"tamales" poems
They call me Ghetto.
They call me
gunfights and drive-bys,
pregnant teens.
They call me Poverty,
and concrete winter walls
splashed with blood-red
graffiti.
They call me
junior-high druggies
and gang-banging muchachos.
They call me Mexico
like it’s a ***** word.
They call me Ghetto.
But haven’t they seen through
the white-washed walls
of the
“American Dream”?
Don’t they know hurt
and suffering,
imperfections
and neglect,
as well?
So call me Mexico;
call me Poverty;
call me Ghetto.
I am
run-down yards
filled with laughing brown children,
small apartments
bursting with the scent
of tamales,
mingled with joy and the chatter of relatives.
I am home-made tortillas
at Thanksgiving
and wrinkled hands pounding masa
at Christmas.
I am friendly smiles
and shouted jokes
followed by roaring
laughter.
I am the lilting syllables
of a beautiful
culture.
I am comfort.
They call me Ghetto
and so I am.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Tus patas tamalonas, your fat feet
Fat feet
That makes the ground tremble as I take a step
My feet are flat
To be closer to the earth
God wanted me to remain grounded
To grow roots before I yearned for the sky
My grandma's feet:
Callous, hard, dry
Her feet were old books filled with handwritten poems
Romantic love journals
Her callous feet had to get like that
So that thorns and nails could no longer hurt
My grandmothers' travesia was grand
Her feet were so eager to move on
That they walked on their own
Patas! Patas tamalonas!
Grandmother would tickle my feet
And I'd laugh
Grandma, why do we get feet?
Because God wants us to walk mijo
Even when your feet are flat
Fat, uneven, or they hurt you must always walk
Stand up when they try to force you to sit down
Because those feet are yours
Today I walk, following your footprints
My fat feet being embraced by the hot sand
As I follow the sound of the waves
There you are
Waiting for me at the edge...
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
Diabetes, babe
Why can’t you be kind to me?
I appreciate your sweetness and all.
Setting my life on “reset”
And making me feel like ****
Diabetes, my love
Can you please be nice to me?
Give me a few more years to live
Stop making my mouth dry
Stop making ‘ama cry
Diabetes, chiquito
Tratame bien corazon,
No me metas tentacion
Por que de ver los tamales,
El pozole, el salpicon
Se me olvida que el suicidio
Se esconde en un chicharron
Diabetes, mi rey
Anda pues no te hagas wey
Que la dieta sea mi amiga
Librame de la fatiga
Y de la azucar maligna
Diabetes,
Let me live
I want to eat cheesecake again
Life without sugar is lame
And equal is not so great
Diabetes, babe
Let me be…
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
Nana thinks the magazine is the devil.
“THE PEOPLE WHO DREW THE BLESSED ****** MOTHER OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR JESUS CHRIST IN A BIKINI ARE GOING TO HELL.”
Whatever you say, Nana.
When we left my Nana made us tacos and tamales. She gathered all the food in the house to send us off and took all the cash she had and stuffed it in my pocket. She purged the cupboard of all the bananas, plums, nectarines, and apricots and placed them in a bag with two bottled waters a coke, a diet coke and sprite.
She told me that she loved me and that she hated to see me go. That, “I had just gotten there” and that she would “miss me so much.”
Before we left she sent me with a card that was “very important”. It was a picture and a coin embossed with my guardian angel that she bought at the church gift shop.
My nana loves me more than anything else in the world.
My nana still calls you my friend.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
Andrew ate my tamales inside of 11 minutes,
and soon there will be more kerpustiuous ones ready to taste.
Watching ****** through three different windows; all broken at the moment.
Anyone have a sheet of blood to give to my mad mothers rage?
Let us copulate together for the glory of this fleeting age;
yet inside eleven minutes
the leaning waxy vomper mice shall dance upon my wig and deliver unto me an aching head.
So let me not,
no do not,
let me live
through this night so dark and shmear-ed upon this graven face.
Nay, let me live toward this learn-ed light with a hand to hold,
and away to learn your shining grace.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
bubble gum, bubble gum
throw it back ya bishhh
she a genie in a bottle
but far from what I wish
go ahead (go ahead)
and give em a kiss
there's no fairytale ending here
no magical prince
just a bunch of my homies (homies)
faded in the back
throwin up the signs (signs)
screaming (dougie simps on the track)
hotter than tamales
but cooler than the snow
stackin all the paper
putting on a show
t-t-twerk it
move it up and down
drop it to the beat (beat)
love bites on her neck
the back of the club where we creep
MC Hammer style
boy, you can't touch this
don't forget the team
G.C.K and the boy Dougie Simps
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
In this life, I have seen the valley of broken dreams filled with the souls of taqueria entrepreneurs. I have seen gleaming grills, Hispanic frills, greasy thrills. I have seen spirit thrive in the eyes of men armed with bank loans and family recipes. I have eaten their food, delicious beyond necessity. I have experienced the magic of taquerias and restaurants.
And I have seen that magic die.
I've observed the life unfold, unfurl with a magic to behold. I have seen that magic served in a half-empty restaurant that Frontera has outsold. I have had the magic gone, replaced by payday lenders and takeout from Taiwan. I have seen empty storefronts and the straggling last days of taqueria entrepreneurs. And I grieve every time at the lost loans and lost hopes left behind. But tonight, there will be no grieving. Instead,
Let us eat magic in their memory, enjoy the grease that will surely send us to infirmaries. Let us celebrate the time they had, the tortas, tamales, and leftovers taken home in a bag. Let us celebrate the doomed Mexican restaurants.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
"granday"
its not a *******
twang,
like a rubber band loosened up,
you're like a white sheet
with absolutely no
wrinkles no
lint no
culture.
its not a droop of letters,
like the syllables are carrying old bathwater
on hunched spines;
you sound like dusty paper
left on the shelf too long.
its
"grande"
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.
fill your mouth with mid-august sweat
and belt it out like a pistol,
bullets ripping the fabric of blue
sky.
you are a flame in snow,
your tongue is supposed to be dancing on the top of your mouth
when you say it,
"grande"
roll your 'r's like you would to tamales in
corn flour,
like you would your body in mud
carpeting every inch of your soul in dark, crusted
veneer,
stuck between your toes.
your tongue is supposed to be ***
exotic chocolate,
french rain.
your tongue is supposed to be like a wild motorboat upon
the raging ocean,
hitting the 'r's with savage animosity
"g-rrrrrrrr-ande"
none of these
"grandays"
words like plummeting wrinkles
under tired eyes, your lips like dead fish floating
shallow and flaccid
in lukewarm
soup.
like rotting fruit left out too long,
squashed, useless, a waste.
do not fill your mouth with
mierda,
****
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Spices/nices... sweets and creams. Smells like home
Bodega my senses. Herbs/Lotions. from across time and the ocean.
Remedies for achy knees.
Cough syrup/liniments.
Mangoes and tangerines.
Mamae/papaya.
Waha leaf. Tree bark/arrowroot.
Nescafe/Milo.
Pastries.Puddings.
cakes and tamales.
Ginger beer/seaweed sweet drink
Love potions in the back room.
spells and fixes too.
Yeah the old is new.
The Bodega is a slice of home,
mysterious and familiar.
good for what ails ya.
Placebo ? oh no
cho man.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Perfect Combination
A-1 on your sirloin
Butter on your bread
Chocolate on your ice cream
Or butterscotch instead
Cream cheese on your bagels
Jelly on your toast
Maybe peanut butter
Which do you like the most
Salsa for tamales
Lemon for your fish
Onion dip for vegetables
Delicious on your dish
Pinto beans in chili
Carrots cooked in stew
Bacon on your meatloaf
Chicken cordon bleu
Chives on your potato
Sugar in your tea
Pickles on your burger
Crackers for your cheese
Garlic for your pasta
Sauce upon it too
Milk poured in your cereal
Slices of fresh fruit
Gravy on your biscuits
Sausage would be nice
Cocktail sauce for jumbo shrimp
In a bowl with ice
Syrup on your pancakes
Frosting on your cake
Cream upon your peaches
A salt and pepper shake
Caramel on your apples
Seafood and white wine
Cottage cheese upon your pears
It’s so much fun to dine
Mayo on your sandwich
Ketchup on your fries
Dressing on your salad
Whipped cream on your pies
So many combinations
That we see each day
When we’re having dinner
Breakfast, lunch or play
To enhance each other
Nothing left to waste
Flavors come together
In the name of taste
There’s one combination
The best one I can see
Not to do with eating
Because it’s you and me
So perfect now together
Like ham on top of cheese
Lettuce and tomato
Onions in your peas
Wonderful together
Sometimes sweet or ****
Soft and always tender
This love inside our hearts
Of all the perfect pairings
Only one will do
This combination built on love
Forever me and you
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 8:12 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
Cuando era niña, mi mamá told me to speak in spanish cuando I couldn't say mis "r"s en inglés. Garlic made my mouth stink from the broth I drank when sick, so I ate spicy things to soothe my throat. Muchas veces comímos tamales por la Navidad. Cuando era niña, creí que era mexicana, pero soy blanca. Y tengo miedo de hablar español en frente de los nativos y no sé como mostrarlos mi habilidad real. En el fín, soy una wera, y más que eso, soy francés, y más que eso, soy alemán, and more than that, I'm finnish.
I tried to take pride in my heritage and learn this obscure language. I tried to find similarities in appearance and personality. I boasted of this culture that I so wanted to love and be a part of. I thought I'd found my viking roots but no one around me cared. I learned "tourist finnish" and forgot it because I couldn't practice. I read the Kalevala and laughed at old newspaper articles about the joke of "St. Uhro's Day." I pointed out weird translations in songs due to too many syllables, but in the end, I was too many generations away from being truly finnish.
Why are there so many poems about love? Maybe it's because when we're in love we stop searching for somewhere to belong because we've found someone to belong to. I've found my person but not my people. I've been to seven schools and cried each time I left because I lost those I had tried to make into my extended family. I try to fit in with so many groups because I feel like I never fit in with just one and in the end I'm on the outskirts. We have so few people come to holidays and none of them really ever talk with me. I have a mother but she's an island in a sea of lost chances and forgotten ties. We seek love to have a claim to something but I've had to learn that I can lose that, too. I strive for heritage to make up for family dysfunction. In the end I am white, or rather, white-washed. I was born without ethnic belonging and have not belonged ever since.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I am from Loony Tunes
And a red, two-seat jogging stroller,
Laughing with my sister
Sitting next to me.
I am from waking up to pigeons cooing,
Glow-in-the-dark plastic stars on distant ceilings.
When everything was new,
And bright, and fascinating.
I am from amusement parks;
Six Flags Picnics in parking lots
Because the food there was too expensive,
We brought our own and sat in the grass
With the ducks.
I am from homemade tortillas,
Fighting cousins and uncles like brothers for
The first one off the stove.
And I am from Christmas tamales
and way too much Thanksgiving turkey.
I am from music,
And the difference between hearing and listening,
And between reading and playing and feeling and living.
And not having a favorite song
Because they are all important
And they all mean something different.
I am from falling in love too quickly
With the girl across the aisle
Across the room
Across the street.
From holding my breath but not my tongue
And letting my mind wander a little too far.
"I don't like you like that"
"Oh that's okay I didn't think so anyway"
Is it wrong to feel too much?
I am from people mispronouncing my name,
Saying "here" before teachers can even attempt.
But I am from knowing I would never change it if I could,
Because if everyone could pick where they come from,
We'd all end up in the same place.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Tu y yo en la noche fria
Entrelazados bajo cobijas
Como tamales de dulce
En una olla gigante de barro
I want to keep you forever
Become the water to your river
The vision to your spirit
The light to your progress
I want to stay in this beautiful uncertain moment
Court you, engage you, and inspire you
I want your heart to beat faster as I get closer
I want to become that one emotion that overwhelms every other
Your resting place, your peaceful love, your regenerating space
Your warm Mexican blanket
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
The only walls I want are the ones separating the rooms in my house. You know, the ones that divide my rooms and let me know if I'm cooking here, Netflix and chilling there or simply just sleeping undisturbed .
The only walls I'm interested in are the ones separating the rooms in my house. You know the ones that divide my rooms and let me know this is the space where my daughter plays, this is the space where my husband prays five times a day, this is the space where I wash the grit of the day from my ***** clothes.
The only walls I'm interested in are the ones separating the rooms in my house. You know the ones that divide my rooms and let me know this is the space where I entertain my friends, the space where I try to Zumba and loose the college 10 that turned into the adult 30, the space where all the corners join and then disappear behind my Christmas tree, where those four corners blend to support the tired leanings of my immigrant family after stuffing their bellies full of my freshly made tamales and leftover pernil
So unless you're taking the tired, the poor, the hungry and building them a respite inside of walls that separate homes, inside of walls that gives shelter, that tell we belong and are safely home
then I have no interest in anymore walls
unless
the wall you build divides you from us the way bathroom walls should keep **** contained to keep your stench from poisoning U.S. and the rest of the house.
Now that is the only wall I can agree on.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
I am from blank line paper,
From Coca-Cola, and ADHD.
I am from the taste of cold wet soil after it rains,
The puddles that show me a blurry reflection of what I could be.
I am from the parties around Christmas time,
and laughing my guts out,
from my sisters, my brothers, and my gifts.
I am from the arguments, and ****** language.
From being told as a child that I'm only good for 3 things, and 3 things only
1).Nothing,
2.)nothing,
and 3.) n o t h i n g,
and stupid, worthless, and dumb.
I am from constant worry about where my mom could be, while learning how to be one myself(For her). Church today? No, I can't. Not today.
I'm from Mexico, Tamales, and Menudo.
I'm from the cold, dark Rio Grande full of snakes,
the water taking me under just as I try gasping the crisp cold air, and the reoccurring feeling of death nearby.
I'm from the fire my Piglet Blanket disappeared in, and from the permanent stains of the water damage my childhood has been left with.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
In contrast with the cold morning air,
The house was cozy and warm
As we all arrived to participate
Like worker bees starting to swarm.
The smell of pork and refried beans
Permeated the room.
The champagne bottles were chilling on ice--
How much did we consume?
Sally brought some egg McMuffins.
I thought, "Something's amiss:
Egg McMuffins and NO pan dulce!°°
What kind of party is this?"
But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.
The giant bucket of masa°°° awaited
Marisa's kneading hands.
While she kneaded the dough, the rest of us
Listened for Sally's commands.
After a brief champagne toast,
Our assembly line started.
Everyone had a job to do;
It wasn't for the faint-hearted.
Spreading the masa on the husks
Was a messy task.
I wondered, "How many will we make?"
But I was afraid to ask.
It wasn't very long before
Everyone in the casa
Was practically covered from head to foot
With fluffy tamale masa.
We spread and stuffed and folded and wrapped
While Sally entertained us.
The conversation, laughter, fun,
And champagne all sustained us.
The wonderful smells of lunch also
Encouraged us to work hard
Lest we be known as shirkers and our
Reputations be marred.
But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada
After a few hundred tamales,
The masa was getting low.
I said, "Yay! We're almost done!"
But Alice said, "Oh, no.
That was just the pork; now we're
Making chile and cheese."
Blurry-eyed I held up my spoon
And said, "More hojas,°°°° please."
On and on we continued to work
Like hive bees making honey.
But it was worth it, for these tamales
Are more valuable than money.
Alice, Yvonne, Kathy, Yolie,
Aida, and Sally know why--
As do Marisa, Rebecca, Karen,
Marisol, Nancy, and I--
We always look forward to getting together
For laughter, fun, and cheer
And this spirited, heart-warming gathering
Whenever December is here.
Homemade tamales can't be beat
When made in our special fashion
With love, care, conviviality,
Warmth, goodwill and passion.
I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.
__________
°tamale-making party
°°Mexican sweet bread
°°°dough
°°°°(corn husk) leaves
- by Bob B
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
the competition is fierce
korea vs germany
just like the world cup
which korea won
i had sooo much chicken
korea brings classic
street food blood sausage
and spicy rice cakes
and fried dumplings just like in seoul
germany brings
kartoffelkloesse
bratwurst sausage
and spätzle
britian vs mexico
some quality smelling
smells that i smell
food times
britian cam with
fish and chips (ofc)
clam chowder
and the dinner-breakfast
mexico time
burritos and
tamales and
pozole galore
canada vs america
here we go
the canada and
south canada
canada arrives with
poutine (and lots of it)
wait,,, is that the only
thing you brought?
the rules were
to bring three dishes
my friend.
idiote
america arrives with
a burger w/ a side of fries
and thats it.
I SWEAR TO GOD-
nihon vs zhonggou
let's go
the asain super powers
anime vs cHiNA
kawaii uwu japan
brings three bentos
with OCTODOGS
YOOOOOOO
made in china
general tso
orange chicken
and mapo tofu
conclusion:
this is a who will win
whos gonna win
i need to go to the gym
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
there are some things
that are just written in ink.
the books that line my shelf
the music I play with my fingers
the startling waves I attempt to hurdle
my surfboard over
the recipe my abuelita passed down to
me of her famous tamales
my subscription to Bon Appetit
these constants anchoring me
when characters sketched by
pencil become too faint to feel,
its these delicate yet sturdy constants
that yank me out of sadness
with a "remember me?!"
with a "remember your abilities, young lady!"
"remember your divine calling to perpetually grow!"
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 5:11 PM UTC
Reading right to left, down to up, common sense not in my body.
High as kite, the world is cold but my body is hot like delicious tamales.
Fire in my veins and the screams of my own being is what thrills me.
The Earth crumbling beneath my feet and I'm being dragged in.
I don't mind though, I love the thought of life being scary.
What's a life that's drama free?
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
The grey car stopped fast
****** tracks on a wet street
One more life said “wow”
Saturday near noon
She delivered my bad drug
Tamales con hot
My neighbor is gay
Today I shook his right hand
Yikes, why am I scared?
My nerves are numb nil
I saw a heart in a jar
No beat, no beat, no
I was not there then
My Dad died all by himself
He was giant as man
Somewhere, sometime, I
Find myself lost in blue sky
Give, receive or try?
Our love is mad now
She knows I’m right one more time
How now, brown cow, how
Okay, 1 plus 1
Let’s say the count is for man
Time has it’s own plan
One year ago now
I met an angel on earth
She pulsed life not dearth
Baruch hashem is
God be blessed, a way to start
From mind to man, heart
It’s just a small rock
Picked up on some mindless step
For you, leave my shoe
There’s weight to what is
Not just what was and could be
Will there be more me?
My left eye covers left
My right foot backs up the flank
My mind is still blank
It should not hurt to
Be a child in this world
Happy is a right
What I do, you do
Where do you do what you do?
You do, I do too.
Seltzer at room temp
Anchovies on toast with cheese
Thin sliced tomato
Rub my leg with care
Squeeze my hand and squeeze again
Your soothing, smooth move
Oh yeah, I did it
And would do it again, now
Love, to you I bow
Look over to your right
Find your bliss, here comes the night
Set your mind, now fight
Pick up the pennies
They deserve a pocket too
Hey, no dollars, no cents (sense)
The law by a man
The system is someone’s plan
Use your mind to scan
Four minutes from today
The end, the close, on its way
Do, think, feel, love, say
Baby, baby, babe
What is it about those words?
Thank life for mother
Be there around nine
Commitment but in L A
A mere suggestion
I see you, I do
I saw your last stage show too
Now what do you do?
My love is the sun
Her form is other worldly
Her galaxy blooms
Show me your daydream
I am missing mine today
Let me share your love
Can this really be?
We are all organized light?
Then come love with me
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Sweating bullets in TJ
a Hot August Eve
want the filet but can't even
pay a burrito on the street.
Pop into a club
to quench the thirst,
then lose all my cash....
the corner casino,
ouch that hurt.
My brother smells tacos
I say sure swell then
up four flights
to a ****** hotel.
Rooms by the hour,
I just want a shower,
it's God **** hot as hell.
What should take one
turns into 4 hours
playing the waiting game.
Handed her green,
she left the scene,
came back with,
a quarter of the order.
Pack up our **** lickety-split
it's time to cross the border.
Long and slow we wind
our way through,
no passport, no birth certificate and now at the booth.
He's on a watchlist
the feds know me
where you headed tonight?
the uniform speaks.
Secondary sir
I'm used to it see.
Scolded for lack of papers
told they'll detain us next time
we're tagged and processed then he points to a line
Run through the scanner
& told to get out by
a badge on a boy
just outta the scouts
He scans us briefly
looks quickly inside....
then he says free to go,
Have a safe ride
Little did they know
of the contraband inside....
25 tamales
in a bag untied.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC