Jimmy Santiago Baca

(2 January 1952 / Santa Fe, New Mexico)

Jimmy Santiago Baca Poems

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