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“Prieto”
If you only knew what it feels like
To be encased
with-in this darkened pigmented skin
To be called
Prieto,
Negro,
To be the one rescued from the thrown-away trash
bin
And reminded of it cada pinche dia de mi negra
Vida.
To go through life`s cycle
Living just out-side the impenetrable
“white is right” circle As
The
Mas prieto! de la familia.
Since the very first time
I
Poked my pinche cabeza
ennegrecida
With it`s pinche pelos negros parados
Out of Mama`s
Womb,
To partake and live
The wonders of life
As one of
God`s creations,
But instead, to todo mundo it turns out I`m the
inferior one, the coffee grind, As they turn they`re shying face away
Once they see my skin is darker
Than the rest.
Since then even before I let out my first grito
Of which I have
many.
Rejoicing
To joining the rest of you
And telling you with
my cry,
That I`m So happy! So thrilled! So excited !
To be here
with you!
That I later learned
I celebrated my initial birth-day on my
own
Because
I was born too Moreno
And not blanco enough to be
beautiful
That my birthday piñata
If I got a birthday piñata at
all
Would not be filled
With candy, coins, and little toys.
That my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and my uncles
Would
mischievously teach my siblings and my cousins
To call me Negro in
belittlement sentiment,
Thusly right there and than, I, instantly, was
assigned to the least most status within the clan.
Because to be black is beautiful!
That certainly is true!
But
only if you`re born African or African/American
Not Mexican!
Like
me.
Sadly my Black Opal, Ebony, God blessed skin
Is a disappointment of
sorts
To my people.
Why?
Why?
Are all the fair skinned
children of my race
The most preferred, the most admired, the
prettiest, the most intelligent? Why?
Am I the constant butt of my
brothers and sisters put-down jokes That I was adopted
Out of
Abandonment!
Like there will always be something missing from my person
That
something... that not even talcum powder can palely provide. Like they`re
more complete and more chosen than me Because they don`t have to powder
puff, white make-up powder on themselves Or rub off the mid-night from
their skin.
Even my girlfriends` family pity her
Because of me
Because she is
genuine enough to give
A prieto like me
Her love.
And when she
marries me
They`re afraid, they`re scared and certain
Her babies
will have a 50-50 chance
Of being born preferably
white
Or
Pobrecito mi hijito prietito
Not very good odds to
they`re liking
I hope and pray to God
That
The mujer blanca,
Love of
my life
Gives me babies
Born gueros,
So that life my treat them
kinder
And that they may grow-up
To marry
Gueros and
gueras
Not prietos like me.
© 2004 Rudy H. Garcia
Footnote: line 4, prieto- to Mexicans and
Mexicans-Americans it’s a person born very dark skin.
Line 5, Negro-
often times used as a put down term, towards persons born within the
Mexican-American population with dark skin.
Line 7, cada pinche dia de
mi negra vida- every damn day of my black life. Line 13, - mas prieto! de
la famila- the blackest one of the family. Line 16, pinche cabeza
ennegrecia- my damn blackened head. Line 17, pinche pelos negros parados-
my damn black prickly hairs. Line 23, todo mundo- everybody. Line 27,
grito- a yell. Line 37, moreno- a politically correct way of referring to
persons with black skin. Line 38, blanco- white in this case fair skinned.
Line 39, piñata- a colorful party ornamate filled with candy and other
prizes. It`s a party favorite of children and grown-ups too. The object is
to strike the piñata with a stick and break it open spilling all it`s
prizes for the party goers to gather as rewards or gifts. Line 78,
pobrecito, mi hijito, prietito- my poor little black child (PITY). Line
83, mujer blanca- my white skinned woman, or my fair skinned woman. Line
86, guero- slang term used in Spanish to refer to persons with white or
fair skin. Line 90, gueras- the feminine term to guero.
"BARGE PILOT”
Navy sailor W.W.II,
Landing barge pilot
This ode is for you.
Never wavering
Aginst the monstrous
Souless, reaping,
tempest
Scything towards you
As an incarnated
Weapon from the
Other side of the earth,
Steaming full, open throttle
You charge
The hostile
beach
Carpeted with corpse red
The preferential red carpet treatment
of war,
Your shell shocked barge drops its battled jaw
At such homicidal
reception
And out of its mouth
Spews languishing, dreadful pleads
for absolution,
Boys made men
Yell, scream, cryout!
No! not yet!, not
now!
Don`t send me out there!
Just yet!
But
Fate prevails and
Marines!
Not recruits
Splash unto the
deadly shore
Amist a deluge of life siphoning, zipping bullets
And you
You landing barge pilot
Captain of your boat, your
soul,
Scream to every angel you can muster,
Get them off my deck!
Take
these freshly initiated leathernecks
Off this floating iron
casket,
Carry these liberators
And cast them
Unto that wrinkled
pleated crimson carpet
Woven tight with mangled arms and legs…
Then with empty hull
Full throttle
In reverse
But
Never
retreating!
Never turning your back on the enemy
You bayonet the foam crested
breakers
Splitting them with grit and rage,
Back to the mother ship
To reload your barge
To re-cock
yourself,
With
Nameless, faceless, warriors
You do not look to see their
faces
What for?
You do not see a color
Its`all a blur
You do not know a single
seamans` name
It doesn`t matter,
All that matters is your transport, your delivery
To the fight
To
the kill
But not surrendering to death!
Because from
killing
Returns life!
Back and forth,
Back and forth
Killing and killing!
Death and
more death!
Killing and dying for the sake of living!
Ship loads of Mother`s sons of Liberty!
Disembarked armed, fighting
missionaries of freedom
Human wonders take the beach,
Mission
completed…
Until an untranquil silence
Permeates the warring burnt powdered
air
Finally!
The only sound you hear
Is the morbid idle sputtering
exhausted exhaust
Of your barge`s expended motor,
Huddled, fawning, suckling
Next to your ship`s bosom
You raise
your blood curled eyes to her and wait,
She sends down
nothing,
Realizing that she has nothing else to give
Nothing
else to send and die
The combat battle is over,
Wearied you do not turn and look to shore
No part of you returns
there ever more
No part of you can
You left it all on the blood
soaked sand
There on foreign land every piece of you
Was taken by
every Marine
That plunged
Into the swallow shoal with a bottomless
pit for the dead,
Exasperated and fatigued
Your curse
away!
Moribundity
Sepulchering the horror, the explosive, the
obtrusive nightmarish noise of battle To the extreme profoundness depth of
your minds` abyss
Hero!
You decommission your barge
And march on solid
ground
Carpeted for you with parade and ticker tape,
The biggest public promenade you’ve` ever seen
Lined by nameless,
cheering, waving, grateful civilians
Red, White and Blue pride engulfs
you,
Sparking, jingling, medal and ribboned citations
Adorn your robust,
expaned chest
The war is ended and you`re the Victor!
And on your Herculean upper arm
Tattooed
An Eagle
Magnificently
Perched upon a cactus
Wings extended mightily
A
snake
Dangles from its` beak
A symbol of strength and
patriotism
Your Badge of Courage.
© 11/1/03
Rudy H. Garcia
“RAGS”
There upon the Rio Grande`s bank
Are found
Hastily shed mojado
swim suits
Cast off
Dumped off
To accumulate among
The
countless other
Multicolored bundles of migrant thread
There,
upon hallowed, sovereign ground
Of the promise land
Is piled high,
wet discarded fabric,
Blending with every
Color of the
rainbow
Brought to is shore
By Mexico`s brown spectrum
The ones who once danced
To the Sun, the Moon, the Wind
And the
Rain God
The ones without papers,
The ones who once sang and chanted
While
adored in fine majestic plumes
And royal dyed golden laced cloth
The
ones with Tec features
The ones with the Nopal stamped
Upon their
forehead
The ones who left their river water soaked clothes
By the Rio`s
levee
A kaleidoscope of dreams, hopes and wants
Turned to
Rags.
© 7/04/03 Rudy H. Garcia
Foot note: line 3 Mojado means wet, used by Mexicans
and Mexican/Americans to refer to illegals that swim across the Rio Grande
River Line 23 Tec, means Mexicans with Mexican Indian blood in them i.e.
Toltecs, Aztecs, etc. Line 24 Nopal, means cactus
"Limba"
Look at them
How they flock together
Jibber jabbering
All that
Zapotec
Mojo stuff
See how they stand
Against the commons
locker area wall
Slapping each other with Jaguar mixtec
Hand
shakes
With “que onda whey” greetings
Sent here to study, learn and
prosper
By their ancestral king Montezuma
They`re told back in Mexico
By the great spirit
Of the golden
Eagle
Before coming here
As reinforcements and replacements
To
precedent Mexican wets
That they belong here
That this was once
their land
As far as their sacred Eagle flies
Feel me, feel my milk of magnesia
Kkk rush limba skin
Feel How
their Aztec nopal`s spine
Pricks my whiteness
Causing my dark
inside
To gush greed and disdain
O how i wish
I could deflower
>From all those
nopalitos
The yellow, white, pinkorange, red
Blooming Cactus
flowers
Off their smiling clay-like faces
O how i wish
I could take
Those silky smooth showy pedals
And
just throw them
To the ground
Down there low
Below my
feet
Where they belong
And look
Look how they all walk around
Strutting like
Young
cock gallos
De pelea
Acting like they own the yard
And they cover themselves
With shirts that have
That Mexican
Eagle and snake
An Aztec warrior and his maiden embracing
With all
kinds of feathers on their heads
And Jaguar skins on their bodies
I
guess they think
Or believe
The Raptor and Feline
Share some kind
of Spirit with them
And too
They also wear
The Virgen Guadalupe a lot
They have
her everywhere on their skin
Their clothes
On holy medallions next
to their hearts
Their cars` dash boards, car windows, bumper
stickers
Religious Candles of her, sprinkled with holy water lit and
flickering hope of salvation in their homes
Pictures of her hanging on
their walls
In every single church they worship at
They pray to
her
They even have a special
Day of festive worship especially for
her
And if you`re one of them
And happened to be born
On that her
day
You`re named like her
And everybody
Will call you
Lupe, or
Lupito, or Lupita, Pito or Pita
It`s hard for me
It`s very unacceptably hard for me to
understand
Why can`t they try to be
Just like regular “normal”
Americans
If they insist in living like Mexicans
They should go to
live in Mexico
What can i do?
What can i do?
What can i
do?
© 10/15/03 Rudy H. Garcia
Footnote: line 4, Zapotec- any person that has strong
blood lines to native Americans from Mexico.
Line 5, mojo- a put-down
word used by Mexican-American, Chicanos towards Mexican immigrants, like
“wet-backs”.
Line 8, mixtec- like Zapotec,
Line 10, “que onda
whey”in barrio slang it means, “whats happening dude”
Line 24, nopal ,
cactus
Line 30, nopalitos, small cactus, or little cactus in Spanish a
word ending with the letters “ito” is used as a term of endearment like in
English the name Bill, Billy, Joe, Joey, Tom, Tommy.
Line 45, Gallo,
rooster in this poem it’s a fighting cock
Line 46, pelea, a
fight
Line 77, Lupe, lupito, pita, pito is a short name for Guadalupe.
To Mexicans the name Guadalupe is given to both male and female babies at
birth in honor of the virgin Mary of Guadalupe. December 12th , is her
Saints day and a special religious day for Catholics. So if your born on
December,12th and are Mexican, odds are your name will be Guadalupe
"Is the Back Door Still Locked?"
Why are they still coming to our America (U.S.)?
Did we “Americans”
not say “lock the back door”?
Mexicans are not welcome in our
home-land,
Keep the damn door locked!
Who the hell is letting them
in?
Remember what supreme justice Dick said
He said, “Mexicans are the most undesirable of all the people” He said,
“Mexicans are deceased” The judge said, “Mexicans are ignorant”
Do we want this kind of lower class person
Living among us? Can you
imagine
Our daughters mixing with a Mexican?
Bolt and reinforce that damn back door!
Send the army! air force!
marines!
Hire more la migra border patrol,
Build the highest,
longest impenetrable fence
Dig the deepest damn ditch, whatever
It damn takes, but keep
Those damn Mexicans out!
© 1998 Rudy H.
Garcia
“ EL ULYSSES”
I cross the scourging sands of Aztlan
Zig zaging my way
through
Cactus fields of dreams.
Dreams of a better life
In the
new world of El Norte.
El Norte, where opportunities
And dollars like numbers
Are
infinite.
I dodge and hide in
The flaming rays
And steaming vapor
horizons
>From the constant prowling of
La Migra,
That forces
Me to camouflage
Myself
Like a false
presence
On the land.
Each step that advances
Me towards prosperity
May be my last,
As I travel
Through an eco-system
Naturally preserved for
hardy
Desert dwellers
Not humans
And since I too
Am
considered
Not human
With my alien label
Pre-disposed
as
Illegal, thus dangerous, and
Can I be any more
Less human than
that?
Reduced to creature only status,
I become a brother
To the
scorpion,
Lizard,
Rattler,
Hawk
And all other desert
residents
If only for awhile.
Until these new
Adopted siblings of my forbidden land
Whisper
guidance, directions
And other survival urgings
Out of la migra`s
harmsway.
With clipper feet
I then continue
To voyage
Towards
my desired plotted destination,
El Norte’s, urban jungle,
Where milk and honey abounds
And
glittered dreams
Are plastered on every concrete façade.
Darting to
and fro
Saving every piece of
Copper, nickel, silver, note, I
can.
I do it as an invisible blend
Of that jungle’s cemented
foliage,
There I exist
As an
Non-existent inhabitant
A
toiling instrument
That keeps the ivory towers from crumbling.
A
minute ant like worker
Scurring constantly
Without
identity
Until, until,
I
Return once again
To my
patria
Where at least there
In my own little Rancho
Of the
world
I am
Greeted as a hero!
An adventurer!
Like Homer said
in his story.
Me,
A wetback!
Returns to Mexico
With the
greatness
Of
Ulysses!
© 1999 Rudy H.
Garcia
FOOTNOTE:
Line 5 “El Norte” means the U.S.A.
Line
66 “Patria” means home country
TWO TEACHERS”
Two teachers talking in the lounge
Sipping coke and coffee
too
Munching chips with poly-grip
Smacking dentures yellow green
Asking questions to themselves
Loud enough for all to hear
Why do
we have to teach?
Non-English spicking
Illegal,
Wets,
Why
don’t they just stay away?
Don’t they know, they make us think
Don’t
they know its harder-work
For us to see them here for free
Eating
cafeteria food
Using desks for learning skills,
Don’t they know it’s hard for us
To see them laughing with their
friends
In those foreign cheerful smiles,
Don’t they know it’s hard for us
To hear their Spanish with our
ear
We know they’re talking about us
Cause we can read them like a
book.
We wish they`d just would go away
But we know they’re here to
stay
And us Americans will have to pay
With our tax dollars and
peace of mind.
So on and on the story goes
In teachers lounges near and
far
Teachers asking questions why?
Knowing what the answers are
Hoping still someone would say
We closed our border down Mexico
way
With La Migra patrolling night and day
Every freaking inch along
the way
From Brownsville, Tx. to San Diego/L.A.
Dreaming of that utopic day
When no more mojos in their class
No
more colors clay like brown
Coming in and sitting down
English
spoken all the time
You and yawl and yes and yeah
We and us and just
because
This is America and it is ours
We took it from them fair and
square
Killing, stealing, lying, lynching,
Raping, shooting and
back-stabbing.
Two teachers talking to themselves
In their private little
worlds
Enclosed behind the lounge room door
Protected from the outer
gore
Of kids and kids and still more kids
Of wets and wets and still more
wets
That come in waves, big tidal waves
And give them work that makes them think
Of how they hate the little
spic
That one day soon will finish school
And graduate from college
too
And then invade their teacher’s lounge
And have to hear them once
again
To laugh with their peers, bilingual smiles
Knowing that it’s
still real hard
To hear those Spanish spoken words
To wonder if they’re meant for
them
Those laughing unknown laughing words
That pierce their
English only ears
While sitting with their poly-grip
Of smacking dentures yellow
green
Thinking of what might have been
Without the wets and all the
mexs`
A perfect world a perfect job
Behind the doors to teacher’s
lounges
Two teachers sit and think aloud
©1996
Rudy H. Garcia
Foot note: line 8 spicking, nagative term used to make
fun of Mexican/Americans for speaking English with an accent also used to
mean that Mexican/Americans were of lower class and intelligence. Line 35
La migra term used by Mexicans and Mexicans/Americans to refer to the U.S.
immigration border patrol. Line 38 mojos negative term used by present day
Chicano kids to refer to Mexican kids now living in U.S. Line 53 wets term
used to refer to immigrants that came to U.S. undocumented by swimming
across the Rio Grande.
“PART AZTEC YOU SAY”?
Why do Chicanos say
I’m part Aztec,
I’m part Mayan,
We are
nothing to
Them
And they
Tecos, and Mayans are
Nothing to
us
Chicanos.
For
If Chicanos and
Tecos were of one
Then no Chicano
would
Dare leave
The Tecos, begging
On the streets
and
International
Bridges
Of Matamoros,
While
Us Chicanos
return
To Tejas,
Belly’s blotted with
Tecate, Corona beer and
cabrito,
Feeling
Righteous and superior
Because we give the
Poor India with
Her dark brown wrinkled
And scared,
begging
Hand, Two Quarters.
Two quarters to feed
Her children,
one baby
Tied to her back,
A toddler clinging
To her
falda
With one hand
While the other hand
Scratches head
lice,
And yet another of her
Teco child’s
Begging
Two cars
ahead of her.
O yes sure we
Brag of our
Mayan and Aztec heritage
To the
white folk
On our U.S. side,
And we even
Go
As far as
saying
We have Indian blood in us,.
When
There is
Nothing!
Indian about us.
The only Tec, Mayan
Of us
Is what we read
In books,
About
Aztec history.
The films and videos
Shown to us
By
White,
Hispanic and other
History teachers
In the middle and high
school.
Don’t say
You’re something
When you’re not!
Don’t
proclaim to be
A child
Of the Quinto Sol,
When you drive and ride
in your
Chevy, ford
Air-conditioned car
Pass the Quinto
Sol
Burnt little Tec
Child who begs!
Don’t say you have
Roots in Mexico
When
You don’t even
like!
Mexicans,
And you don’t.
Else,
Why do you call
them
Wetbacks,
Mojos,
Piojos,
Mojados,
Why do you
JOIN?
La Migra, Border Patrol
And
Beat them back
To
Mexico.
Because it PAYS GOOD?
Does
It make you FEEL
GOOD?
Else,
Why
Do you
Report them to
La Migra?
When
you see them
Domesticating in
Your neighborhood.
No
Chicanito, mio
There is nothing
Aztec
About us.
How
can it be?
With a name
like
Rudy,
Danny,
Johnny,
Billy
What’s so Mayan
About
those names?
Everyday, every night
Tecos and Mayans
DROWN!
In the Rio
Grande
While
Migrating to us,
Their descendents
For a helping
hand.
A job,
A chance for a
Better life
Like yours,
Like
mine
And what?
What do we do?
NOTHING!
That’s what,
Maybe
we say
Pobrecito mojadito.
Everyday, every night
Our
ancestors
FRY TO DEATH!
In the desert
Of the southwest, USA,
Aztlan,
COOKED TO DEATH!
By our beloved and famous
Quinto
Sol,
And
What?
What do we do?
NOTHING!
Just watch the
news
And
Apathetically say
Pobre gente,
Si,
They are
gente
But remember!
We
Academic, educated, elected to public
office
Well-employed, business owner,
Chicanito,
That really
And truly
They mean nothing
To you,
To us,
Those Aztec,
Mayans;
So
Don’t BRAG!
About the Mayan, Aztec
In you
For
they walk
All
Around us
And
We,
We
Look the other
WHEY!
© 9/01/02 Rudy H. Garcia
FOOT NOTE:
Line 22 “Tejas” means Texas
Line 24
“Tecate beer and cabrito” means Tecate a Mexican beer cabrito is kid or a
young goat eaten in Mexico as a special dish Line 28 “Poor India” means
poor Indian woman Line 36 “Falda” means dress skirt Line 54 “Tec” means
any native Indian from Mexico Aztec, Toltec ,Mixtec,etc Line 70 “Quinto
Sol” means the fifth sun Line 106 “Chicanito Mio” means my little Chicano
Line 137 “Pobrecito Mojadito” means poor little
Mexican | 