Jimmy Santiago Baca

(2 January 1952 / Santa Fe, New Mexico)

Jimmy Santiago Baca Poems

1. V 1/2/2012
2. This Day 1/2/2012
3. The County Jail 1/2/2012
4. Too Much Of A Good Thing 1/2/2012
5. Yesterday 1/2/2012
6. Tire Shop 10/11/2011
7. There Are Black 1/2/2012
8. What Is Broken Is What God Blesses 1/2/2012
9. Ix. Part 6 1/2/2012
10. Sanctuary 1/2/2012
11. Matanza To Welcome Spring 1/2/2012
12. Ten 1/2/2012
13. As Children Know 1/2/2012
14. From Violence To Peace 1/2/2012
15. El Gato 10/11/2011
16. It Would Be Neat If With The New Year 1/2/2012
17. Into Death Bravely 1/2/2012
18. Immigrants In Our Own Land 1/2/2012
19. Meditations On The South Valley, Part Xxiii 1/2/2012
20. Cloudy Day 1/2/2012
21. Main Character 10/11/2011
22. Listening To Jazz Now 1/2/2012
23. To My Own Self 1/3/2003
24. The Day Brushes It's Curtains Aside 1/3/2003
25. When Life 1/3/2003
26. The Blackbird 1/3/2003
27. Llano Vaqueros 1/3/2003
28. Old Woman 1/3/2003
29. Choices 1/3/2003
30. Ancestor 1/3/2003
31. As Life Was Five 1/3/2003
32. Oppression 1/3/2003
33. Count-Time 1/3/2003
34. A Daily Joy To Be Alive 1/3/2003
35. Green Chile 1/3/2003
36. Like An Animal 1/3/2003
37. Who Understands Me But Me 1/3/2003
38. I Am Offering This Poem 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Jimmy Santiago Baca

I Am Offering This Poem

I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat,
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,

I love you,

I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in the winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,

I love you,

Keep it, treasure it as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;
and in the corner of your ...

Read the full of I Am Offering This Poem

When Life

Is cut close, blades and bones,
And the stench of sewers is everywhere,
Blood-sloshed floors,
And guards count the dead
With the blink of an eyelid, then hurry home
To supper and love, what saves us
From going mad is to carry a vacant stare
And a quiet half-dead dream.

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