"ramona" poems
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of
Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons
Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,
Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.
In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,
Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.
In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.
In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me
To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.
Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined
The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
There she was, standing in a corner,
Staring at me as I was dancing
Occupy the dance floor, tonight or forever,
Watch me go, 'cause I am the Queen.
What's that drink you're holding again
Your cup's empty, want me to pour more ?
Nevermind dear, just take my hand
And follow my lead onto the dance floor.
Mysterious Ramona, the blue-eyed girl
Come over here and let yourself fly
Forget it all, take over the world,
Move your hips until you die.
Never seen someone dancing like this,
Look at those moves, the temperature's hot
Would you mind if I blew you a kiss
Your beauty's all over me, it's not my fault.
Music goes on and on and on and on
Come closer to me, give me that look
Grab my face, move, be someone
Your eyes caught me, now I am hooked.
Mysterious Ramona, the blue-eyed girl
Come over here and let yourself fly
Forget it all, take over the world,
Move your hips until you die.
Hear that sound, it's my heart beating fast
I want to keep you by my side
Don't know why but I want this to last
Feeling your body rushed against mine.
Your hands lost in my hair,
You're biting your lips
Your hands up in the air,
You're moving your hips.
Mysterious Ramona, the blue-eyed girl
Come over here and let yourself fly
Forget it all, take over the world,
Move your hips until you die.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
trembling, she buttoned up each catch to hide the melody burned into her skin
my ramona
set free too long ago
a song sent to be heard only in twilight
your face has new lines — none of which sing
these are straighter, without rhythm
you have been reconstructed into a sketch
a new art claims your body
a new artist claims your body
why do you let your canvas have such a possessive audience?
beauty leaks from your ballads
you are not a pen stroke
my ramona
a.m.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
My sister bought it years ago,
too bad, my mother didn’t
get the chance to enjoy it,
she would've treasured it.
It became a reminder of sadness,
an unintended metaphor, for loss
and pain...it always brought back
that very unexpected, very sad
early morning in February.
Its bright red handle...faded
through weeks, months and
years of changing seasons,
stood on a corner for a long
time...unused, but still intact,
until i took notice one day,
brought it out of its dusty wrap
and opened the red cane umbrella.
A smiling face suddenly flashed
in mind...a presence who, on
early mornings, eagerly recited,
“I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul,”
tirelessly sketched portraits of
unknown faces during unholy hours,
planted, cooked, sewed, while
humming "Ramona"...one who
taught us about silent vows and
undying promises that eventually,
became ours to keep.
It's now an accompanying cane,
the red umbrella...it saves me
from miscalculating steps, from
falling debris, when keeping walls
from crumbling.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 29, 2022
Sep 29, 2022
Sep 29, 2022 at 8:53 AM UTC
Gather nuts.
Grasp for the lean times.
Rotting potatoes
lie blandly in dark corners.
Silently stare at me with many eyes.
Find bright baubles.
Keep pretty playthings.
Trinkets and knick knacks
Ornaments on grimy shelves.
Idiotic faces chipped teeth and paint.
Saved paper
Stacked to the ceiling
Overflowing words
Seem to whisper as I pass.
Dangerous towers of unheeded news.
Faded petals
Pressed between pages.
Vacuous promises
carefree inane memories
Dreadful hopeless dreams nourishment for worms.
copyright protected Ramona Hughes
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
the car seemed to be gliding on glass
the last inconvenient instant before impudent impact
the mangled mass of metal and his black crisp body
a spectacle for the masses, all 4 of them
2 volunteer fire fighters and 2 EMTs
later, his father, blind now in one eye
from America’s diabetes, had Ramona
drive him to the spot, to the dead oak
as big around as an oil barrel
dead long before Paul’s 1996 Ford Escort
decided to take a go at it
daddy had to see the place
that infinite space between
yesterday and the tomorrow
that would never come, even though
he had already seen, through his one good eye
his boy’s charred carcass at the county morgue
resting on a silver slab, the clean and cold bed
where he would spend his last night
before the fiery furnace,
Ramona and he could keep his ashes
no need for a big service, no money for one either
but Dub, “Paul's boss down to the auto parts store,”
opened his wallet as wide as it would go
for the cremation and a nice urn
Paul would be missed, by Daddy and Dub
and once in a great while, in the fast and furious world
of the flat gray town where he lived and died
someone would ask, whatever happened to
that old boy at the auto parts store
the one who limped a bit as he walked,
the one who rarely talked but always
smiled through his yellow teeth
when he placed the goods carefully
on the counter
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
not brown grass, not spindle trees
nor sloppy suns embrace you,
you sway in a summer hammock,
your shape unique,
a collection of eyes and glass;
no description ; time has limped to a stop,
the hours windless,
a girl at quiet under the sky
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there, on the carpet.
Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,
living on her islands.
Here the sun became barly.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.
Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her matress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
Ramona, whoa, whoa Ramona
Whoa, whoa, Ramona
I see you lying there in your bedroom
Gathering all these thoughts in your headroom
You can never just take a break
Just taking in all this heartache
Lying there in your white t-shirt
Accepting and concealing all this hurt
Oh please, Ramona, just take a second to breathe
We can just take our leave
Go somewhere far away
Never needing to pay
For all the hate and anger we share
We’ll run away on this dare
Ramona, why don’t you just hide?
Show me your honest side
We’ll just play alone at night
We’ll turn off the light
Let’s not worry
Let’s just hurry
To that quiet place we call escape
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Mexi: I'm the right kind of lover on Sunday morning.
Ramona: I will kick your ***
Aurora: She's so sweet, and graceful, and cherry flavored.
Knives: **** YOU
Many more to come probably because I hate myself.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Call me Ramona and **** me senseless.
It's a name for wearing your hood up
regardless of prevailing weather conditions
Changing your hair for something to do
Skipping every song on shuffle after 30 seconds
For being lonely
For hating the company of everybody
including yourself.
A name for indulging poisons-
what's a little more when you're already toxic?
Call me Ramona,
it suits me.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
My mother, my father, my friend
The one I truly love until the end
First month first day gave the way
To the sweetest mother
A gifted spirit like no other
Five sisters & thee only brother
All her children love her
Very humble, caring, and preparing
Us for a righteous life
Don't result in vengeance
Instead pray for assistance
Leave it in the Lords hands
Understand impossible
For him it's possible
I love her to the fullest
Gave birth to the illest
She came from Mexico
To give birth to a ****
It's not her fault I'm so crazy
Did her best to raise me
Jalisco from my mother
Tijuana from my father
Aztec blood runs in my veins
My indigenous reigns
I love her teachings,
Her speeches, & upbringings
I love her & no ones above her
A blessing I'm confessing
She did her best
It's up to me to finish the rest
Happy birthday Mi AMA
Ramona te amo
Con toda el alma
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
The breeze whisked gentle against the curtains.
Getting subtler, subtler, and subtler.
The sun yawned.
Her window stayed open.
Then the breeze had all together hushed.
So the sun,
spilled into the bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there,
on the carpet.
Then on the dresser,
the walls,
the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,
living on her islands. Here the sun became barley.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.
Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her mattress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
If the world ends on Friday, I'd like you to know
You really are lovely, much more lovely than a hobo
Your hair is cooler than Ramona Flowers
Your style of dress, not nearly retro chic
But every time you speak, its more eloquent than Louis Phillipe.
Your music taste-divine
Not even Athena could match
I really do think you are quite a catch.
If the world ends on Friday, which I really do doubt
I'd like to spend that day, or some other, with you.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
Each teardrop
a tiny ocean
essence of pain
copyright protected Ramona Hughes
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
I Miss La Mujer Mas Humilde Dulce
Y Tambien La Madre De Mi Hijo
Happy Mothers Day To The Both Of You
Ramona & Blanca
Sincerely, Benji
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I’ll help it presently.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 6:28 PM UTC
Replaying what their saying praying they bring light to this white uptight insightful wannabe rapper
Cracking the code attacking the slackers taking wack swings trying to use the Clapper dressed dapper
Like Versace shoestrings singing like ODB making sure my breaths clean, it’s my upbringing two parent
Household got no gold but I make you mind blown rocking rhymes about frog and toad I’m road worn
And born weary love oregon’s rain, dreary love to read Beverly Cleary like Ramona wasn’t cheerleading
A future bare back ******* posing as a children’s reader more like a chicken head feeder yet sweeter
Cold toes in the morning gotta find a slipper pull up my cargo pants, can’t find the zipper feeling like
Jack Tripper …. its slipperier the slope to attacking Iraq with most black troops a whole new set of roots
The truth is uncouth like jerking off in a telephone booth *** shooting on yellow pages gobs coating
Everyones names strangers in cages with rage faces and misplaced hate…fucking ingrates –
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
lavender vapor cure
undulates up toward tent top
sandal as makeshift ash catcher
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
keep singing me sad songs, I don't want to forget this feeling and I need you to tell me you don't love me so I can hear it rip my heart out just like the birds do to those poor worms they tear from the ground and that's the place where I fell so hard, breaking, cracking, snapping my jaw once it hit the Ice covered soil. they laughed like the hyenas in the jungle and I hid away in the basement and Margot did too. same with that bedroom, Margot was there too. Conor saves us all from the burning fire of our minds and we couldn't escape til Dan came. Mr Danny, why are you so sad? there's pints of whiskey in the corner. look to the sky, said Margot. and mother, let me go you gotta let this birdie fly if I'll ever grow and maybe it'll rain, I need a good rinse. wait, do you hear that? the music? or is that moaning? oh no it's Ramona crying? oh goodness she is screaming. Bethany, baby, what is the matter stop screaming. it'll only hurt a little bit, you needed it to be taken sometime right? your skirt looked too inviting for me to resist. I swear Carla wanted it. She even asked Helena to join us. but why is she screaming too? Father said this is the way to find love. But love isn't how him and mother was wasn't it? he was the airplanes coming to a crash and mother was the ambulance but seemingly every night they threw glass at each other. I just hope I did my math homework. I swear, I'll clean my room later and I'm sorry I didn't do the dishes and maybe you'll love me once again but my dearest I have no heart and my blood doesn't pump so when you kiss me don't be frightened I am not the ground I am the sky.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
The times they-are a-changin;
you ain't going nowhere.
Not dark yet,
rainy day women
subterranean homesick blues,
if not for you --
when the deal goes down,
lay, lady, lay.
I shall be released;
blowin' in the wind,
like a rolling stone
Down the highway.
Girl from the north county;
mr tambourine man,
jokerman,
ring them bells.
With god on our side,
to Ramona—
it takes a lot to laugh,
it takes a train to cry
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
elegant as an elephant
graceful as the flocking geese
she wears a tiara of burrs
upon her head and crows,
"look! I am the princess now."
fair Ramona, why do you cry?
there is nothing left for you there
those girls were mean as shrews
they only brought you shame
with their callous words and giddy games
Ramona, O Ramona, blessed art thou
amongst maidens
for thine is the healing, the mercy,
the clev'rest wit and purest soul
for now and forever and ever
amen.
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 10:08 PM UTC
*Poor Miss Ramona seen the devil and ran out of breath , she screamed in confusion as she fell to her death , she'll be looking in your window come cool weather if you fail to get to sleep , you'll get a maniacal , glaring image the likes you've ne'er ever dreamed
The wise-man shan't be cracking a window in the month of November
Nor leaving lit candle for it'll only tempt her
Best be preparing for sleep at sundown , paying the constable to keep a lookout
Dousin' yer fire , addin' extra quilt , stuffin' ears with cotton with a second shot o' sleeping cider
Latchin' ones door smart 'n ketch'n up on yer Bible* ...
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
Winnie, I'll take you over Albert Finney.
You remind me of the city.
Kendall,your legs are nice.
They add just the right spice.
Tishtish, you don't even go tisk tisk
On your way to sheshe
Who doesn't go heehee
At all.
On a necessary ball.
Ramona, I know I'm not your Joe Bolona
And you can tell you don't have to use
The tona.
Georgia, I bet you remember Portia. Faces. Life
You're that right.
On and on.
Yeah my latest cluster.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
twins get to sleep in the living room on weekends
sitting at my desk, I can hear them talking
their bond is tighter than anything
and finally, in bits & pieces, love slips in
in spite of myself, hearing my girls talking
is as good as I can imagine it will get
& Ramona tells me
"Mom, just caaaaallllm down"
Sasha threatens me with dire things
now demanding musical instruments
how can one think of anything else
when Sashie is using my own voice
perfect imitation of a mommy driven
over
the
edge. . . .
now they just found the moon outside the window,
my girls taunt moon, calling him out, teasing
"hey look" they cry "it's morning"
so many giggles, I am covered in girlies
who rain down giggles upon me & moon
moon & me both hide our faces
in front of such joy
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC