"pancho" 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
you were laid up in guadalupita
with camelia la tajena from la junta
and her tonto from la plata-
hiho-yo
shootin' tequila with pancho villa
jefe of the bandidos mc locos
- tweakin and twerkin chicas and cholos
and vatos ridin' with the vagos -
they were singing -
"*con cuerno de chivo y bazooka en la nuca
volando cabezas a quien se atraviesa
somos sanguinarios, locos bien ondeados
- nos gusta matar*"
you were kickin - breathing quickened
- bravo television tunnel visioned
to the tonto/pancho episode
en camera - exposed
pronto - camelia shot her tonto
dead - a perfect rose upon his head -
i like killin - she said
hiho-yo, tonto
we sang narcocorridos
all night long -
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 10/25/14
*song excerpt from:
"Sanguinarios del M1” (Bloodthirsty Men of the M1)” (2010)
"Translation: "With “goat’s horn” (AK-47) and bazooka at our necks/Sending heads flying if anyone tries anything/We’re bloodthirsty, crazies deep in the scene/We enjoy killing..."*
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
HE lived on the wings of storm.
The ashes are in Chihuahua.
Out of Ludlow and coal towns in Colorado
Sprang a vengeance of Slav miners, Italians, Scots, Cornishmen, Yanks.
Killings ran under the spoken commands of this boy
With eighty men and rifles on a hogback mountain.
They killed swearing to remember
The shot and charred wives and children
In the burnt camp of Ludlow,
And Louis Tikas, the laughing Greek,
Plugged with a bullet, clubbed with a gun ****
As a home war
It held the nation a week
And one or two million men stood together
And swore by the retribution of steel.
It was all accidental.
He lived flecking lint off coat lapels
Of men he talked with.
He kissed the miners' babies
And wrote a Denver paper
Of picket silhouettes on a mountain line.
He had no mother but Mother Jones
Crying from a jail window of Trinidad:
"All I want is room enough to stand
And shake my fist at the enemies of the human race."
Named by a grand jury as a murderer
He went to Chihuahua, forgot his old Scotch name,
Smoked cheroots with Pancho Villa
And wrote letters of Villa as a rock of the people.
How can I tell how Don Magregor went?
Three riders emptied lead into him.
He lay on the main street of an inland town.
A boy sat near all day throwing stones
To keep pigs away.
The Villa men buried him in a pit
With twenty Carranzistas.
There is drama in that point...
...the boy and the pigs.
Griffith would make a movie of it to fetch sobs.
Victor Herbert would have the drums whirr
In a weave with a high fiddle-string's single clamor.
"And the muchacho sat there all day throwing stones
To keep the pigs away," wrote Gibbons to the Tribune.
Somewhere in Chihuahua or Colorado
Is a leather bag of poems and short stories.
2.8k
These people
Mucho beautiful.
You can see them smile
Miles and miles
Riding in a van awhile
Brothers, sisters, mothers,
Daughters, fathers, sons
Hammering until stability comes.
Family and friends under brimmed hats
Gazing through glass at a land void of grass
But full of passion
Leaving behind permanent tracks
They reflected on how they had made lives brighter,
Seen children beg for water,
Woke up yearning to play soccer-
If they won against the locals it'd be a wonder.
A military women, an Illinois baby,
A president, an el Pancho puppet
Pharmacy pros, a summer camp enthusiast, and an old teacher-
He's the coolest.
Some want to be preachers, psychologist, and to just live past round one.
To run around rainbow tires daring to risk
A dusty trip, a graceful fall.
Keep calm.
It's tacos for dessert, van rides, and mafia till the end.
Spoons for life and jokes all day.
The wind picked up but hope remains.
Braids, charades, dancing, picture frames.
Hole in the sand.
Bouncing in the back of the van.
Almost, but no luck at riding in the back of a pick up truck.
Soaring free down streets.
Towns, the same images on repeat.
A woven rose, question marks leading to unknowns, a circle of bonds forever.
Will we be there soon?
A carnival under the midnight moon.
Coconuts by homes. Respect for third tier bunk beds.
Rushing to the dorm room, downstairs for food.
Todo esta bien y tu?
Braid hair all the time please!
Don't let the paint bleed.
Let's go ride the ATV
Reflect on who we want to be
From here on till eternity
A rower, a reader, and eighth grade dreamer.
If the nail bends, stop to see
It could be saved!
Our Baja family
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
My name, Hombres, is Pancho,
I work on an outta z ways rancho;
I make just 5 pesos for the day.
It is a hard job to do for the pay.
I go out after. Go see Free Lucy.
Then, I asked her for the Pousse;
She just slapped me in the face;
And a took my 5 pesos anyways.
: ( What did I say? :(
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Whats left from the ball game
I walk through rows of soggy buns
And deluted beer
No one finishes:
Conrad creates a trash bag pancho
Brandon finds an unopened can of beer
Stephens still engaged to spider women
And the carboard folds like a soft taco
When I stuff tarter sauce in my water logged trash bag
I under stand trench warfare completly:
My toes are drowining
Andrew thinks hes a dog
Dwain gave up drinking six years ago
Allens speaking gibberish (we still love him)
I dont know why
Were here.
Each of us wear the same caps
Like a team of washed up minor league players
wondering why were still here
Even more when we have to work for the rain.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
And so it happened the
Brisk slip into intimacy
Into the non-peaceful intrusion
Of our souls
And surely it should have
We made each other question or choices
Skew our realities
Change our day to day lives
And mark a before and after in our timelines
You aren’t Che Guevara
You aren’t Pancho Villa
You’re a normal person
Who managed to revolutionize my life.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
~~~
t . a . r
i'm like pancho right now . my mind
is like a breath of kerosene . now i'm
growing old . i'm living on a rope it
seems . but that's the way of dreams .
all the purveyors say you can only
go so far before they lay you low . so
the story goes on about how i fell .
but it's not true . so the story ends
before it's told . they could have had
me any day . but they let go of me out of kindness i suppose . living on
the road without end . i began to cry
and sank into my dreams . but that's
the way it goes .
c . e . j
life is a tightrope walk they say . but
they say a lot of things . don quixote
had his windmills . i have my way out . my wings . i travel throughout
their towns and cities . their blood
and mud clings to me in layers that
dry to become dust . none of that is
Important on the endless highway
i drank myself lucid dreaming of how your face looked in the moon
tears are collecting in my bottle so
it won't run dry too soon . but that's
the way it goes .
thomas a robinson
catherine e jarvis
(c) october 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
<>
/ ( o ) ( o ) \
########
hey Pancho !
Where's Cisco ?
//
And
Can you tell me
Of the peace
You bring to the world (?)
)(
I was borne on the Brooklyn Bridge
son of an angel and the dragon queen
;:;:;
Myth of myths !
( Every Story is revealed )
Every CHILD comes to SAVE
(•)
nation on fire
Nation on fire in a world in flames !
###
oh
Enough of that
Tell me again what you said to your
Boyfriend
After he pulled his thumb out of
Your *** !
( the REAL POETRY !!!!!! )
••
I used to think
HERE AM I IN SAN FRANCISCO
GUARDING THE WEST COAST
WHILE BOB DYLAN IS IN NYC
GUARDING THE EAST COAST
AMERICA !
YOU ARE SAFE !!!!
••
After all the symbolisms are used up
Only REALITY remains
And there I am
With my hands in my pockets walking along
.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 12:47 AM UTC