gabbie good

A Thinkin Mans Thoughts 2 - Poem by gabbie good

Cocaine Nose - Acid FacePEdit Applaud • x
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Cocaine nose — cocaine nose
carefully takin' cocaine blows
make believe crucifix
cokedom spoon

Cocaine nose — cocaine nose
have you graduated to
cocaine holes...

jive sly bedford sty-buy yeah buy
coca y ácido
from Flaco an undercover agent for the
has you under surveillance y has
been trailin' your mother's legs
since she started displayin' her
varicose veins stompin' thru this
sewage drink of coca y ácido...

cocaine nose — cocaine nose
carefully takin' cocaine blows
have your sons graduated to cocaine holes.

life con coca makes you a supersonic
idiotic chaotic psychotic neurotic spic
with a brain infested cocaine molested acid
mindddd... cocaine nose — cocaine nose
have you graduated to your cocaine holes

Acid face — acid face dreamin' livin'
laced up spaced out so-called state of grace
ácido—ácido with coca blows...

acid face not a trace
of intelligence-based
follow your chase the maze
of becomin' an acid face — an acid face

si la coca y ácido te ha volao el coco
y ahora you go loco buscando ácido...

god is amazed that you've become an acid

cocaine nose — cocaine —
acid face — acid face
cocaine nose — acid face
acid face — cocaine nose
have you graduated to your
acid coca holessssss...

This Is Not The Place Where I Was BornPEdit Applaud • x
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puerto rico 1974
this is not the place where i was born
remember — as a child the fantasizing images my mother planted
within my head —
the shadows of her childhood recounted to me many times
over welfare loan on crédito food from el bodeguero
i tasted mango many years before the skin of the fruit
ever reached my teeth
i was born on an island about 35 miles wide 100 miles long
a small island with a rainforest somewhere in the central
regions of itself
where spanish was a dominant word
& signs read by themselves
i was born in a village of that island where the police
who frequented your place of business-hangout or home came as
servant or friend & not as a terror in slogan clothing
i was born in a barrio of the village on the island
where people left their doors open at night
where respect for elders was exhibited with pride
where courting for loved ones was not treated over confidentially
where children's laughter did not sound empty & savagely alive
with self destruction...
i was born on an island where to be puerto rican meant to be
part of the land & soul & puertorriqueños were not the
puerto ricans were first, none were second
no, i was not born here...
no, i was not born in the attitude & time of this place
this sun drenched soil
this green faced piece of earth
this slave blessed land
where the caribbean seas pound angrily on the shores
of pre-fabricated house/hotel redcap hustling people gypsy taxi cab
fighters for fares to fajardo
& the hot wind is broken by fiberglass palmtrees
& highrise plátanos mariano on leave & color t. v.
looneytune cartoon comicbook characters with badges
in their jockstraps
& foreigners scream that puertorriqueños are foreigners
& have no right to claim any benefit on the birthport
this sun drenched soil
this green faced piece of earth
this slave blessed land
where nuyoricans come in search of spiritual identity
are greeted with profanity
this is insanity that americanos are showered
with shoe shine kisses
police in stocking caps cover carry out john wayne
television cowboy law road models of new york city detective
french connection/death wish instigation ku-klux-klan mind
panorama screen seems
in modern medicine is in confusion needs a transfusion quantity
treatment if you're not on the plan the new stand
of blue cross blue shield blue uniform master charge
what religion you are
blood fills the waiting room of death
stale air & qué pasa stares are nowhere
in sight & night neon light shines bright
in el condado area puerto rican under cover cop
stop & arrest on the spot puerto ricans who shop for the flag
that waves on the left-in souvenir stores —
puertorriqueños cannot assemble displaying the emblem
nuyoricans are fighting & dying for

New York City Hard Time BluesPEdit Applaud • x
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NYC Blues
Big time time hard on on me blues
New York City hard sunday morning blues
Junkie waking up
bones ache trying to shake
New York City sunday morning blues
the sun was vomiting itself up over
the carbon monoxide detroit perfume
strolling down the black asphalt dance floor
where all the disco sweat drenched Mr. Mario's
summer suit still mambo-tango hustled
to the tunes of fiberglass songs
New York City sunday morning means
liquor store closed
bars don't open 'til noon
and my connection wasn't upping
a 25 cent balloon
yeah reality wasn't giving me no play
telling me it was going to be sunday
24 hours the whole day
it was like the reincarnation of the night
before when my ashtray became
the cemetery of all my lost memories
when a stumble bum blues band
kept me up all night playing me cheap
F. M.
of hard time
sad time
bad time
hell we all know times are
all over
well I thought of the pope
welfare hopes
then I thought of the pope again
whose sexual collar musta been tighter
than a pimp's hat band
that brought a warm beer smile to this
wasteland the mirror called my face
ya see
I left my faith in a mausoleum
when my inspiration ran off with
a trumpet player
who wore double knit suits and stacy adam shoes
this girl left me so broke
my horoscope said
my sign was a dead dog in the middle
of the road
the morning will be giving up to the noon
and soon I'll hear winos and junkyard dogs
howling at the moon
made the shadows
at jake's juke saloon
as a battalion of violet virgins
sang tunes
of deflowered songs
men poured their
fantasies of lust into young boy's
car stolen
whizzed by
crying hard luck tears in beers
the love conflict of air conditioned
dim lit motel rooms
rumpled sheets with blood stains
my yesterday night of mind
the winter fell as hard
as the smell of a brick shithouse
in the hot south
but the hawk seeped into my home
chillin' my bones
it didn't hear my incantation
there has to be an explanation
wasn't it true
when you
you are one
make me warm
is part of god
make the cold wind stop
perhaps if I
Om.. .
it don't work
I feel like a jerk
I'll try once more just to make sure
maybe if I pleaded on my knees
to J. C.
he'd take heed of my needs
and melt the icicles
from the tears in my eyes
but it was still cold
I'm told if you sing
'I'm gonna lay down my sword and shield
down by the river s

The Menudo Of A Cuchifrito Love AffairPEdit Applaud • x
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la ruca
juanita rosita esposita
they called her mexicana rose
con piel de canela
pelo darker than bustelo café
eyes big like rellenos
color of a ripe avacado
her lips tasted like seasoned mangos
and her body was sweet as coconut milk
this menudo of beauty
made my taco nights
burn like jalapeños
si señor...
my heart was a tortilla
then one riceless beanless night
after a heated chilly pepper tequila fight
she left
left me like a burnt pork chop
for a chitlin hamhock buckwheat eatin' man
who wore a watermelon wallet &
a collard green conversation
disturbing my macho machete pride
so that la mancha de plátano
reminded me that I was a weak mondongo
my love... my life... my pride was a burnt chicarrón
a cold mofongo
a melted piragua
I turned into a hot tamale
state of rage
an alcapurria gone insane
when I saw these two enchiladas
in a pastelillo embrace
so in my pasteles envy
my tostón jealousy
that my salchicha eyes spied
the chorizo the mad morcilla drive
asi fue que fueron
traspasados los dos bacalaos
and now with my burrito strike
displaying my quenepa pride
in my tamarindo smile
I remember the pegao and the uncooked taste
of the frijol menudo of my cuchifrito
love affair...

Jitterbug JesusPEdit Applaud • x
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Tiempos is longin' lookin'
for third world laughter
to break out like a pimple on the face
of a pimp
of youthful
latino eyes that chase el ritmo del güiro
en lo vagones del tren on school mornin'
shoutin' broken spanish dream
— si tü cocina como tu mamá
como hasta el pegao
jitterbuggin' in wrinkled
worn out jeans
bailando new found pride in bein' nuyoricano...
on their piss stained streets
where teens meet in head on collision
claimin' colors on concrete cemetary slums
slums that vomit screamin' rumblin' tongues ramblin'
for a crust of welfare cheese...
here in this aroma of arroz y habichuela-tostones-pasteles...
two triple culture lovers meet/embrace
tremblin' hands lift pleated shirt — break an elastic band.
in this cocaine drenched hallway
that has passed broken wine bottles & broken bulbs
& broken homes
& broken souls & the two lovers meet/reach out for
each other
under the view of a million cucarachas
their pulsin' bodies vibrate droppin' droplets of
sweat petals a river of nourishment for the rats scurryin'
across cracked mural walls
graffiti screamin' profanity
under this ghetto umbrella
brown baby king is born
Jesús Rodriguez
who talked with his father on a garden firescape
walked across the east river on empty beer cans
changed six barrels of dope into a finely blended rum
was stoned out of school
will be crucified on a set of works
will be crowned
King of the Dope-Fiends...

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 19, 2013

Poem Edited: Saturday, January 19, 2013

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