Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"pizarro" poems
Words and letters are written on walls Some as vandalization others as messages Words and letters are written on walls Words and sentences are written on billboards Some serve as advertising others to arouse awareness Words and sentences are written on billboards Words and paragraphs are written on my brain Some serve as inspiration others to support guidance Words and paragraphs are written on my brain Words are the weapons I use in a society that controls my image Words are the only thing that can divide me from being ghetto or educated My words are the only thing that I can vouch for like my ***** My words are the root of the intelligence that propels this sentence Letters in my words stand close to each other eager to make a statement If I do not show my words, my letters of cheerfulness begin to fade away Sentences are the compound of the mind that begs to be understood Sentences are made up of a tyranny chained down by a trendsetters mood My sentences contain verbs, nouns, adjectives and subjects that explain a lost purpose My sentences define the meaning of an ironical imagery that leads me to dream Sentences paint a picture that any blind character can see If I do not paint my sentences how will I ever show my brains art gallery Picasso used the paint brush to express his moods and feelings on a canvas Shakespeare and Allan Poe used ink to utter their thoughts on a sheet of paper Somewhere in my mind the collision of words and paint occurred Where I fused the essence of writing with the masterfulness of painting My words and sentences have met a significant other called paint Paint and words are my new best friend Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls Some are called vandalization while they represent artistic skills Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls Paint and words are written on subways So the eyes of the young and old can see the traveling message Paint and words are written on subways Paint and words smack up at my face So that the world sees who conveys this message Paint and words smack up at my face Paint gives visual to what words cannot picture My Paint serves as a method of expressing the mind’s tears and smiles My Paint becomes a tour guide through the loops of divine wonders Paint is just a stepping stone to the magnificent path of beauty A brush is just a brush depending on who holds it A brush is like the keyboard I constantly battle with to unleash my mind A brush can combine negativity and positivity and make peace A brush unites celibate beliefs with those whom are perverse Words and sentences along with paint and brushes help explain my motive Jonathan Pizarro Lost Cause © 2011 April 17th, 2011
0
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:42 AM UTC
Words and Paint
Words and letters are written on walls Some as vandalization others as messages Words and letters are written on walls Words and sentences are written on billboards Some serve as advertising others to arouse awareness Words and sentences are written on billboards Words and paragraphs are written on my brain Some serve as inspiration others to support guidance Words and paragraphs are written on my brain Words are the weapons I use in a society that controls my image Words are the only thing that can divide me from being ghetto or educated My words are the only thing that I can vouch for like my ***** My words are the root of the intelligence that propels this sentence Letters in my words stand close to each other eager to make a statement If I do not show my words, my letters of cheerfulness begin to fade away Sentences are the compound of the mind that begs to be understood Sentences are made up of a tyranny chained down by a trendsetters mood My sentences contain verbs, nouns, adjectives and subjects that explain a lost purpose My sentences define the meaning of an ironical imagery that leads me to dream Sentences paint a picture that any blind character can see If I do not paint my sentences how will I ever show my brains art gallery Picasso used the paint brush to express his moods and feelings on a canvas Shakespeare and Allan Poe used ink to utter their thoughts on a sheet of paper Somewhere in my mind the collision of words and paint occurred Where I fused the essence of writing with the masterfulness of painting My words and sentences have met a significant other called paint Paint and words are my new best friend Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls Some are called vandalization while they represent artistic skills Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls Paint and words are written on subways So the eyes of the young and old can see the traveling message Paint and words are written on subways Paint and words smack up at my face So that the world sees who conveys this message Paint and words smack up at my face Paint gives visual to what words cannot picture My Paint serves as a method of expressing the mind’s tears and smiles My Paint becomes a tour guide through the loops of divine wonders Paint is just a stepping stone to the magnificent path of beauty A brush is just a brush depending on who holds it A brush is like the keyboard I constantly battle with to unleash my mind A brush can combine negativity and positivity and make peace A brush unites celibate beliefs with those whom are perverse Words and sentences along with paint and brushes help explain my motive Jonathan Pizarro Lost Cause © 2011 April 17th, 2011
Continue reading...
48
498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills That gaze upon His journey— How easy All can see What is forbidden utterly As Heaven—unto me! I envy Nests of Sparrows— That dot His distant Eaves— The wealthy Fly, upon His Pane— The happy—happy Leaves— That just abroad His Window Have Summer’s leave to play— The Ear Rings of Pizarro Could not obtain for me— I envy Light—that wakes Him— And Bells—that boldly ring To tell Him it is Noon, abroad— Myself—be Noon to Him— Yet interdict—my Blossom— And abrogate—my Bee— Lest Noon in Everlasting Night— Drop Gabriel—and Me—
0
4k
I envy Seas, whereon He rides
73 Who never lost, are unprepared A Coronet to find! Who never thirsted Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind! Who never climbed the weary league— Can such a foot explore The purple territories On Pizarro’s shore? How many Legions overcome— The Emperor will say? How many Colors taken On Revolution Day? How many Bullets bearest? Hast Thou the Royal scar? Angels! Write “Promoted” On this Soldier’s brow!
0
2k
Who never lost, are unprepared
Define a modern day criminal While hypocritical political beings run our land Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical But we don’t dream We don’t wish And we fear Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds But we take the beatings We’re let down And we disappoint An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance Unconditional love and fundamental care But we take for granted We’re selfish And we fail An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental. Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © March 7th, 2011 5:42am
0
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
Inimical Mind
Define a modern day criminal While hypocritical political beings run our land Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical But we don’t dream We don’t wish And we fear Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds But we take the beatings We’re let down And we disappoint An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance Unconditional love and fundamental care But we take for granted We’re selfish And we fail An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental. Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © March 7th, 2011 5:42am
Continue reading...
33
I ENVY seas whereon he rides,   I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey,   I envy speechless hills    That gaze upon his journey;          How easy all can see What is forbidden utterly   As heaven, unto me!    I envy nests of sparrows   That dot his distant eaves,          The wealthy fly upon his pane,   The happy, happy leaves    That just abroad his window   Have summer’s leave to be, The earrings of Pizarro            Could not obtain for me.    I envy light that wakes him,   And bells that boldly ring To tell him it is noon abroad,—   Myself his noon could bring,             Yet interdict my blossom   And abrogate my bee, Lest noon in everlasting night   Drop Gabriel and me.
0
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
"I ENVY seas whereon he rides,"
Define a modern day criminal While hypocritical political beings run our land Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical But we don’t dream We don’t wish And we fear Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds But we take the beatings We’re let down And we disappoint An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance Unconditional love and fundamental care But we take for granted We’re selfish And we fail An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental. Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © March 7th, 2011 5:42am
0
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
Inimical Mind
Define a modern day criminal While hypocritical political beings run our land Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical But we don’t dream We don’t wish And we fear Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds But we take the beatings We’re let down And we disappoint An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance Unconditional love and fundamental care But we take for granted We’re selfish And we fail An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental. Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © March 7th, 2011 5:42am
Continue reading...
33
A mask of lies disguises my inner thoughts Accompanied by a black veil which conceals my sorrows A cage of snakes hold captive everything I ever bought While ropes of disillusions hold back my tomorrows Encountering materialistic poisons that plague my existence With a side dish of infectious bad habits Offered with a full menu of self-destructive malignance That are stuffed into my boxed head like voting ballots Having a desire for unwanted capitulation Which lead to uncontrollable regrettable decisions But a light guides me on a path to true elation With nervousness overcoming my body like a surgeon making his first incision Darkness becomes light blessed with colorful roses A flame of love has ignited its route like a traveling circus Followed by a wandering mind that creatively composes As life’s symphonic strings are strummed, this writer finds his purpose Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © January 29, 2011 2:40am
0
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:31 PM UTC
Traveling Circus
Today walked down the street in my wheel chair Rode the bus and train but forgot to be pay the taxi fare Found my self with a blind guy who gave me directions Got educated by an eighty year old on morning erections Held an interesting conversation with a deaf friend Listened to a book with no meaning and no end Sitting down made my legs hurt but mostly my heels Skinned an orange, threw out the bad stuff and ate the peel Breakdanced the morning moon with a dude who didn’t have legs Simmered the night sun with tea that was poured out of kegs Had dinner with a vegetarian and we shared my steak dish Also, we swam in the sky with a remarkable flying fish Saw a janitor perform heart surgery on a machine While the doctor told a cricket what was wrong with his spleen Wrote lyrics with a dyslexic composer on a piano Tanned on the beach lines of Alaska with a dark albino Found my way thru the day with a dull flashlight Slithered around with a snake that offered a colorful sight Today was a day much more opposite than any other Is this the confusion you had when you saw me with my lover? Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2010 © May 12, 2010
0
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 8:53 PM UTC
Night Sun
you subjugated me, doing me as Pizarro did the Incans, plundering my heart and ravaging the remainder. that's probably why I love you so, because nothing feels so good as being subsumed, breathless held under kicking but only languorously, like swimming on a Sunday afternoon.
0
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
conquistador
Pumping an uncontrollable substance through my heart Hope this feeling never ends or I’d be torn apart A magical sensation with every pleasurable pulse This must be illegal, something for the adults Every moment, every thump, makes me lose my thought Lets runaway together with the thrill of getting caught Shuttle me thru your loops of vibrational divines ****** my flesh with your soft hum while I slowly unwind Make me lose myself with no method of meeting time If your admiration is at the top of the wobbly hill, then I’ll climb But understand I’m wrapped around your finger with every minute that passes by I’m in a meeting with your roots with nothing on, except a tie This must be the so called meaning of life Listening to every word and every piece of advice That you simply can not only be mine But is like your part of me, somehow connected to my spine A strong emotion I can’t get rid off, where is its rubric? Maybe your suppose to be a part of me, perhaps you’re my runic This is such an indulging pleasure I can’t confuse it Because I’m not in love with you girl, I’m in love with music Jonathan “Prototype” Pizarro Copyright 2011 © August 30, 2010 11:12am
0
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
Vibrational Divines
THE GREAT COUNTRY Adebayo Samuel Ogunleye~ The GreatQuill🖋️ Silent I wished to remain, But alas, my speakfire cried aloud: “I shall speak and speak— Speak of that great country, That great country, With oceans of wisdom, Yet wandering the streets of futility. Speak of that great country, That great country Flowing with honey; Yet honey for only a few palates, While bitterness lingers Upon the lips of many. Speak of that great country, That great country That gives so generously, Yet lacks in abundance The very things it gives away. I sought to calm my speakfire, But alas, it cried again, Yearning to weep even more. ‘Speak on, speak on,’ I replied. Speak of that great country, That great country That suffered under its conquerors, And after their departure, Became captive to self-conquerors. Speak of that great country, That great country, Bearing “Giant” as its title, Yet, unfortunately fortunate, A title that scarcely fits Its present condition. Speak of that great country, That great country That gives you oromodiye, Yet in return Takes away odidi omo. Speak of that great country, That great country, Which outwardly appears Goodly bad, And inwardly seems Best at being worse. Speak of that great country, That great country, Rich in countless treasures, Yet wallowing in penury. And so my speakfire speaks Of that great country— My great country. *Oromodiye -- A chick *Odidi omo -- (A child) Human. E-mail= [email protected].
0
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
THE GREAT COUNTRY
Standing against the crime of my heart I’m tired of falling for your type Today I’ll find my way and break apart I’ll celebrate my victory with Irish bag pipes But I’ll cry for you on lonely nights How can you have made my days so bright How I wish I never know ya Now I’m all alone in this room in a Hotel in California Divine were your kisses of pure seduction Now I’m lost on this one way highway Who would of known you were a terrible destruction I’m meaningless without you! you were my dossier! How come no one told me life would be such a bad ride? Surfing in a ocean of my tears with a forecasted high tide I’m pouring out my feelings on this ***** napkin Cause unlike you, it at least holds a bit of dignity We were foolish to claim to love each other into infinity! The hunger made me eat too much with my eyes Forgetting my values and my only decency And I fell under the spells of your lies Roses of pity in a bouquet of discord Can’t even afford to pay attention Can‘t keep going on with this tension, People where is our Lord? I just want some words, give me the silliest explanation Heal the pain you have purposely caused Your false image keeps running thru my veins Black rain won’t mask the painful distraught The thought of seeing you again will be an attempt so vain In which I try to forget those events From all my mistakes your one I wish I can prevent A soup so hard to swallow with these sour condiments You’re a horrible person I take back my beautiful compliments Can’t believe my days will be filled with your torment I hope this is for the time being, just for the moment They judge me for what I’ve done but what do they know? If my only companions is a comfy carpet and a bottle of Cuervo Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © January 29, 2011 4:31am
0
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
Sour Condiments
Standing against the crime of my heart I’m tired of falling for your type Today I’ll find my way and break apart I’ll celebrate my victory with Irish bag pipes But I’ll cry for you on lonely nights How can you have made my days so bright How I wish I never know ya Now I’m all alone in this room in a Hotel in California Divine were your kisses of pure seduction Now I’m lost on this one way highway Who would of known you were a terrible destruction I’m meaningless without you! you were my dossier! How come no one told me life would be such a bad ride? Surfing in a ocean of my tears with a forecasted high tide I’m pouring out my feelings on this ***** napkin Cause unlike you, it at least holds a bit of dignity We were foolish to claim to love each other into infinity! The hunger made me eat too much with my eyes Forgetting my values and my only decency And I fell under the spells of your lies Roses of pity in a bouquet of discord Can’t even afford to pay attention Can‘t keep going on with this tension, People where is our Lord? I just want some words, give me the silliest explanation Heal the pain you have purposely caused Your false image keeps running thru my veins Black rain won’t mask the painful distraught The thought of seeing you again will be an attempt so vain In which I try to forget those events From all my mistakes your one I wish I can prevent A soup so hard to swallow with these sour condiments You’re a horrible person I take back my beautiful compliments Can’t believe my days will be filled with your torment I hope this is for the time being, just for the moment They judge me for what I’ve done but what do they know? If my only companions is a comfy carpet and a bottle of Cuervo Jonathan Pizarro Copyright 2011 © January 29, 2011 4:31am
Continue reading...
39
Por qué caminos del alba Andas descubriendo el cielo Ese, prometido a unos Los que sufrimos, creemos Y le pedimos a Dios Ir a bruñir sus luceros Porqué sendas, asombrada, Ya vas encontrando el cielo, Mientras aquí las banderas Y pueblos, están de duelo. Porque te fuiste, tan pronto Precipitando el invierno Cuando aun, lleno de flores, Se desgranaba febrero Yucas y conquistadores Te irán formando cortejo; Pizarro barbado y noble -Bronce, plata, encaje, acero- Con una ciudad de Torres Entre sus brazos sin huesos. Y una muchedumbre oscura Que va detrás de Atahualpa Te sigue cantando himnos En lengua quechua y aymara Ya estás, Gabriela, en la gloria, Mitad de princesa incaica, Mitad de reina española, Como Isabel, la magnánima. Ya sé que no has de escribir A nadie mas en la tierra, Que oficinas de correo A la eternidad se veda ¡Pero es tan dulce que sepas Gabriela, que toda América Por ti está tan conmovida Como tu patria chilena...! El cielo junto al copihue La orquídea venezolana Se une a la victoria-regia Del Brasil, y en la sabana De Colombia, los gomeros Detienen su savia trágica. ¡Toda la flora de América Quiere mirarte la cara! Asómate entre las nubes Una tarde arrebolada; Muéstranos tu frente ancha De madre tan bien amada, ¡Déjanos poquito a poco, Del todo no te nos vayas! Aquí ha quedado tu verso, Tu palabra estructurada Con lo mejor del idioma Y lo mejor de tu alma. Pero nos falta tu rostro Con la sonrisa cansada, Que a todos nos descansaba Cuando nos daba en los ojos. Oye, Gabriela, las voces Desde tu «bosque perfecto» Damos la señal que diga Que llega a ti nuestro acento, Y repasa, tu que tanto Sobre la tierra anduviste, ¡Reposa y se haga radiante Su risa aquella, tan triste! Descubre el cielo y descansa, Pero, Gabriela ¡no olvides!
0
834
Carta a gabriela
Por qué caminos del alba Andas descubriendo el cielo Ese, prometido a unos Los que sufrimos, creemos Y le pedimos a Dios Ir a bruñir sus luceros Porqué sendas, asombrada, Ya vas encontrando el cielo, Mientras aquí las banderas Y pueblos, están de duelo. Porque te fuiste, tan pronto Precipitando el invierno Cuando aun, lleno de flores, Se desgranaba febrero Yucas y conquistadores Te irán formando cortejo; Pizarro barbado y noble -Bronce, plata, encaje, acero- Con una ciudad de Torres Entre sus brazos sin huesos. Y una muchedumbre oscura Que va detrás de Atahualpa Te sigue cantando himnos En lengua quechua y aymara Ya estás, Gabriela, en la gloria, Mitad de princesa incaica, Mitad de reina española, Como Isabel, la magnánima. Ya sé que no has de escribir A nadie mas en la tierra, Que oficinas de correo A la eternidad se veda ¡Pero es tan dulce que sepas Gabriela, que toda América Por ti está tan conmovida Como tu patria chilena...! El cielo junto al copihue La orquídea venezolana Se une a la victoria-regia Del Brasil, y en la sabana De Colombia, los gomeros Detienen su savia trágica. ¡Toda la flora de América Quiere mirarte la cara! Asómate entre las nubes Una tarde arrebolada; Muéstranos tu frente ancha De madre tan bien amada, ¡Déjanos poquito a poco, Del todo no te nos vayas! Aquí ha quedado tu verso, Tu palabra estructurada Con lo mejor del idioma Y lo mejor de tu alma. Pero nos falta tu rostro Con la sonrisa cansada, Que a todos nos descansaba Cuando nos daba en los ojos. Oye, Gabriela, las voces Desde tu «bosque perfecto» Damos la señal que diga Que llega a ti nuestro acento, Y repasa, tu que tanto Sobre la tierra anduviste, ¡Reposa y se haga radiante Su risa aquella, tan triste! Descubre el cielo y descansa, Pero, Gabriela ¡no olvides!
Continue reading...
68
A spiralling ascent Along the world's edge Sweatdrops fall To a below without sunlight Boot dust Llamas labour under supply packs Hoof beat lantern dance Shadows cast on the cliff face Distorted we loom Above the mute fog of humanity Summitous Awash in the final dawn The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife Ancient tapestral landscape Exhales into us Curvously infolding The old Inca holds out his hands The knife cuts horizontally Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop There, he says, Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth And we see dimly through the mists— There, he says, Pizarro could not follow us, And we see dimly through the mists— The neon lights of Neoqusqo
0
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 11:24 AM UTC
Machu Picchu
Dice octavio que en latinoamérica los intelectuales somos la catástrofe entre otras cosas porque defendemos las revoluciones que a él no le gustan somos la catástrofe asimismo porque hemos sido derrotados pero ¿no es raro que octavio ignore que la verdad no siempre está del lado de los victoriosos? de cualquier manera ya que con la derrota aprendimos la vida exprimamos la memoria como un limón quedémonos sin ángeles ni demonios solos como la luna en el crepúsculo desde paco pizarro y hernán cortés hasta los ávidos de hogaño nos han acostumbrado a la derrota pero de la flaqueza habrá que sacar fuerzas a fin de no humillarnos / no humillarnos más de lo que permite el evangelio que ya es bastante para bien o para mal no es imposible que los veteranos del naufragio sobrevivamos como tantas veces y como tantas veces empecemos desde cero o desde menos cuatro es casi una rutina los derrotados mantenemos la victoria como utopía más o menos practicable pero una victoria que no pierda el turno de la huesuda escuálida conciencia los vencidos concebimos el milagro como quimera de ocasión pero siempre y cuando sea un milagro que no nos cubra de vergüenza histórica o simplemente de vergüenza
0
740
Somos la catástrofe
Pizarro And there he lay dying In a pool of his own blood He drew a symbol of the cross alabanza a usted, el quien es dios, jesucristo So far away from home With brothers at his side A lust for gold A taste of blood He came flying off the water He went marching through the mire One hundred and sixty faithful men Fighting an empire So far away from home With brothers at his side A lust for gold A taste of blood
0
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC
The New Sounds Of Peru
You’d had just enough change to pick it up at the Hall’s gift shop, As you’d ate sparsely at the down-on-its luck diner Where the bus had stopped halfway or so through the trip out (Just as well, given the place’s obvious indifference To culinary innovation and cleanliness) And you’d all but sprinted with it From the cashier straight o the batting cage next door, Inadvertently ending up in line for the machine Which threw curveballs (The kids ahead of you older, most likely high school players Who made but weak contact with the pitches, A dream dying a little with each weak tapper and foul-back) And you went through a handful of futile swings Before the final pitch came out of the machine, Spinning oddly and refusing to break toward the plate, Hitting you in the back with a dull, rubbery thud, And your teacher, thick-middle man Who had played a couple seasons in the Indians farm system, Where he had faced Juan Pizarro (*Son, his hook looked Like it was coming in from first base*) Chuckled softly as he rubbed your back, Saying *It’s like I told you, kid, This is a hard game*.
0
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
the chris speier bat from cooperstown
#HUAYNO Why such stomping and rolling in the mud Daughter of Andean sun, Flower of Maize, Pachamama’s finest, bloom from the bud— Why shame your royal past and noble ways? Descending from the peaks you slosh around; To melancholy Huaynos’ sodden sound. What shall we blame—Pizarro ? … or your sin, In selfies and cerveza on the net; We hope your restoration may begin. From what we see, it has not started yet. Your crown: the restitution of your glory. May heaven bless the ending of your story. PASO DOBLE You too, Chapina, stagger in the dirt And hope your huipil does not bare your soul; The shame you seem to lack, we feel—and hurt. Your drunken Paso doble digs a hole In which you may lie down and find a way To seek the Lord once more at break of day. That Gallo on your breath, your careless dance, Would trample all your past into the mire. Such Guatemalan tragedy; romance Could almost cause an angel to expire. And Arbenz’ overthrow notwithstanding, May God grant you further understanding.
0
Oct 4, 2022
Oct 4, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
Indigenismos
Although the Andes melt away Beneath Pichincha clouds of gray And Cotopaxi shakes the ground With aftershocks of Spanish crown Pizarro's cut my Incan rose My Amazon unconquered flows From my Quichua eulogy To Rumiñahui effigy A martyr for a higher cause Than dying for her fatal flaws
0
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
Sangolqui