish cuando I couldn't say mis "r"s en inglés. Garlic made my mouth stink from the broth I drank when sick, so I ate spicy things to soothe my throat. Muchas veces comímos tamales por la Navidad. Cuando era niña, creí que era mexicana, pero soy blanca. Y tengo miedo de hablar español en frente de los nativos y no sé como mostrarlos mi habilidad real. En el fín, soy una wera, y más que eso, soy francés, y más que eso, soy alemán, and more than that, I'm finnish.
I tried to take pride in my heritage and learn this obscure language. I tried to find similarities in appearance and personality. I boasted of this culture that I so wanted to love and be a part of. I thought I'd found my viking roots but no one around me cared. I learned "tourist finnish" and forgot it because I couldn't practice. I read the Kalevala and laughed at old newspaper articles about the joke of "St. Uhro's Day." I pointed out weird translations in songs due to too many syllables, but in the end, I was too many generations away from being truly finnish.
Why are there so many poems about love? Maybe it's because when we're in love we stop searching for somewhere to belong because we've found someone to belong to. I've found my person but not my people. I've been to seven schools and cried each time I left because I lost those I had tried to make into my extended family. I try to fit in with so many groups because I feel like I never fit in with just one and in the end I'm on the outskirts. We have so few people come to holidays and none of them really ever talk with me. I have a mother but she's an island in a sea of lost chances and forgotten ties. We seek love to have a claim to something but I've had to learn that I can lose that, too. I strive for heritage to make up for family dysfunction. In the end I am white, or rather, white-washed. I was born without ethnic belonging and have not belonged ever since.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
it's valentines day
and there's this boy
he's got blue eyes
wears olive green
and this monogrammed
color pooled scarf in
red heart mexicana
that his grandma knit
*(i'm also wearing olive
green with denim and
lace -- a skirt?? but
diggity **** he's looking!
i picked this outfit not
knowing it was the precise
shade of green made for
storming beaches on v-day)*
i've been making his
espresso since last august
but today he came around
the back of the counter
to make it and chat so
i gave him some pie
...pie
many successful
relationships have
started with pie
*(mental note: 2/14/17, 11:30
underbaked coconut custard)*
it might be the 8oz
***** chai with
three shots espresso
making my stomach
flitter or it might be
him not the oven
that's got my cheeks
spotted with lightly
browned freckles and
cinnamon flavored blush
*(he's a cook
i'm a baker
doesn't that
work somehow?)*
***** it
now i've got a
heart shaped
pink polka dotted
sugary royal icing
cookie cutter crush.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
Decid cuando yo muera... (¡y el día esté lejano!)
soberbio y desdeñoso, pródigo y turbulento,
en el vital deliquio por siempre insaciado,
era la llama al viento...
*** sensual y triste, por las islas de su América;
en un pinar de Honduras vigorizó el aliento;
la tierra mexicana le dio su rebeldía,
su libertad, su fuerza... Y era una llama al viento.
De simas no sondadas subía a las estrellas;
un gran dolor incógnito vibraba por su acento;
fue sabio en sus abismos, -y humilde, humilde, humilde-,
porque no es nada una llamita al viento.
Y supo cosas lúgubres, tan hondas y letales,
que nunca humana lira jamás esclareció,
y nadie ha comprendido su trágico lamento...
Era una llama al viento y el viento la apagó.
1.1k
Helios , mexicana
dip diving to solar frontiers,
we are not dispersed amongst a boundless , dead , cold cosmos
we are nestled among the ***** of a warm , emotional , vibratory tone like a bell universes nebula eye in a storm , bumble bee to beetle bug , largest whale to smallest ant mixoligy lesson in creation.
tame those furrowed minds
and be fed , with the grace of a learned lover , by the hand of magnificence,
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Mexico city:
The metropolis of my mexicana heritage: Nirvana of the country.
Growing up here from the young innocence of a little girl
To seeing my cousin only being ten year's old
Shot and her innocence taken at only such a young time.
It showed me men's innocence: as you can say it showed me
Their difference.
Though we have no difference
The only difference isn't blood or ones thoughts.
We all think alike
Some crazier than other's.
The separation is love and hate
And you have to know how to separate the two,
Or you can be stuck in the middle to both love and hate.
One outdoes the other:
I'll stick to the loving path
Because you got to have an even balance
Or the scale will tip.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
cruse la frontera
Cruse el mar
Contra las tormentas
Todo para tu mirar
No mi pararon las balas de un güero
Por tu amor mi converti en tu Guerrero
Cruse la frontera por ti mi Mexicana
Para que vivemos juntos en nuestra
Casablanca
Jul 19, 2024
Jul 19, 2024 at 2:32 AM UTC
Vendrá como ladrón, la palabra confiesa
Cuando la novia diga ven, cuidado . . .
No tomes lo santo por el pecado
Pensando con la segunda cabeza.
San Juan la vio bajar con delicadeza
La musa de apariencia turca
Enjoyada, velada en trasparente burqa
Para inspirar la segunda cabeza.
Manoseando realeza:
De los cielos viene tu gran sultana
Aunque ella parece mexicana
El alma floja, la turca tiesa
Contemplando extrema belleza:
A cada cabezón su gigantona
Para cambiarla en la llorona . . .
Ahora tú piensas con la segunda cabeza.
A las domésticas la limpieza
Tentándonos en sus uniformes.
A ellas: escribir cuneiformes.
A ti: leer con la segunda cabeza.
Lo que las chicas tienen sí cura la pereza
Meneando, cumbiando el bugalú.
Nos fascinan; affecta el espíritu:
El hombre piadoso y recto tropieza.
Muchacho filósofo en tu pieza:
La novia se prepara para su prometido.
No seas burro, no seas entumido . . .
Quita del huerto toda la maleza.
Medítelo duro con tu segunda cabeza.
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 4:11 PM UTC