"pollo" poems
The infamous Cuban fog
Roll's of the ceiling
Arroz on Pollo
*** and ice
Flamenca tunes serenade
the
crescent moon
Decadent
bites
Celebrating
Havana Nights
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
When I call out
into the nothingness of my bleak existence,
I desperately scream one thing:
"Marco..."
...and I let my absolute mundane, boring, maddening vacuum
absorb the echos,
and as the yell fades away to a yelp,
I waited for my answer.
And waited...
And waited...
And waited...
And waited...
And waited...
And waited...
And waited...
And waited...
And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... And waited... waited... waited... waited... waited... waited... wai...
"...Pollo," the void returned.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
Italian Campagna 1309, the open road
Bah! I have sung women in three cities,
But it is all the same;
And I will sing of the sun.
Lips, words, and you snare them,
Dreams, words, and they are as jewels,
Strange spells of old deity,
Ravens, nights, allurement:
And they are not;
Having become the souls of song.
Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes.
Being upon the road once more,
They are not.
Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing
Once for wind-runeing
They dream us-toward and
Sighing, say, “Would Cino,
Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes,
Gay Cino, of quick laughter,
Cino, of the dare, the jibe.
Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe
That ***** old ways beneath the sun-light,
Would Cino of the Luth were here!”
Once, twice a year—
Vaguely thus word they:
“Cino?” “Oh, eh, Cino Polnesi
The singer is’t you mean?”
“Ah yes, passed once our way,
A saucy fellow, but . . .
(Oh they are all one these vagabonds),
Peste! ’tis his own songs?
Or some other’s that he sings?
But you, My Lord, how with your city?”
My you “My Lord,” God’s pity!
And all I knew were out, My Lord, you
Were Lack-land Cino, e’en as I am,
O Sinistro.
I have sung women in three cities.
But it is all one.
I will sing of the sun.
…eh? …they mostly had grey eyes,
But it is all one, I will sing of the sun.
“‘Pollo Phoibee, old tin pan, you
Glory to Zeus’ aegis-day,
Shield o’ steel-blue, th’ heaven o’er us
Hath for boss thy lustre gay!
‘Pollo Phoibee, to our way-fare
Make thy laugh our wander-lied;
Bid thy ‘flugence bear away care.
Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet!
Seeking e’er the new-laid rast-way
To the gardens of the sun…
* * *
I have sung women in theree cities
But it is all one.
I will sing of the white birds
In the blue waters of heaven,
The clouds that are spray to its sea.”
2.6k
i appear with boots and a saucy smile on
in the doorway while she's cooking the women
gossip over the sizzling pan of hot butter
under her heaving chest on the stove
i'm wearing a magic cape mimicking a windmill
with my bright pink ***** standing *****
big as a barn in the morning sun
lusting after dominance
fat and wrapped like a chorizo sausage
she sends a half-wave into my
direction of space and says--on the counter
i'm ******* an older latina lady with a chiquita banana
deep in my mother's kitchen with
the sticker on the tip of my **** for reference
as the sun dances and rises just
before pancake breakfast
her dank breath smells like
pollo broth and fiesta cigarettes
but her **** is wild soft and new
like a banana being peeled and sliced lengthwise
warm ***** hanging on either side
fat enough to be chewed on
psychedelic salsa blares
on the radio all morning
and i'm holding her skirt up to
reveal beautiful hips and thigh muscles so
i can **** her harder and faster
at her request
hands fly and the big bowl of
seeds spray downward in gravitational collapse
she's singing mexican gypsy secrets
with a cigarette lit and just hanging lopsided
off her lipsticked marshmallow lips
she's holding a yellow crayon in one hand
like she'll be scribbling notes shorthand
and dribbling cane syrup over my naked body
with the other as the floor begins shaking and
the walls shed plaster the cupboard doors creak
on their hinges and mom walks in the room looking at me
like i'm the crazy one
but the cataclysmic miracle is done
senorita is kneeling and wiping my ****
with an authentic mexican flag handkerchief
her sweat and my *** cooling on her thighs
working holes in her new blue kneesocks
and i'm re-zipping her dress over the
glistening expanse of her brown back
she stands trying to fix her freshly ****** hair and
we both light a cigarette try to forget the whole thing happened laughing at our secret as her cherry toes finally uncurl like an ember drifting in campfire smoke she just juts a hip out licks her lips again and smiles
"bueno."
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
Dos cervezas por favor in De K’ffe,
Cold bite of the first beer refreshes.
Una mas and workday fades to dull,
The night feels bright and hopeful,
The Palitos de pollo satisfies hunger.
Conversation flows to Cepas de Altura,
Three bottles later the stories repeat,
Groundhog day of interesting lives,
With eternal friendship in every bottle.
Six corks line up like truth bullets,
In an aggression of arguments,
Maybe he has just said too much,
Friendship of an unremembered hug,
Next day sorry and failings forgotten.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
Beauty Queen
Miss Q
Thinking of you
;-)
:-)
...
?
Post-apocalyptic characters flash white
against a twilight screen
Tiny, shiny meanings begging for responses
But I won't feed
these visions of nothingness
Since when did I become
bound to this ubiquitous pretense,
since when did I become
cast into these tiny webs roping me inextricably closer
to the "you" I just met yesterday and
since when did we become
like spineless eels
caught dumbfounded
in these fishing lines
of textonomy?
This ain't swag
and if it is,
then your swag
makes me want to regurgitate
la salsa verde y los tamales de pollo
all over your smooth and crisp
white shoes
Can't someone untie me from these social knots?
I want to go back to ink-blots,
conscriptions, Polaroid photographs,
X's and
abandoned
I's
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
How do you make your rice?
is it in a *** a pan? steamed? heated? not at all?
mine is in a frying ***
Yellow, with pollo from the fresh market.
Peas, y frijoles on the side.
Mix it up, eat it, keep it for later.
Burn the bottom so you can get la chemada part.
If you like the chemada part, not everyone does.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
The 3 Crucifixes sit,
atop this city like a tombstone,
but this grave feels so alive,
so vibrant in it’s Post-Colonial glory,
the Spaniards came & went,
well “came & went” is too courteous a term,
but hey either way wherever your beliefs may lay,
they left & when they did they left behind their language & La Ermita Church,
now what’s left is gift wrapped & embodied in Native Blood & Colonial Skin,
ancient wisdom lost in translation all in the name of The Cross,
sacred status melted down for the gold they contained,
I wonder if Colombians or any South Americans for that matter,
think about the past past but the remnants that were left when speaking Spanish,
I guess the Spanish never really left,
& the Inquisition is finished but still I must confess,
Native Blood & Colonial Skin is a pretty good combination,
because 200 years after they left look what we get,
a vibrant culture a wonderful mix,
late night Salsa fiestas at Zaperoco,
hot weather hot food hot women hot music,
& vibes so alive you’d almost forget about the looming tombstone,
watching everything like it’s on replay,
like everyone is already gone which they as in we will all be one day,
when Nature finally returns to reclaim,
what was rightfully Hers in the first place,
in the same way Colombians reclaimed Colombia once the Spaniards went away,
but until Nature comes back to reclaim it’s arepas salsa & coffee,
it’s a beautiful day in Cali let’s have a lively debate over empanadas panela & pollo,
partying from sunset & on in to the humid Cali night,
making such amazing memories that we temporarily forget about the crucifix tombstones,
but all the while there those 3 Crucifixes sit,
atop this city like a tombstone,
but this grave feels so alive,
so vibrant in it’s Post-Colonial glory…
∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
Yeah I said it, and meant it
All those snakes, phony *** fakes
Think what you want about me
Lames don't phase me, trying to frame me
I possess game in me, I know who I am
Trying to blame me, fool I'll school you
Buster, I'll splatter you like muster,
Grill you like pollo loco, fry that *** up
Punk you too far behind, catch up
You blinded, folding over money & hoes
Putting ******* over bro's
Living on the down low,
I'm like a river flow, quick to move
Gangster boogie, you're a little too slow
Take their word my love, believe the lie
I won't stand here explaining why I'm right
I'm not gonna waste my time to fight
A deceiver, non believer, I'm the grim reaper
Put them teeth to work punk ******
Put up or shut up, knuckle up & buckle up
You ain't ready, I'm scary like freddy
I'll slice your dome like jason, silly mason
I'm the king pin of this ******* ring
Scorpion king, lethal poison when I sting
So put down your fruity glitter bling bling
Cuz I'm coming out to swing, do my thing
When it cracks all hell will meet my grin
Take them on a rollercoaster spin
Facing me you could never win
I'm the struggle, violence, despise & rejection
Virus injection, true love's my protection
Ignorance kills your mind, guppy
I naturally shine, taking what's mine
All the time, staying on my grind
You don't love me, I'm a changed man
But you still don't understand, thanks
For letting me know, now I know
You been lying to me, wow I'm surprised
When you blind yourself can't foresee
Men I can't believe what I just read
I'm surrounded by demons, spiritual alter
No way I'm falling off, cowards die thousand Deaths, you really disappointed me
To the fullest, you're not awake
Holding back, cuz they talking smack
You put them over me, okay let it be
You're lost...
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC
In Greek mythology,
which I've read before
Ares is the God of War-
Stories, mostly read in parts,
Apollo is the God of Arts
But a visit to my deli
set my brain a clik'n
For according to their menu-
A "pollo" is a chicken.
r.riddle 03-02-2016
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Los adjetivos que me sobran
van como siempre al cubo de desechos
más tarde llegarán
a la galaxia de los basurales
allí se encontrarán con un pueblo de cosas
cáscaras de naranja / de huevo / de discursos
mechones de peluca y huesitos de pollo
condones de prudentes sementales
promesas de almanaque / telegramas
de mal y bienvenidas / invitaciones rotas
nimios perforadores de la capa de ozono
boletas estrujadas con inquina
caspas uñas verrugas papilomas
fetos de mucamitas y señoras de pro
cucarachas resecas y sin deudos
paños higiénicos hollejos puchos
postales de un prehistórico año nuevo
mirko te quiero silvia
citaciones vencidas arrugadas
recibos de la luz / facturas de apagones
propuestas de asco siempre renovadas
un taco sin zapato y sin chapita
un decímetro / resto de algún metro amarillo
chau viejita esta noche no me esperes
un pescado podrido con bigotes de gato
un pie de inconsolable maniquí
un afiche político sin vergüenza y sin rostro
desde su infierno / desde la inmundicia
mis adjetivos sufren como verbos
no merecían semejante oprobio
juro no echarlos más a la basura
cuando me sobre alguno en buen estado
lo entregaré a las damas de la beneficencia
483
Italian clothing for men
was marked on a sign
next to mrs marion's psychic readings
and a pollo tropical, off to one side
a smiling man, unfolded on the walls
dark eyes, dark suit, sold inside
past this stucco facade
reveals another side of said sign
Italian clothing or men
hopefully sold inside
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
Io sono.
Tu sei.
Abolita ogni struttura e ogni narrazione.
Tutto quello in cui credi è solo un racconto che ti é stato appiccicato addosso.
Se fossi venuta dalla luna ti avremmo chiamata alieno, e tu ci avresti creduto.
Ma saresti stata sempre tu.
La verità allora esiste solo nella loro testa.
2) Se un'aquila un giorno decidesse di comportarsi da pollo, questo la renderebbe un pollo?
Quindi, sperimentati come ti pare.
Nov 28, 2023
Nov 28, 2023 at 6:41 PM UTC
This the doom patrol,
If you know, you know.
Might be your friend,
Might be your foe.
It all depends,
Whether or not we,
Busting down your door!
It seems some things,
Don’t always add up.
Not even bugs bunny,
Knows what’s up doc.
Fiends distributing zyglon b,
In the hood through lean cups,
Think I’ve seen enough.
Every day another drive by,
Don’t be a wise guy,
Or you’ll end up a dead guy.
Just another food for fodder,
Capitalism at this point should be called,
Sergeant Slaughter.
Quick better hashtag that ****
Thoughts and prayers without actions.
Can’t stop the madness.
Literally doing the white cops job for them,
Oh **** he went there,
I had to, because it’s still a ******* problem.
Life may not be fair,
But I refuse to be seen as a goblin.
That needs to be slain in order,
To maintain privilege and superiority.
But I refuse to be ashamed of being a minority.
Orderly, orderly we got a run away.
Better andale, andale,
I’m may not be a Mexican,
But I am treated like a chupacabra, ese.
I just don’t comprehende,
El gobeirno es muy demente.
Bunch of el pollo locos,
Puede chupar mi pene.
I’m a human ******* being,
That demands to be respected accordingly.
Before I shove my boot through you anally.
This the doom patrol,
If you know, you know.
Might be your friend,
Might be your foe.
It all depends,
Whether or not we,
Busting down your door!
Boy you mad bruh?
Of my gift of gab son?
Go buy yourself a ******
Cause you be cramping,
My ******* style.
That is so versatile,
I’m like a ******* lyrical crocodile,
Just chomping at the bit,
Yawl ******* make sick,
If we cannot coexist,
Guess I got no choice,
But to bust out my extended clip,
As you already perceive me as violent,
Trying to keep me all quiet,
But my glock is the only thing,
That’ll ever be on silent!
For I’m ******* tired,
It’s about time we rewire,
This ******* system,
Where a division,
Based on racist traditions,
Either kills what they determine as problems,
Or just lock us up in prisons.
I said it once but imma say it again,
**** the system!
That looks at resistance as terrorism.
If only they’d listen,
To the wisdom,
Instead of tear gassing demonstrations.
Trying to ***** out the light,
To Doctor Kings dreams and visions.
But we won’t let that happen.
As long as we have the breath to keep fighting!
This the doom patrol,
If you know, you know.
Might be your friend,
Might be your foe.
It all depends,
Whether or not we,
Busting down your door!
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 1:09 PM UTC
your
voice,
not
too
far.
i
can
remember
your
smile.
your
smell.
how
beautiful
you
look
in
the
morning.
i
found
you.
close
to
home.
i
found
you.
in
a
bed
of
lies.
i
found
you.
your
smile.
your
eyes.
your
truth.
your
lies.
i
found
you.
in
a
corner,
all
alone.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC