"nopal" poems
Nobody got anywhere in this life
throttling bums,
and robbing hotdog vendors,
but a Saquatch eating a knish on top of a flipped bus
is a sight that sticks to the roof of your minds eye.
Let's eat caramel apples down by the seawall,
trade tall tales, and lizard scales,
run for the hills, but settle down in the shadow of the valley.
Prickly pear and agave nectar, nopal cactus fruit,
blended together, you can hardly taste the tequila.
I'll boost you onto the roof, and hand up my guitar,
and you'll help me climb up,
singing and chanting till the sun knocks us off the room,
we'll go pool hopping, with ski masks on,
and steal lawn ornaments,
and eat churros, and drink egg cream.
and kiss under the Brooklyn bridge.
I just gotta go throttle this ***
and rob this hotdog vendor.
If there isn't a sasquatch
I'll be home by the apocalypse.
Then we can get naked,
and set off the sprinkler system,
and dance in the halls.
Until the sun explodes,
and 2+2= 37.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
Excuse me Sir, I'm ready to order.
Can I please get some breakfast sandwiches
and a couple of bagels?
Uh, excuse me rudeness! What the hell was that look for?
Can you believe this motherfucker?! One look at my nopal
and he went straight into his skinhead manners brown paper bag
and picked up a big ol' hand full of **** you" and put it all
over his ******* face.
I like how now racism has a new look.
Indifference and side ways looks.
I still ******* matter.
I have a right to be where I please.
As a matter of fact, I have a right to be.
If I want a bagel I would like it without
a side of Caucasian *******
Pinches gringos cabrones.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
I dream of permutations and of potted cacti sitting on crystal shelves.
I listen for melancholy silence and I pray that hope and peace of mind tiptoe gently around splintered frustrations.
I want to see the hot sun beat down on prickly green skin until it feels whole again and flowers bloom from its head.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
This is more permanent.
Something like a debt from past lovers
or a memory that keeps repeating itself reminiscing hysteria.
*esto ya huele a flor dulce recién salido de la lengua de un nopal.
No mas no me vallas a olvidar*
I remember passing lonely nights at the city fair
Dreaming of a friend who would expand my mind
pass the cliche television shows and the cliche talks thought of only by the cliche, regular people who have nothing exciting to say 'cept how their grandma got ran over by a reindeer.
Now here came a girl who dm'ed me
I like your tweets.
And I had nothing great in mind
The only thing I thought of was, "hey I like to write"
She got excited and from there on I wasn't lonely
Every day and night a new conversation sprung.
Some repeating old stories of depression, Sylvia Plath, and the Beat Generation.
Some stuff like "Yo I dig Aubrey Plaza"
And most of all me genuinely telling her how beautiful she is, how she makes me smile, how I thank God she walked into my life at the most perfect time.
Speaking 'bout God.
I pray He never takes her away from my life.
I hope he fulfills everything she wants in her life,
'Cause she has power soaring from her inner beauty.
Success pours out from her being.
There is nothing in the world that could stop this girl.
You know how they say, "The world is yours?"
No better phrase hits right right now but that exact one.
The world is yours Nezly
*esto ya huele a flor dulce recién salido de la lengua de un nopal.
Nezly, tu nunca me vas a fallar*
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
Valley dripping of milk and honey.
Chestnut washed lands and symmetrical hills with two temples
burning incense to Ganesha.
A deep cave yet unsettled by civilization.
The environment pronounces "devastation" wrong but the mind
was conquered by a Greek.
Oh scattered freckles like pebbles orange.
It's mid June,
still, Hunab Ku is my one true Lord and red lipstick on brown girls
still turns me on.
So who am I really running from?
At a distance, successful X.O.C.H.
is holding hands with Salvador Domingo Felipe Jancinto Dali i Domenech.
- RAW -
At a distance, a rusted gold coin with exact exchange value of one half dime
buys El Castillo de Chapultepec without a fight,
but who am I really running away from?
You?
Valley fortified and in control.
Beautiful nature: *BRIGHT COLORED FRUIT Y FLORES RECIEN NACIDOS DE UN NOPAL
CON UNA CUEVA ENVENENADA.*
She is Queen of flowers
- RAW -
Only if that is what you desire.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Papagayo verde,
lorito real,
di tú lo que sabes
al sol que se va. Tengo un olvido, Guiomar,
todo erizado de espinas,
hoja de nopal. Cuando truena el cielo
(¡qué bonito está
para la blasfemia!)
y hay humo en el mar... En los yermos altos
veo unos chopos de frío
y un camino blanco. En aquella piedra
(¡tierras de la luna!)
¿nadie lo recuerda? Azotan el limonar
las ráfagas de febrero.
No duermo por no soñar. Sobre la maleza
las brujas de Macbeth
danzan en corro y gritan:
¡tú serás rey!
(thou shalt be king, all hail!) Y en el ancho llano
«me quitarán la ventura
-dice el viejo hidalgo-,
me quitarán la ventura
no el corazón esforzado». Con el sol que luce
más allá del tiempo
(¿quién ve la corona
de Macbeth sangriento?),
los encantadores
del buen caballero
bruñen los mohosos
harapos de hierro.
1.3k
Peace brought to the wrangling edge of my own being
I look and I find I search and I am lost
Keeper of secrets
So many evil ***** things lie in the recesses of my mind
I have forgotten more evil than most people truly consider
I have looked deep in myself
to see the wandering lust
that drives a community of mad
Yet mad
individuals
Women and men
who have found solace
in the darkest part of me
I take them all in
I care for the ideals they set forth
Yet they are lost
into the echoed chambers
of my mind
Each time I grow
Each time the line falls away
I see you all again
wandering deep inside there
Seeing some of you wandering
makes me consider
if what you spoke
was ever true to you
this is the lean season
where the weight of the world
is my weight
when I begin to have grand delusions
where I picture atlas
and think….
he and I are kin
quiet kin
begotten of Sisyphus…
ha! Leave no stone unturned
upon the landscape
from which you feed
each stone is mine
in this Sisyphus-ian dream
none to small
none to great
all things compared
I will wear this stone and road smooth
before too long
Each thing in its place and time
And to each place some time
I correlate the strain
that is blinding me
Looking for a cause in the universe
A common event
that brings down
the true space
That simple cell
that would surprise everyone.
I was given this exterior for many reasons
None I ever consider
I look upon it’s hues and textures
and consider many an item.
Cara de nopal
hecho de piedra y hierro
Lomo de Pipila
Con alma
esta alma
tan
Perdida
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
in pieces
they tell me i must like someone now that they are dead
or react appropriately
to their appropriation of their name
the name of a corpse
is not dignity or repose
the eternal rest is merely
decomposition
composure and praise
are for those weak and faintly hearing
how bad
is not a reaction but an instinct
rest not
for merely death stalking
his blade reaping
is the sound of silencio
por favor
there is more work to be done
playing back into being
the fresh citrus
the nopal
street tamarinds
and hugs
well
they are good
see
but hardly ask me to reply
for i must rest
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC