"plantains" poems
The sunlight winks from behind the umbrella of leaves and mangoes overhead. It tickles your cheekbones like the first, second, thirtieth good morning kiss. Your sandals are worn. A woven basket rests heavy on your hip, in your hands.
Your fingers, slender and worn by the earth, trace the contours of my face the way they search for meaning in a dictionary. Gravity. We inch closer. Have you always had a widow’s peak? Your hand finds it rightful place over my heart. I kiss you for the thirty-first time today. You taste of plantains and milk. You smell of sweat and the sun. My hand relishes in the traces of heat on your cheek.
One mango drops from your possession. Unripe, but soon to be opened up and worshipped as it is meant to be. Your fingers grasp the yellowing heart and press it against my lips. I rest against the trunk and sink my teeth into it. Liquid sunrise trickles down your wrist onto my blouse. The leaves create shadow puppets on the ground, the story of two young fools swaying in the shade of a tree.
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 6:32 AM UTC
That day, something got into me.
Approaching the corner of 155th
and Broadway on the Upper West Side,
my friend and I were only a block from home.
Either we'd been on a mission for candy necklaces
or bubble gum cigars, from the place where the guy
was always grumpy, never actually scary,
and the sawdust on the floor, the real cigars
in fancy boxes, were something to wonder about.
Or we had just scored our first fresh sugar canes,
one each, and much taller than either of us.
The kindly Puerto Rican green grocer, proud
of his new shop, hoped we'd try the plantains
too, getting a kick out of our delight
in what he'd always known.
The light was red, and we weren't in a hurry.
I just got curious about this trap door on the side
of the old cast iron signal post,
and decided to see
if it would open... and it did.
Smiling to myself, an uncommon, delicious
sense of mischief lighting me up inside,
I calmly flipped a switch.
Instantly, all four lanes of traffic, heading north
and south on Broadway came to a screeching halt.
The feeling of power was intoxicating.
And unforgettable.
Had I been an older kid, had the policeman
who happened by been less lenient, had anyone, God forbid,
been injured, I could have been in some serious trouble.
Injury never entered my mind, and maybe the officer saw that.
All in all, I got away with the only really naughty thing
I did as a child, and still get to smile.
And remember.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
I left the plantains you sent me
on the counter. Wiped
around them on cleaning days.
Eyed them as they sat there,
expectant and unwanted,
for hours into weeks.
Let them blacken and soften
until they resembled
the dental records of a corpse.
Were they lifted from the soil
of your Dominican hometown?
Did you farm them yourself?
The bruises speckled on its skin,
were they hand-picked? You always
had great aim with that sort of branding.
I'm awake at the birth of morning,
early enough to see dawn's rosy sun
crack onto the horizon like egg yolk.
From my bedroom window, I can also see
a garbage truck craning its rusty claw
towards the pile I set out last night.
Talk about a metaphor.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
"Faith can move Mountains."
I've read in some book.
Now mind over Melon
can be done with a look.
Hooked up by electrodes,
a test subject's brain
exploded a melon
and fried some plantains.
The Watermelon trick
sure excited the crowd.
The comedian, Gallagher,
truly was wowed
He's been in the hospital,
truly heartsick.
Physically unable
to keep doing his Schtick .
Soon, with his brain,
He'll resume his pursuit,
popping jokes while exploding
some innocent fruit.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
I prefer the strays —
shuffled in homes of
nails and wood.
Their bare soles agile
atop scaling stacks
of stucco boxes.
Cooking rice and plantains.
Sipping life from corners
of plastic bags.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC
The smell of curry in the kitchen always reminds me of my roots
Like the way tea from ginger root reminds me that I’m loved
In Sunday school I learned that love is patient
I know patience waiting for plantains and mangoes to ripen
I know patience rolling sticky dough in a blanket of flour
Patience is steaming rice with coconut milk from the tin
There’s no minute rice when there’s love in the kitchen
I want to savor every bit of it
While we have the time
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Florida hot sand winds carrying the rich scent of citrus
Waft through open stalled markets
A thousand flora exposed to my salivating glands
Creamy veined melon rinds, sweet and dewy
Are pale globes gracing the chest of our own mother earth
Feeding all of her children with sun drenched nectar
I discover the prickle of Pineapple
Sharp edges similar to that of Loki's temperament
Playful, forgiven, excused for it's very nature
Bins of giant emerald plantains
Sit bulbous, suggestive and engorged
A not so delicate reminder of the Forest God's potency
Enough to curve the blush of any maiden's cheek
My hair lifts with the breeze
Catching every scent in a swirling kaleidoscope of colors perfume
Ready to bottle and bring me right back to this moment
The market's end is near, one last row
Mangos as far as the eye can see
I pluck a Champagne from the pile
Bite in deep, juice running down my now-happy-childhood chin
Mmmmm....giving over to the experience of such bright flavor
Spirituality at it's most base
*This must be the taste of God's ******
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
*Standing innocent ten year old
In the courtyard full of greenery
My Grandfather's effort in the soil
Looking at the bunch of plantains
Hanging vertical yellow smileys
Fragrance of ripe bananas
Filling my mouth with water
Giant mango trees full of king fruit
Orange-red ripen mangoes with crown
Smiling at me handsome monarchs
Red chubby tomatoes looking up at me
With a pony tail on each ones head
Either big or small none are like a twig
Shining green chillies with anger
Nodding their heads to capture
Dozen of aubergines in violet dress
Covered one part of the soil
Oh ! Jackfruits are ready to pluck
Spreading the sweet smell all over
Like children on mother's waist
Climbing creepers holding bitter guards
Seen as lighting lanterns of villages
As a farmer, my grandfather passing inspiration
Respecting our soil and farming*
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
They tell me to watch my weight
But how can I?
When I love my spanish.
The gondules, the rice, the meat
The repollo with the olive oil dressing my mami makes me
Oh so much mixture in my spanish!
And I stroll these streets with the mixture in my walk
And the taste of sazon in talk
The boys, they can't seem to look away.
And can they?
with all this red meat on my bones
With the beans in my hips
All this spice in my soul
Oh, please save me one more bowl
These plantains aren't mashed enough
And i got the special recipe of my aunti's mangu
So I switch my way to the kitchen
To show these rookies what i can do
My hands smell of onion
My hair is tied
My hips move to the beat of the steel bowl tapped by the wooden spoon
I cook from morning to noon
But what do i care?
As long as I got spanish on the table
They won't worry about who said what
Who got how much
Or how everybody is "Fulano"
Because I serve it well
So let me feed you and show you how much I love my Spanish.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
Leaves of palm fall to the ground
As fish and coconuts abound
Children swim under the sun
Searching for some summer fun
Grownups head on to the bar
Or to gatherings where their colleagues are
Winter's left, snowbirds are gone
Some tourists are here, but most moved on
Sun climbs over the naval bases
Shining upon uniformed faces
Sailors clip along bays and coasts
Besides mangroves and shipwrecked ghosts
Plantains and barbacue, fish and rice
Lemonade for kids, and beers in ice
Corals are shining, and so are the jellies
While artists sunset performances spark passion in bellies
This is the hot passion of summer in Key West
Where oceans meet and birds come to rest
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC
frying plantains in Tanzania
with rice - so much rice
ageing postmen with bus passes and metal knees
carrying keisters of it
a thousand different ways
slow walkers
married, always
frittering away chances or just
connected,
with the mortal coils of the market?
big coat on in the Kalahari
your scorpions absent from the guest list,
exiled.
the brown bears caged, but should things have
really.
come to this?
fierce heat.
fizzing geysers rumpled by grey fluorescent lights and
plagued,
by the speeding steam trains of their past that took them to
SO MANY GREAT PLACES but they only recall the
endings.
the crashing off the tracks,
the unexpected landslides
revolve
navigate the ridge and don’t funk from looking down.
it is better this way.
stamp the scorpions in.
£5 on the door.
take the free round and dance around their nimbus because even though you WILL NEVER
know them,
you would NOT
BE HERE.
without them.
your corner patch
a feral patch given over to woodworms and weeds
but a patch without chains,
shaded by roses suffering a kind of pressure you will never understand.
the naan breads arrived 40 minutes early and ruined your bath but
WHAT
A
PRIZE.
to exist in a rainforest where naan breads are possible.
and ferns unfurl,
then hang,
and rise again.
frying plantains in Tanzania
slow married women bearing grain
carry your cactuses out into the sun.
feed them.
watch them.
be naked with your scorpions and really feel the
football finals
the canal gates
the shooting stars, zooming by
through the windows of the train.
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
The things I love include
Sunsets on a Friday evening and stargazing on a Friday night
Barber shop conversations
Talking to people about politics and sports
so in essence Barber shop conversations
I love going tubing and playing other water sports
Even though I can't swim, but so far I haven't drowned so far so I'll keep winging it
I love when people jump in after me when I'm drowning
Not only literally but figuratively
When I am submerged in fear as if it were water
When my heart beats against my chest as if it were trying to break free
When my neurons fire like a gatling gun, you my heroes, you save me from me
I love cocoa puffs, a lot
I also love when black women wear there hair in afros or puffs because it's something beautiful about all the shades of black and brown
I love Sunday morning church and Sunday afternoon lunch with family
I love ice cream
maybe because it is the closest thing to love I've ever found
Cold and sweet
it reminds me to enjoy the simple things in life because they won't always be around
I love girls with pretty smiles, and tasteful laughs
Brown eyes with a big heart
I love looking up at a night sky filled with stars and a heart wide open
and feeling, and knowing that God exists
I love talking to people that suffer with depression
I know that may be an odd confession but it's something real in the words they say
They see the world as it is not as it should be
Instead of hiding their flaws, their burdens , they show them so clearly
They remind me to be honest about me
Some things I love
Orange juice
Plantains, not bananas, plantains
I love SEEING black people in Unity
Whether it's to start a government or tear one down
With their hands over there hearts or knees on the ground
I don't care because for too long we as a people have been divided
So to stand for something, or to stand against something,
To run for president, and not from the KKK
To put our knees on the ground so the police doesn't put a knee in our backs
To put knowledge in our heads to prevent bullets in our bodies
I love seeing a room full of people, dressed to a tee and in one accord
I love seeing it as much as I love hearing Nat King Cole's "Chesnuts roasting on an open fire while drinking a cup of hot chocolate
on Christmas eve , next to the fireplace, surrounded with family
These are some things I love
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:55 AM UTC
I am the product of two distant worlds
But my tongue dances with only one
In my dreams, I hear my Mother’s cries
Praying for her lost daughter’s return
I am too much for one country to swallow
But not enough for the other’s acceptance
Yet here I stand, with my heart in the middle
Of a custody battle with unclear intentions
I cannot choose between the two
Without erasing half of my story
I cannot undo all this writing
Stained on my blood and bones
This heart, of plantains and sweet tea,
Fights a war inside her own body
I’m unsure of where to call home
When I’m not wanted by either country
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
Slicing avocado with a grain of rice
I add a pinch of salt to the flesh
And the pulp of an Urchin, thumbed -
From the Sea, with a frozen teardrop
shaped like a hook.
I mistook your Virginity for Indolence.
You smote my ardor, with apathy
and Grace.
Carving the pumpkin with a blade of grass
I save the seeds to roast over blarney stones.
As i blacken the plantains with shards
Of Ash Wednesday and night sugar _
You broaden your scope to match the vistas
Of my Accusation... You false my Hope
with a True Face.
As i groom my submission.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
*Her hair colour of dark night
Curved ears of lotus stems
Earrings with pieces of moon
Two eyebrows of rainbows
Above her innocent eyes of doe
Chubby cheeks with rose petals
Cute lips with red cherries
Body curdled of soft butter stone
Belly alike flat banyan leaf
Hands and legs of plantains
Creating his beautiful sculpture
In his dream world of love
With his imagination of beauty
Lying on a bench, the sculptor !*
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
I went a walk, I'd been to school
Over the fields
All along I picked flowers, pretty ones
Mysterious plantains and dandelions too
Some tiny pink things and frondy grass
I brought them home and gave them to you
And you put them into a clean glass
Sun shone into the water
Sparkling diamonds
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
In a crocus bag, I remembered home.
The familiar flush of a Saturday’s work
we would fry some green plantains
and head to town.
Women with long, billowy skirts and red handkerchiefs wrapped around their heads line the street.
Some pumpkin, cho-cho, a bag of pimento seeds
carrots, Irish potatoes, scallion and a piece of thyme are bought
The threaded lines of blood, sweat and tears
bring home a bowl.
When there is no water to fill our basins and buckets,
we get up before the roosters.
To bathe, drink, wash, live
the assorted empty plastic containers get acquainted in the bag
on their way to the pipe.
A tablespoon of sugar for my fever grass tea
The zinc fence that cut a portal on my leg
A sip of Saturday’s soup
A container for other containers.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
i saw a trader the other day who stood out by the road
and in his basket he had many fruits and vegetables for sale
i spotted plantains and chayote
and asked how much they would cost
he held out his hand and waved to me
and said he wouldn’t take a penny
I asked him why this sudden spur of generosity
and he said not to worry
it was a gift from the heavens, truly
and it’d be best if i left off this inquiry
so i thanked him profusely
and said goodbye humbly
he just smiled and i could see his essence shining
he was more than a simple trader
he was truly a divine being
who had incarnated as a merchant
in order to disguise his fruitful deeds
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
No, it didn’t happen in classrooms
Of syllabus and assignments. But
Somewhere amid the iron rusty
Windows Of 28-rupee bus tickets
From yellowed Platform signs. All
from
(Kayankulam to Cantonment)
No, not the gust, but visits a florid
Breeze after 6 over my garnered age.
Sliding beneath her gold embroidered
curtains, under the ashen newspaper
Speaking of potholes and crows.
How you commute in colored notes
(Adoor to Adoor)
from district to the next is unfamiliar.
Surely, spicy how it rolls from me
Tongue to hers/his/theirs. Carried on
To the red slits on their skin. Fleshed.
Pages, the her-story of breasted warriors,
with ease. You slip off the sky’s night
gown. On the same earth hurried kings,
Queens, and ivory throned British malice.
(Adoor to Thiruvananthapuram)
Exiting from a throbbing earthen stilt
kindness, a dry sandy footstep. From your
children’s 44 rivers, where song and dance,
clamored from the shore. Must be that glued
pride, divine of your esteemed royalty
(Periyar, Achenkovil)
Perhaps a brown rattlesnake, you slither
into all riding on health magazines, pamphlets
and late news debates. In hymns of praise and
folded envelopes of austerity from the rain dren-
ched postbox.
Like drizzle at night from a cup.
And if you were a spirit, you swim about
in the death of fishes in cat mouths begging
around with crows in busy smelly harbors, stray dogs
with their tongues out flicking ripened mango
( Aluva Central Stn. To Thiruvalla)
pickles on railroad tracks packed with rice and Coconut milk.
Children of mammal and mamma fighting out for
A leaf foiled bundle or rise and rotten fish.
You and I
We share a familiar vision of spring
Bedding an acid sting like memory
(Kottayam toThrissur)
Of raw plantains in mouth. Coconut oil
On head. Crying with my tooth on a
String from my greasy door handle.
There’s a way she rolls of my mouth
To his/hers/theirs.
After all it’s the better language
To kiss with. And after bury with.
(Adoor to Ranni,Kollam)
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC
My dear, erudite fellow…!
Schemed and skilled in academic prowess
Celebrated at your time as accomplished
At your season you were adhered and revered
Extol in your adorn ceremonial gown and cap
That Season are memories well celebrated and spoken of
But seasons come, seasons go!
Old seasons heralds’ new seasons
And yet new season another season
Seasons come in succession and progression
One birthing another, for yet another
And another like in circles
No! not circles of rounds but pyramids of circles
Changing hypotheses Progressing humanity;
Nomenclatures of human existence needing no divinations.
However, Human perversions; greed, pride, and more….
Configurations that have nibbled nature and time scheduled blessings:
A beautiful life, charming nature, a gift scuttled by vein makeups.
Make-ups that changes originality and mars the truth!
Sir, your celebrated research and findings were great yesterday
Beautiful yesterday was history for great tomorrow to cope.
Oh! Beautiful yesterday, salty today not fit tomorrow
The irony of seasons gift of nature but welcomed
Welcomed like the plantains stems that plans its maturity and gives way.
Do we say more?
Of the pumpkins that spreads its hands and tips, anchor its support to grow and births great seeds to replace itself
For posterity is in the replication of self in truth and character:
The excellence of continued originality in human search and psyche
This is the Hallmark of Academic definitions and redefinitions.
Societal evolutions pass on from age to age, from generation to generation.
Wither re’ you’ sir?
-________________________________________________
_________________________________________________ ________________________________________________
Deep seethed question you only can answer.
But you ought to know this…...!
The ground is not strong enough to stop sprouting young seeds.
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 8:36 AM UTC