Chicano Poet

Friday, March 25, 2011

Baby I’m Amazed

From the backseat
she looks

with gorgeous eyes
which tell her age

against the passing

Mountains behind
the Mona Lisa

be dashed,
exotic scenes

framing Dali’s Gala,
poor excuses

for the art
of beauty.

Stars blaze
from her innocent lips,

little wings

no miles
on them,

the wind
and sky waiting

the turn
she flaunts and denies.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Fire Department

( a Fahrenheit 251 poem)

a drop of water
fell on my soul

it took a long time
to dry

I lifted my guaraches
chest high as precaution

you prefer noise
with candy

I hate
tomorrow questions

your pink panties
in smoke

I panic
when my soul turns

frost to flame
oh firegirl

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The Birth Of Chicano Poetry

Pronto wey
get in get in

shut up and drive, ese
cussed lalo jr

after they’d ripped off

in broad

from the American public
and hauled ass

to the wordless barrio
when they got back

to the safety
of lalo’s casa

his abuela’s casa)

and they looked
at the stolen poetry

they got all pissed off
chingao jr

this American poetry
is worthless caca

Friday, March 18, 2011

The Forbidden Dream

She’s an eight year old
Japanese girl

and she dreams
of Godzilla

she lost her parents
her house

her dolls
elders tell her

she must not
dream of Godzilla

they tell her
those dreams

are for little boys only
the vapors are rising

the vapors
are spreading

and she dreams of Godzilla
battling steam

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Brown Astronaut

he sees you on Facebook
while orbiting earth

your brown face
and pretty smile

bring back memories
of long ago

when you were sixteen
the payload

property of the
secret service


but necessary
if you love

being in space
as much as he does

pretending the space program
is really about space

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Hot Angels And Atheists

hot angels love sugar
and grab

electrical wires
drown on purpose

promise rape
seek beheaded smiles

I could go
on and on

but they tell me
to shut up

slap me
kick me

threaten me
with heaven

so I guess
I’ll stop now

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

When The Phone The Rings

when the phone rings
it’s telemarketers from Mars

their little green lips
offer red dust

cheap robotic explorers
from Russia

no one's heard about
I tell them no

I’ve got plenty
of red dust

and space robots
well I have no place to put them

still they say
thank you for your time

them Martians seem polite
but in person I’m sure they’re slimy

and smell bad
their ray guns cocked

Monday, March 14, 2011


I arrive from work
a little after midnight

I turn on the news
an earthquake strikes Japan

a tsunami inundates Sendai
the gigantic wave

crushes everything in sight
like sumo wrestlers denied food

like a school girl devastated
by feeling unloved

like elders uncared for
by their dutiful sons

it’s little consolation
that man is not to blame for this

Sunday, March 13, 2011

An interesting poem here.

Boulder Colorado drinks a margarita
outside on the patio. He walks to
Pearl Street and finds a spot on the
pavement to watch a street performer.
People in dreadlocks, playing guitars,
ask him if he can spare a smile as
he passes them by. Baskets with notes
that say, "For music school," sit
in front of young girls who are playing
the violin.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Being And Nothingness

she felt the hardness
of her own bones inside

each tiny corpuscle
each dull white blood cell

each half-atom of oxygen
invading the lungs

like an army
an angry crowd

and all this
was just love

she closed her eyes
relished the sweetness

no man
can know

being and nothingness
expelled here

into the

Tuesday, March 08, 2011

The Mexican

Mexico is an open wound
festering in the sun

Mexico is a beautiful woman
wandering lost and bound

Mexico is a muchacho
who never becomes a man

Mexico is ancient and new
and always getting old

Mexico is going nowhere pronto
at the speed of light

but I can’t get it out of my heart
I can’t get it out of my heart

Monday, March 07, 2011

The Owner Of Pyramids

in memory of The Black Hat Poet

there’s a bigfoot
a sasquatch a yeti

in the dark mountains
of Mexico

the campesinos say
he’s got a sweet voice

like a poet
when no one’s around

they say he’s beneficial
and well-brought up

and seems to put up
with them

long enough
for them to leave

his territory
the mountains are his pyramid

descended from a great race
destined to outlive us

at least
that’s what the campesinos say

Thursday, March 03, 2011

A Poem By Leonel Rugama

LEONEL RUGAMA was born March 27, 1949, in Nicaragua.
He was killed, along with three other comrades,
fighting Somoza's National Guard in Managua,
January 15, 1970, at the age of 20.


Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 4 cost more than Apollo 3
Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 8 cost a fortune, but no one minded
because the astronauts were Protestant
they read the Bible from the moon
astounding and delighting every Christian
and on their return Pope Paul VI gave them his blessing.

Apollo 9 cost more than all these put together
including Apollo 1 which cost plenty.

The great-grandparents of the people of Acahualinca were less
hungry than the grandparents.
The great-grandparents died of hunger.
The grandparents of the people of Acahualinca were less
hungry than the parents.
The grandparents died of hunger.
The parents of the people of Acahualinca were less
hungry than the children of the people there.
The parents died of hunger.

The people of Acahualinca are less hungry than the children
of the people there.
The children of the people of Acahualinca, because of hunger,
are not born
they hunger to be born, only to die of hunger.
Blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the moon.

Wednesday, March 02, 2011

Caveat Emptor

he sold his soul
to God

God paid him
good money for it

if you can’t rely
on God’s money

whose money
can you rely on

God’s a good banker
he doesn’t charge

much interest
his henchmen

knock kindly
on your door

if you try to use
the soul you’ve sold

sure they might
rough you up a bit

threaten your wife
and children

but they
mean well

and of course
they come with God’s blessing

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

La Bad Word

Chicano poetry
is a bad word

the teachers
told me no

the nuns
pulled my ears

the principal
brought a ruler

across my knuckles
so it was

in the 1960’s
so it is

in twenty eleven
Chicano poetry

is a very
bad word