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that were not on the calendar

They never went on strike

and were only paid for five

of the first national city bank looks like

and will die again tomorrow

passing their bill collectors

waiting for the garden of eden

waking them up in the middle of the night

your name is on the winning lottery ticket

for one hundred thousand dollars

hating the grocery stores

that sold them make-believe steak

and bullet-proof rice and beans

All died waiting dreaming and hating

Who never knew they were Puerto Ricans

Who never took a coffee break

from the ten commandments

the landlords of their cracked skulls

and communicate with their latino souls

From the nervous breakdown streets

where the mice live like millionaires

and the people do not live at all

are dead and were never alive

died waiting for his number to hit

died waiting for the welfare check

to come and go and come again

died waiting for her ten children

so she could quit working

died waiting for a five dollar raise

died waiting for his supervisor to drop dead

so he could get a promotion

and the cold cuts for lunch

when visiting hours are over

Is a long non-profit ride

and will die again tomorrow

Clean-cut lily-white neighborhood

Thirty-thousand-dollar home

The first spics on the block

Proud to belong to a community

of gringos who want them lynched

Proud to be a long distance away

from the sacred phrase: Que Pasa

from the make-believe bedrooms

and their bill collectors

and the people they represent

died dreaming about a new car

died dreaming about new anti-poverty programs

died dreaming about a trip to Puerto Rico

died dreaming about real jewelry

died dreaming about the irish sweepstakes

like a hero sandwich dies

at twelve o'clock in the afternoon

social security number to ashes

and keep the morticians employed

as long as they pledge allegiance

to the flag that wants them destroyed

They saw their names listed

in the telephone directory of destruction

the other cheek by newspapers

that mispelled mispronounced

and misunderstood their names

and celebrated when death came

and stole their final laundry ticket

to visit sister lopez again

death is not dumb and disable-

Those who love you want to know

the correct number to play

Let them know this right away

death is not dumb and disable

Now that your problems are over

and the world is off your shoulders

help those who you left behind

find financial peace of mind

death is not dumb and disable

If the right number we hit

all our problems will split

and we will visit your grave

Those who love you want to know

the correct number to play

let them know this right away

We know your spirit is able

Death is not dumb and disable

and will die again tomorrow

Hating fighting and stealing

broken windows from each other

Practicing a religion without a roof

the judge and jury and executioner

protector and eternal bill collector

learn how to say Como Esta Usted

and you will make a fortune

and will not return from the dead

until they stop neglecting

the art of their dialogue-

for broken english lessons

to impress the mister goldsteins-

factory workers maids stock clerks

shipping clerks assistant mailroom

assistant, assistant assistant

to the assistant's assistant

assistant lavaplatos and automatic

artificial smiling doormen

for the lowest wages of the ages

and rages when you demand a raise

because is against the company policy

to promote SPICS SPICS SPICS

died hating Miguel because Miguel's

used car was in better running condition

died hating Milagros because Milagros

had a color television set

and he could not afford one yet

died hating Olga because Olga

made five dollars more on the same job

died hating Manuel because Manuel

had hit the numbers more times

than she had hit the numbers

because they all spoke broken english

more fluently than he did

And now they are together

in the main lobby of the void

Confine to worm supremacy

This is the groovy hereafter

the protestant collection box

was talking so loud and proud about

and will die again tomorrow

that they are beautiful people

the geography of their complexion

PUERTO RICO IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE

PUERTORRIQUENOS ARE A BEAUTIFUL RACE

had turned off the television

and tune into their own imaginations

had used the white supremacy bibles

and make their latino souls

the only religion of their race

had return to the definition of the sun

after the first mental snowstorm

on the summer of their senses

at the funeral of their fellow employees

who came to this country to make a fortune

and were buried without underwears

will right now be doing their own thing

where beautiful people sing

and dance and work together

where the wind is a stranger

to miserable weather conditions

where you do not need a dictionary

to communicate with your people

Aqui you salute your flag first

Aqui there are no dial soap commercials

Aqui everybody smells good

Aqui tv dinners do not have a future

Aqui the men and women admire desire

and never get tired of each other

Aqui Que Pasa Power is what's happening

Aqui to be called negrito

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Puerto Rican Obituary by Pedro Pietri | Poetry Foundation

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"Puerto Rican Obituary," by Pedro Pietri  (1973)

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Wordplay - Poetry - Masks by Shel Silverstein

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Tina CaneThe Good Men Projecthttps://goodmenproject.com › author › tina-cane

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Imaginary Dad. Launch Audio in a New Window. By Tina Cane. Was so imaginary he ceased to exist. he wasn’t sleeping in a treehouse or stalking the woods.

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Elizabeth Acevedo "Hair" - ALL DEF POETRY | All Def Poetry

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My mother tells me to fix my hair.
And by "fix," she means straighten. She means whiten.
But how do you fix this ship-wrecked history of hair?
The true meaning of stranded, when trusses held tight like African cousins in ship bellies, did they imagine that their great-grand-children would look like us, and would hate them how we do? Trying to find ways to erase them out of our skin, iron them out of our hair, this wild tangle of hair that strangles air.

You call them wild curls. I call them breathing. Ancestors spiraling.
Can't you see them in this wet hair that waves like hello?

They say Dominicans can do the best hair.
I mean they wash, set, flatten the spring in any loc - but what they mean is we're the best at swallowing amnesia, in a cup of morísoñando, die dreaming because we'd rather do that than live in this reality, caught between orange juice and milk, between reflections of the sun and whiteness.
What they mean is, "Why would you date a black man?"What they mean is, "a prieto cocolo" What they mean is, "Why would two oppressed people come together? It's two times the trouble."
What they really mean is, "Have you thought of your daughter's hair?"

And I don't tell them that we love like sugar cane, brown skin, pale flesh, meshed in pure sweetness. The children of children of fields. Our bodies curve into one another like an echo, and I let my curtain of curls blanket us from the world, how our children will be beautiful. Of dust skin, and diamond eyes. Hair, a reclamation.
How I will break pride down their back so from the moment they leave the womb they will be born in love with themselves.

Momma that tells me to fix my hair, and so many words remain unspoken. Because all I can reply is, "You can't fix what was never broken."

Poema de Elizabeth Acevedo
Traducción al español hecha por mi

Mi madre me dice que me arregle el cabello.
Y por "arreglar", se refiere a que lo alise. Que lo blanquee.
Pero, ¿cómo arreglas esta historia naufragada de cabello?
El verdadero significado de encallado, cuando las ataduras los mantenían apretados como primos africanos en los vientres de embarcaciones, ¿se imaginaron que sus bisnietos se parecerían a nosotros, y odiarían como nos parecemos? Tratando de encontrar maneras de borrarlos de nuestra piel, plancharlos fuera de nuestro cabello, esta maraña salvaje de cabello que estrangula el aire.

Tú los llamas cabello malo. Yo los llamo respiración. Ancestros envueltos en espirales.
¿No los ves en este cabello mojado que se agita como diciendo hola?

Dicen que los Dominicanos son los mejores arreglando el cabello.
O sea ellos lavan, ajustan, alisan los nudos de cualquier rasta- pero lo que ellos quieren decir es que somos los mejores tragándonos la amnesia, en un vaso de morísoñando, morir soñando porque preferiríamos eso a vivir en esta realidad, atrapados entre jugo de naranja y leche, entre reflejos del sol y blancura.
Lo que ellos quieren decir es, "¿Por qué saldrías con un hombre negro?" Lo que ellos quieren decir es, "un prieto cocolo" lo que ellos quieren decir es, "por qué dos personas oprimidas se unirían? Eso es el doble de problemas."
Lo que ellos realmente quieren decir es, "¿Has pensado en el cabello de tu hija?"

Y no les digo que nos amamos como caña de azúcar, piel morena, carne suave, mezclada en pura dulzura. Los niños de los niños de las plantaciones. Nuestros cuerpos plegados uno en el otro como un eco, y dejo mi cortina de rizos cobijarnos del mundo, cómo nuestros niños serán hermosos. De piel de polvo, y ojos de diamantes. El cabello, una reclamación. Como pondré el orgullo sobre sus espaldas para que, desde el momento en que abandonen el útero, nazcan enamorados de sí mismos.

Mamá me dice que me arregle el cabello, y tantas palabras quedan sin decir. Porque todo lo que puedo responder es, "No puedes arreglar lo que nunca estuvo roto."

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My mother tells me to fix my hair. And by "fix," she means straighten. She means whiten. But how do you fix this ship-wrecked history of hair? The true meaning of stranded, when trusses held tight...

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Dear Basketball | Oscar winning short film by Kobe Bryant

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Everything is Everything by Lauryn Hill 

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Everything is Everything by Lauryn Hill 

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The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur 

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The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur 

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The Rose That Grew From Concrete| Poem reading and animation.

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The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur

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The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur

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The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur 

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For Estefani, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card, by Aracelis Girmay

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For Estefani, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card, by Aracelis Girmay

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[POEM] For Estefani, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card, by Aracelis Girmay

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For Estefani, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card, by Aracelis Girmay

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For Estefani, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card, by Aracelis Girmay