Chicano Poet

Sunday, January 30, 2011

A Note From Quetzalcoatl Sandoval

A fact known to only a handful of people on earth is that the Shuttle crew is always comprised of one other “astronaut”, who is never on camera and even in disasters like the Challenger tragedy and the Discovery accident are not identified or named. Right about now you are probably saying, “What the hell is Sandoval talking about.” Well, hold on to your seats, amigos.
The unknown astronaut is an NSA operative-tag-along dude. Or as in the Discovery accident a Mexican-American, Viet Nam vet by the name of Pedro “Pete” Diaz of McAllen, Texas. Though, of course, no one in government will acknowdge it at all. We were able to ascertain some of this story from a cousin of his who of course will remain nameless. He or she showed me photos of Pete inside Discovery on the day of the liftoff. I have no doubts as to his once existence. So according to my source there is always an NSA operative on each Shuttle taking care of agency black ops, in other words, spying on Americans and other hanky panky. So when the next and last Shuttle goes up, keep in mind that besides the regular astronauts there’s an incognito bandito in there in the belly of the beast.

Quetzalcoatl Sandoval is a philosopher/mechanic
well-known for his books on 2012. He dropped by
Papalote this weekend to replace the cluth master
cylinder on my pickup and told me of this fantastic
story. Dude, he showed me the pictures. They are
not, and I repeat, they are not photo-shopped!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Bouncing Benny Mata Days

every Wednesday night
Beto and his buddies

cabrónes each
and everyone

watched All Star Wrestling
live on KONO TV

then went out
to burglarize houses

and cars
they were hard workers

you can’t
take that away from them

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Viente Doce

she asked
La Virgen de Guadalupe

for one little thing
under the brown clouds

by the swollen arroyo
a mangy ghostly dog

looking up
with borrowed eyes

she knew
La Virgen would provide

even here
in the distant future

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Mi Tierra

Javier walked through the deserts
of Arizona in the night

looking for water
Toribio walked in the valley of Texas

drying off slowly
in the cold night

Mando jumped the fence
not far from Tijuana

and each of them is singing
this land is my land

from California
to the New York Island

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Mexican Metamorphosis

he woke up in the morning
and he was a jaguar

the pain of it
radiated out like the sun

dragged its claws
on the surface of the moon

its teeth
clamping down on stars

he tried
to escape his cage

he ran
to the ends of the earth

he was indeed
a jaguar

he growled
he felt his whiskers tremble

he lay down
in his own darkness

his eyes blinking
a wild and heavy wonder

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Cecilio’s House

cecilio comes to me in a dream
and asks

if I will help him
paint his house

of course amigo
I tell him

we paint all day
and all night

we paint for a week straight
we paint all month

I tell him
amigo, you sure have a big house

he says
reyes, the house of poetry is big

and I doubt
we’ll ever finish painting it

Monday, January 17, 2011

Yo Tambien Conocí Al Louie

yo tambien conocí al louie
but he was not a friend of mine

he hung out
with a bad crowd

he was a hero
to them

I stayed out of their way
stuck to my books

papi, back from korea
insisted on it

I hung out
con mis primos

when they weren’t
hanging out con el louie

and the rest
of his palomilla

whenever our eyes met
I could see

they hated me
maybe the cabrones admired me

the eyes
never lie said mama

on the night
que se chingaron al louie

I was
graduating from high school

still I felt
sorry for him and his vatos locos

Saturday, January 15, 2011

A Poem By Susana Chávez


Sangre mía,

de alba,

de luna partida,

del silencio.

de roca muerta,

de mujer en cama,

saltando al vacío,

Abierta a la locura.

Sangre clara y definida,

fértil y semilla,

Sangre incomprensible gira,

Sangre liberación de sí misma,

Sangre río de mis cantos,

Mar de mis abismos.

Sangre instante donde nazco adolorida,

Nutrida de mi última presencia.

Susana Chávez

1974 – 2011

Friday, January 14, 2011

Must Be The Season Of The Witch

made of flesh
and blood

I had my way

sixteen year old Antonia Rico

hung out at the Royal Sports Hall
where Placido Montemayor

stabbed my friend
Ramiro Chicasbolas you know where

on a night when
La Llorona failed to show

Thursday, January 13, 2011

El King Of The Hood

he ruled the hood
with an iron fist

drug money
is honest money

he told his two year old
whose mother

he beat
to keep in line

he was the king
of the hood

until he met his fate
nel the cops

didn’t shoot him
they sent him to the pen instead

ninety nine years
with no possibility of parole

slightly better
than the permanent hole

until someone did just that
put his lights out para siempre

with a can
of refried beans

swung inside a calcetin
a tube sock

is a mighty equalizer
wonder how he’ll do in hell

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Ragdoll 10 he'd begged for coins to buy cigarettes,
after he became a gang member,
the name stuck...

I met El Mendigo
when he was already fifty something

sweltering guitars
el gran cabrón’s

wild days
long behind him

abuelo now
though maybe not the best

example of such
but which of us

flirts with
a burning mirror

and comes out
with clean white gloves

the barrio
was so different then

(which means
it was exactly the same)

he waxes nostalgic
while brown spiders

pour over his hands
I just want

my grankids
to have a chance

said El Mendigo
his sad brown eyes

bursting at the seams
like a hard carnival ragdoll

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

The Only Thing He Had

the only thing he had
in common with the Aztecs

was the letter A
but he made the most of it

made believers
out of most of us

except for those
who were destined to be

selling out their own race

one has to expect that
so lets not point fingers

we make our beds
to lay on them

there’s no turning back
let’s follow through with our plans

he was very persuasive
he had nothing in common

with the Aztecs
except for the letter A

Monday, January 10, 2011

In The Barrio

in the barrio
you can’t leave the stars out at night

or some twelve year old punk
will steal them

no no the moon’s too big
Westside Pawn

won’t give you
a damn thing for it

the little punk
learned that the hard way

Friday, January 07, 2011

San Antonio River

the San Antonio River
is dirty

like Westside girls
making out

with dirty boys
late at night

in abandoned parks
panties halfway

down dark thighs
boys hurrying

along the trash-filled
San Antonio River

screaming their way
to the Gulf of Mexico

Thursday, January 06, 2011

New poem by Carmen Tafolla here.

El Mero Mero

dicen que guardian angels
saved his ass more than once

Gumesindo Salas would
have none of that

crediting his own
superior survival skills

stabbed twice
shot once

hit with a baseball bat
on the side of the head

out ran the cops
seven times

the cabrón
had nine lives

like a goddamn gato
diabetes took his life just like that

had no trouble
at all

Wednesday, January 05, 2011

The Trees By Rush

The Trees

There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.

The trouble with the maples,
(And they're quite convinced they're right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade.

There is trouble in the forest,
And the creatures all have fled,
As the maples scream "Oppression!"
And the oaks just shake their heads

So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights.
"The oaks are just too greedy;
We will make them give us light."
Now there's no more oak oppression,
For they passed a noble law,
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet, axe, and saw.

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

El Sonido Misterio

Doña Leonor was busy
trying to guess

El Sonido Misterio

rolling out fresh tortillas
for her no good son Refugio

who kept putting
his hands

in his pocket
to make sure

that the wad of bills
he robbed

from the convenience store
was still there

all twenty-two dollars of it
Doña Leonor

never did guess what
that sonido was

and kicked herself
when the winner

guessed that it was
fingernails scratching a washboard

Monday, January 03, 2011

Chuyito La Rata

allí por la calle Martín
Chuyito stole

an eight track player
from a car

the tape was of Steppenwolf
what kind of Mexican

listens to this cagada
on the Westside

said Chuyito to himself
he got rid of the player

the same way
he got rid of everything he stole

el Bigotón Perez
reminded Chuyito

of a big fat Cantinflas
a pinche Steppenwolf tape

Chuyito scratched his head
as he shoved the money in his pocket

RIP Anne Francis

Saturday, January 01, 2011

RIP Susan Bright