Response to Those Who Say
“Let’s Take It Back to the Good Old Days”

Let’s take it back to the good old days
Yes, let’s take it back to
When niggers and spics knew their place
When chinks were lined up
And placed in camps
When women of color were
Fast whores and tramps
When Hoover bugged Dr. King
By placing microphones in his hotel lamps

Let’s take it back to when
The CIA placed hundreds of Cubans
On a certain bay
And let them be slain
And then say
“O we had nothing to do with it,
It was what they,
What they wanted.”

Let’s take it back to
Commie sympathizer witch hunts
Let’s take it back to black lists
Let’s take it back to government control
Segregation because of pigmentation
Let’s take it back to the control of islands
Population through sterilization

Let’s take it back to when bullets flew
When Kennedy’s brain was splattered
When Dr. King’s skull was opened
When brother Malcolm’s soul left
Cause of conspiracies buried in files and codes

Let’s take it back to small Black children
Being sprayed on the streets of the U.S.
Attacked by dogs
Spit on like Christ was by bigots

Let’s take it back to chemical
Insecticides used to grow healthy crops
And infected my family

My uncles
My grandparents
Who worked for under minimum wage
Like slaves they labored in the sun
To be infected by cancer

Yes, let’s take it back to the Zoot-Suit Riots
Where America’s Navy raped our women
Beat our men all in the name of defense
Yes let’s take it back to
When the only face of beauty was White
When Latino actors were forced to say they
Were Italian
When Mulatto mixed children said they
Were not Black

Yes, let’s take it back to when the only act
On the big screen that depicted
People of color was about
Sex, violence, or ignorance

Let’s take it back to when Bruce Lee
Was forced to wear a mask because
Of his slanted eyes
And millions yelled out to the Green Hornet

Let’s take it back to when Blacks
Could not play in the NBA
Before Iverson, before Jordan and Zeek
Before Magic, before Dr. J, before the Ice Man
Before Wilt and Russell

Let’s take it back to the good old days
When millions of Americans went
Overseas to fight wars
Only to return in body bags
And because they were not White
Could not be buried in the
Cemeteries that they died to keep

Let’s take it back to when
The government introduced Heroin
To the streets of Harlem
To the streets of Los Angeles


Let’s take it back to when jazz was monkey music
Back to Black face
Uncle Tom, yes massa mentalities

Let’s take it back to when the blues
To when jazz, and poetry
Where appropriated by white beatniks
And black and brown voices where drowned out

Lets take it back to when
Pinero, Algarin, Pitrie
Where pseudo nigger writers
And poetry was only
A dead white guy thing

To when breakers, d.j’s, mc’s and graffiti
Where not sub cultures but where black and Latino
Before Beasty Boys, Third Base and Eminem
When hip-hop was in ghettos and slums

Let’s take it back to when masters raped slaves
When Thomas Jefferson had a
Love affair with one of his own

Let’s take it back to cowards hiding
Behind sheets setting crosses a blaze

Let’s take it back to governmental testing
On minorities to see the outcome of A.I.D.S.

Let’s take it back to the Treaty of Guadalupe
Forty acres and a mule
Let’s take it back to the Red Man
Being infected by small pox from blankets
Given to him by the U.S. of A.

Let’s take it back to no questions
Everything you see reality
Dogma of the age

Let’s take it back to when women were worth
Nothing, unable to vote, baby-making
Cooking tortillas, greens “just lay there”
As I bust time and time again

Let’s take it back to Vietnam
When men and women bled and bled
and bled

That’s why when I hear people say
“Let’s Take it Back to the Good Old Days,”
I say, FUCK THAT! NO WAY!
The good old days weren’t as
Good as they say



Plant The Seeds

Plant seeds of resistance
no matter how small and feeble
the may be

Plant the seeds of change
Let them grow to cover our pain and sorrow

Plant the seeds to unify the peoples of the Americas
The peoples of the world

Plant the seeds to grow a canopy of change
A rainforest of hope
A flower of love
And a garden of peace

Plant the seeds for justice and equality
Plant the seeds indigenous rights

Plant the seeds and toil for struggle
Nurture and love them

So they may grow
So our children may eat of its fruit
So it may cleanse our bodies
So the fruit may heal us

Plant the seeds so our air may be clean
So we may drink fresh sweet water

Plant the seeds to destroy imperialism and
White supremacy, global domination

Allow its branches of change to break through
The concrete and twist the steel and iron

Plant the seeds so we
Can dream of a new world
so in its leaves we can hear the joyous voices of freedom
so in its flowers we can see the world’s beauty
So in its branches we can feel its reassuring strength
So in its trunk we can stand firm on whom we are
So in its roots we can remember the past we have forgotten

Plant the seeds nurture them
Water them
Speak to them
Love them
Plant the seeds and let them grow

Let us plant with the rest of the world
And be the example to all
Plant the seeds
Because it is necessary



Mexican’s Revenge

Let me tell you a story of a people long ago
It has been passed from my ancestors from theirs and so on and so on
In the echo of a whisper a history managed to blow through
It hit my ear opened my eyes, made my mouth speak and my nostrils flair
Made me breathe so I can share with you tonight
on this holy land that the Illinois, Arawak, Algonquian, Blackfoot, Cree the
Fox, Apache, the Cherokee, Anasazi, the Iroquois, Potawatomi,
The Navajo, the Hopi, Shawnee
the Olmec, the Toltec, the Mayan, the Zapotec
the Mexica we the Aztecs, all the peoples of Mexico
We the Mexicans where born.
Conceived by the earth, rain, wind and the fire of our origins.
Long before Columbus, Hernando Cortez, Long before Spanish Lords
and land owners, before the ecomienda
Before rape, plunder, before religious persecution, before robbery,
before castration of our cultures and histories,
Long before tears of blood that rained down by a Spanish cross,
I meant sword, or cross
I often get them confused
Just as the Spanish did

Long before young children were raped
Breakin’ them open from the inside
Long before the desecration of a people
Before Genocide
Genocide, genocide
A land that we the Olmec, Mayan, Zapotec, Toltec, Mixtecs
The Mexica
We the Aztecs,
We the Mexicans were born
Whispered in the echoes of time
Long before Spanish rule, taxes, slavery
Before murdered Africans, thrown into the deep dark sea
Before those that escaped to maroons communities of resistance

Long before stolen gold, stolen land, people and labor
Long before Hidalgo’s bell ringing for independence
End dependence
Long before California, Colorado, Nuevo Mexico,
Texas, Arizona, Utah, Nevada where stolen
Long before the border was created and then was moved
Before Zapata, Pancho Villa, and even Madero
Long before railroads cut across ancient communal lands
Before industrialization, before European nations
Brought/stole
Native soil
Long before peasant farmer strikes
Before national resolutions
Long before guns in hand when the border was
nothing more then an invisible line blown away made of sand
Long before Bracero and day laborers
Long before mop and clean, clip trim and cut, sweep paint and wash
Long before go home spic, pick, pick, pick, tomatoes
Go home spic, pick pick, pick cucumbers
Go home spic, pick pick, pick strawberries and oranges and grapes and squash
Go home spic, pick pick, pick which child will go with you and which will stay,
Which will eat and which will go hungry
Go home spic, pick pick, pick who your babies will stay with
and what way to come back

Long before four families to a one room studio apartment,
extra compact version
Long before streets paved with gold with climates that are cold
Long before they are taking American jobs
Before Delores Huerta, Cesar Chaves, Rudy Lozano, Alejandro Molina, Emma
Lozano, Irma Romero, Elvira
Before the Brown Berets, and the Chicano Movement
Before school walk outs, farmer strikes
Before “Si Se Puede” before Chicano power
And Viva La Raza

Before “you got papers?”
“what papers?”
“What do I need papers for?”
”you need papers to get papers of course”
”Of course what I was thinking, I have no
papers so to get those papers I don’t have ,
I need to get those papers first”
”Yes exactly!”

Before undocumented, “you can’t get on the list for life saving surgery”
Before immigrants immigrants immigrants
Am I grant, Am I grant, Am I Granted
the right to live free in this my land that is our land
Am I granted freedom justice and equality

Before Alien from the planet Mexico,
Before illegal alien
Before Illegal A LIE AN
Before illegal is A LIE AND
There is no such thing as an illegal human
Because we are all born of this earth and this our resting place

Before all of this in the echo of a whisper
An echo of our history managed to blow through
Aztlan, Teotihuacan, Palenque, Tikal, Tula, Teotihuacan
See before all of this and that
our origins, our birthplace managed
to slip through in the echo of a whisper
Tenochtitlan slipped through in the collective memory of our souls
Its garden, enormous marketplace, running fountains,
Its great ball courts
Its spectacular temples, all managed to whisper to us then and now
Tonitzin goddess of the pagan natives
Transformed into the virgin saint of the people then and now
Dia de los Muertos, alters to our loved ones that passed into the afterworld

The Popol Vuh and its epic tales
The great temples to the sun and moon of Teotihuacán
The magnificent Olmec heads carved in stone to look at us for eternity
Ancient African rhythms and movements
All slipped through in the echo of a whisper
blown in the winds of our collective memory

I know you are asking “ I thought this was titled Mexican’s Revenge?
What kind of revenge is a echo of a whisper?”
Ha! But the story is not finished
It has just begun

You see the pinche gringos thought it was over when
they stole 51 percent of Mexico
they thought it was over
They did not realize that in Mexico there existed Mexicans
They overlooked that small fact
And when the border was moved we never respected it
They did not estimate 8 million “undocumented Mexicans” and another 28
million “legal” living in the empire of the united states
of the continent of north America
They did not expect a flow of people back and forth across their precious border

You see my friends
Wherever I go there we are
(say it with me) Wherever I go there we are
We more then just me
Cooking in the back of a Kitchen in New Orleans there we are
Organizing in communities in Pilsen, Little village, Humboldt Park,
Cicero, back of the yards there we are
In smaller cities such as Saginaw Michigan running monthly publications there
running a business in Detroit and Grand Rapids there we are
Working in hotels in New York,
running a small shop in Spanish Harlem there we are
Working in the fields in Indiana, Wisconsin and Ohio there we are
We have always been in what is called the South West
going to school, writing books, painting there we are
Working construction teaching in the schools of San Antonio and Houston
In the factories of Kentucky and the Carolinas there we are
Working in meat packing plants of Lexington and Grand Island Nebraska there we are
marching in Linken Heights crying “Viva Zapata” there we are
All over California there we are
All over the united states from North to South, Coast to Coast
There we live struggle, fight and resist

Whether considered legal or illegal
There we are
There we have been
And there we will stay
The Mexican’s Revenge



Virgen de Guadalupe

A poem/reflection created upon my visit to
Mexico City at the very spot the Virgin appeared.

She blocks the sun
rays shining from behind

Standing on crescent moon
Divinely appearing
to those that need her most

The rich do not need gods

Mountainside appeared
to humble indigenous man
Juan Diego
Nahuatl his tongue
Tepeyac Mountain
with spiritual power
Tonantzin, Cuatlicue Mexica
goddess energy lived on earth
with the souls of the ancient

Diego not believed
proven by roses falling
from imprint
of mystic exchange

Cloth of hope
of destruction
of conversion

Brown-faced virgin

Holy Mary mother of god
pray for us sinners now and
at the hour of our death

Ancient holy temple destroyed
new sacred church raised
stones cut from native hands

Memories hidden, not lost,
prayers chanted and changed

The source moved from one to the other

Virgin wearing indigenous clothing
robe green and star-studded

Brown face like those
running into battle for
Independence
under a banner of you

Brown face like those that
fought for land and liberty

Brown like those women
fighting a revolution

Brown face for those
beautiful brown faces that light
candles in your name

Brown face like your nation
like the earth and rocks

Brown-faced like
those that cross deserts
and constructed borders

Brown face like those that
build altars to you
in Zocalos, in churches, in markets
and in their homes

Brown face like those said to be extinct
and yet still live

Brown face like the Maya, the Mexica, the Zapotecs
like all the indigenous
hidden away
who do not sit
in acceptance of their status

Brown like the face of my great-grand mother
Juanita and my great great-grand mother
Rosalia
Prayers made in your name

Brown like the earth that
grows maize we consume

Brown-faced Virgin
Spanish in name
Indigenous in reality

Hail Mary full of hope
Hail Mary full of pride
Hail Mary full of strength
Hail Mary full of grace



She  

A Poem for Elvira Arellano

She the warrior
She the mother
She the fighter

Standing against all odds
Refusing to be an object
Of an unjust power structure
That yearns to objectify her
With the only object
Being that she is objected
To the pain of power

She who objects the same structure that
Values plastic and products
Over flesh and soul

She, fighting this new war
That is not new to us

She fighting with beautiful
Poetry of sanctuary

She warrior of the people
Fighting not for herself

That would be too easy
But fighting for all of those

Who have been

Pulled away by night
Stolen away from their children and families
Disappeared
Ripped apart from all that they know
Arrested and cuffed at work

Shipped away as if to be the products
They toiled to create

This country disinfecting this nation
Of what they believe to be a parasitic problem
As she, they, we, clean in their kitchens, their airports
Their homes, their restaurants, their streets, their churches

At gun point breaking into our
Homes with papers
That makes it legal to steal human life

She who is the reflection of Tonatzin
Of the Virgen
Of La Adelita
Of Emma
Of the Mexican people

She the reflection of us
Of me, of you, of we

She the reflection of our struggles
Our victories

She who gave her freedom
For more than a year

She who is facing and confronting
All that is unjust
Fighting the real
Illegalities of human rights

She who has fasted so others
Could eat
While yet others can feast
On the malnourishment
Of the rest of the world

she who blocked the
shining light of 50 white stars
taking their cosmic power
and exposing them
for the hypocrites that they are

like Huitzilopochtli consumed his brothers and sisters

She who bore the scars
Of 7 red stripes of modern day slavery

She who bore 6
white blisters on her hands and feet
From years of work

She who displayed
The dark blue bruises
Of brutal laws of man

She who brought those in power
To a standstill

She who made those powers
Have to face their fears

She who was crucified
apprehended giving her life voluntarily
with dignity, respect and honor

All the while knowing the risk involved
the sacrifices that had to be made

She who was resurrected
In every Mexican home
Etched into our consciousness
Our dreams
And in our resound resistance

She who inspired
the dreams of the dead

and woke the world
to beautiful yellow flowers
adorned with red roses
making believers out of non believers
like Juan Diego forced those
who did not want to understand

She the child separated from his mother

She the daughter in school paying full tuition
Not able to receive aid

She the man selling paletas
On every street corner

She the women selling tamales, mango, sandia

She the young man cooking
Making the best Mexican Italian
Chinese Greek food in the city

She the women taking care
of children that are not hers

She the young gang member
that has no hope
and sells drugs to his own people
his only option to live

She the loving father and mother
working two jobs each to pay the rent

She the young optimistic
Activist poet
Dreaming that they can still change
The world

She simultaneously her and us
they and we
The duality of
The Mexican soul
The living and dead
The Christian and the pagan

She very much her
But she very much us

She, Elvira Arellano



Morena De Mi Corazon

Morena the first color I knew
Before I even existed God selected that color for me

Morena de mi Corazon
She was the first color that held me close
The first color I loved
The first color that nurtured my growth
She was part of me and I of her
When I cried she comforted me
When I fell she lifted me
For nine months Morena was all I knew
Morena was me

Morena de mi Corazon
My first steps were with her
My first memories of life
I was attached to her
I could not bear to be apart from her
I would cry out if she left me to go to work
But rejoice when the older and wiser, but just as beautiful
Morena de mi Corazon
Held me, her face a darker brown
Shining with memories of raising twelve boys and three girls
Now this brown woman was helping in raising me
I can remember early morning breakfast
Always freshly cooked homemade tortillas
Eggs frijoles and sometimes not so homemade Count Choculas
I was three when she started spitting up blood
Holding the bucket for her as she said, “Ahi mijo, I’ll be okay.”
I think that was the only English she knew
But sadly it was so long ago
I can’t really remember how much English she did speak
Yet I still cry at the thought of that memory

Morena de mi Corazon
I am not sure how much longer it was before she died
I know shortly after that moment I never saw her again
At the time being three I did not understand death
I just sat on Morena’s lap
As this young and beautiful color cried so many tears of sorrow
It drained the very happiness of her soul
And I did nothing but sit
It was not until a few days later when I realized
The older and wiser color was never coming back
That I cried
I often sit and wonder how this older and wiser color
Would be now
What she could have taught me, what we would laugh about
And what memories we would have now
But like all strong colors they over time
Fade away and are nothing more than memories
Of the past
It has taken me seventeen years to come to terms with this
And again all I can do is cry

Morena de mi Corazon
Time passed and Morena was all around me
From tias to cousins to second cousins
And in school there was a whole new type of Morena
And again it was the first color I loved
I would see her by my locker, in front of me,
Sitting behind me, on the playground and
On the way home from school and this Morena
Had shades as dark as coffee with no cream
To as light as the cream itself

Morena de mi Corazon
Morena this evil color broke my heart
She played with my emotions
At times she was the most beautiful color ever seen
But this evil color that I had come to love so dear
Cheated on me
I hated her down to my very existence
My heart torn
Not sure what to do
“I don’t love you!” I would yell
For what you have done
I can no longer live
But then again Morena entranced me
With her music, with her fruit
And her overall loyalty ensured me to
Trust her

Morena de mi Corazon
Soon she was an obsession
Her curves, her scent, her taste
Like no other known to exist in all of creation
Morena was like a color never seen, a fragrance never smelled
Or like skin that had never been touched
She was in my dreams and again I loved her
The way she danced to the rhythms of the world
How she lifted her eyes
Just enough to catch a glance of her beauty
And Morena was coveted by all men of the Earth
Morena, Morena, Morena
She gave birth to Che, to Cesar, to Tejarina, to Zeta Acosta to Benito Juarez
To kings in Africa, to children in the Middle East
Morena made by God, cleaned kitchens, mopped floors
And managed to raise doctors, lawyers
Engineers, writers, photographers
And still cooked tortillas frijoles and carnitas
All in the same day

Morena de mi Corazon
Worked in plants, in foundries, in factories
Worked the fields as good as any man, if not better
She crossed the border by river, by land, by ocean
Had the border move on her
Gave birth to revolutions, artists, philosophers
To ancient astronomers
Civilizations advanced in mathematics, in architecture
Raised her rifle to France, to America, to Spain
Morena endured rape, slavery,
The stigma of no social status
She was good enough to fuck
But not to take home to mommy and daddy
She was beat, abused, hooked on dope, smack
And crack
She was cheated on
Put up with your punk ass only dating White girls
She went to war with you
Held down the house
Made the food you eat
Gained weight so you could have a family
Had her chest sag just so you could grow and be healthy
Did your laundry and the Jones’ to make a few extra dollars
She went to law school got her bachelors, her masters,
Became a doctor, a lawyer, president of a corporation,
Started her own business, fought fires, opened minds
Became a poet, an artist, a congresswoman, a teacher
Morena, Morena, Morena
Made love to me!

Morena de mi Corazon
For all that I love you.



Lolita You May Cry Now

Poem for Puerto Rico National heroine Lolita Lebron,
she served over 25 years in prison as a political prisoner and refused to cry

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the oppressed
Hungry for food, knowledge and hope

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the millions upon millions
Of the indigenous peoples of the Americas
Tears for those names, languages, customs and cultures
We will never know
Lost like the leaves that fall into the streams and rivers

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the African slaves that were
Chained, shackled, raped and whipped
Their backs dripping with red tear drops of their own

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for those who worked and toiled
Tears of sweat dripping into the soil they bled to cultivate
So others could prosper from the suffering of others

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the massacres, broken treaties, diseases,
Death and stolen land and nature

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the murdered Mexicans lynched, hung, dragged, cut, and shot
In the southwest of the United States

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for those who worked the large sugar
And coffee plantations and never had a chance to taste either

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the cries of independence and freedom on September 16th 1810
Grito de Dolores
Tears for the Grito de Lares September 23rd 1868
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for Betances and Segundo Ruiz Belvis
And for all of those who fought tyranny injustice and treachery

Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the prisoners of war in 1898
Tears for Albizu Campos in and out of prison for more than 25 years
Tears for the radiation his body was exposed to like
Children of Vieques crying contaminated tears for lost souls
Tears for the POWs of 1954 and 1980
For Rafael Cancel Miranda, Andres Figueroa Cordero,
Irving Flores Rodriguez
Tears for Alejandrina Torres, Carlos Alberto Torres,
Oscar Lopez Rivera and all the prisoners of war from the movement
Tears for all those that gave us vision through the rough storms
Steady and calm they steered us clear
Tears for Juan Antonio Corretjer, for Consuelo Lee Corretjer
And tears for our beloved mystic Jose Lopez
The love for his people shown in the humblest of ways
From the picking up of trash to the enormous vision he puts forth
And tears for those that make up our community
Tears for those in this space the Batey Collective
The people I call my comrades my closest and dearest friends
The people that have helped me feel human once again
Tears for those who are faces in the crowd at actions against
The occupation of Palestine, and Iraq
And tears for the people of Vieques voices unheard
Tears for the undocumented workers that toil in the belly of the beast
With no rights with vocal chords that have been ripped out
Tears for Cuba, Venezuela, Brazil, and Chiapas,
For they stand in the shadow of a giant
And do not budge from what is just, right and equal
And tears for you Lolita tears for you strength, endurance, and constant resistance

Yes Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the time away from loved ones
Tears for the times they tried to break you
And you stood fearless
Challenging the empire
Standing like a mountain against a hurricane’s attack
Tears for the times you could not feel the warmth of the sun
Or the warmth of a loving hand
Tears for the lost memories
Tears to fill the ocean’s depth
Tears for all those time you wanted to cry but could not would not
To show them that you were unbreakable

Lolita you may cry now
Tears of sadness and tears of joy because our freedom will come

Lolita you may cry now
and if you can not
you are home
and we will cry for you



Blood Dries Black

Poem for Puerto Rico National Hero Filiberto Ojeda Rios, he was commander of a Puerto Rican
national resistance organization Los Macheteros and was assassinated by the U.S government in 2005

bullets of lead and fire shot from guns of steel
can not silence voices of truth
rooms bleed blood
and walls flow red
those empty of space allow for light to peek through

the sun shines
out side the windows
children smile and play
laughter heard
but on floors in empty rooms
no longer remembered
blood dries black

there has only been one bullet shot
many hands and fingers
many directions aimed
many assassins, murders and killers
some hide behind acronyms
to justify actions
others using ideologies of hate

one bullet
shatters skull and bone
pierces hearts
tears the skin
enters organs
and expels the soul

one bullet
blessed by words
like freedom and democracy

one bullet adorned in
colors of red white and blue

one bullet
that opened Che’s chest in Bolivia

that reddened the Balcony in Memphis

that entered and left Salvador Allende
in the presidential palace floors soaked and dripping

the same bullet made from twine
that stole the breath of Las Mariposas
and painted the Cain fields red

that ripped through Augosto Sandino
and left an airfield with rivers

the same bullet that hung
Angel Cristobal Rodriguez

And the bullets that bloodied the streets and country side
of Mexico, Cuba, Panama, Dominican Republic, Guatemala,
Nicaragua, Honduras, and the many other places
Hidden behind documents and paper work

the same bullet that is used to kill
those crossing lines drawn in offices

the same bullet that drips red onto street corners

an enters to young Iraqi children

one bullet many victims
many shades of red that all dry black

blood stains are ingrained
are etched for eternity
no matter how many times hands are washed
the red still is seen
even through blind eyes

but bullets can’t silence voices of truth
and that is why we gather today
not only to honor
not only to never forget
not only mourn
not only to celebrate
but to transform

I am a poet
That hopes to create beauty from what is chaos
To create stories of inspiration from tragedy

To create hope from desperation
And to create love from hate

How I wish I could stop that bullet
How we wish we could stop that bullet

That enters and leaves
Holes not only in flesh and tissue
But leaves holes in who we are

We cry because of death
But not just death
Because things like heart attacks
And old age we understand
But those of assassination
Are hard to fathom
No matter how expected they may be

Revolutionaries die because they dare to love

And in the last minutes of death
What are the thoughts of those that bleed
For their nation and for their people
Is It the same as those that are confined to cells

Does one see the image of
Children yet to be born
Of grand babies no longer held
Smiles that will not be felt

In the last minutes of life
Dying bleeding to death for over 24 hours
What are the thoughts of those who know
death is upon them

why did no one come to your aid
why did they not hold as they would hold their children
why did they not hold you as I would have
close to my heart so you could feel it beat

which of us hear will stand against
the atrocities before use

which of us will clean the wounds of Filberto
not because he was the most astute
or because we agreed on every aspect of his life
but because we was willing to give his life
so ours could be better

which one of us will hold the hands
of Oscar Lopez Rivera and Carlos Alberto Torres
through bars of steel on floors of concrete

which of us will insist for change

but bullets can’t silence voices of truth
and that is why we gather today
to honor
to never forget
to mourn
to celebrate
Filiberto

We gather here
to transform
even when time has passed
and blood dries black
these memories will never be forgotten



The Day Oscar Came Home

Poem to Oscar Lopez Rivera, he has served over
28 years in prison as a Puerto Rican Political Prisoner.

The day Oscar came home
We held the biggest parade every seen

There flags covering the entire horizon

Light
Blue
Shinning
Bright
Blending
Sky

People yelled from the roof tops
“ Viva Puerto Rico Libre”
Police even joined in
And all the politicos came out
I think I even say Mark Anthony
But it might have been Luis from up the block
He looks like Marc Anthony

Cars couldn’t even move down la division

The UPS driver was pissed

We shut that mother fucker down
We had planned a bombazo at La Casita De Don Pedro

But we had to move it to the park

The yuppies walking their dogs
Started to freak out

We carried Oscar on our shoulders
There was an ocean of beautiful Puerto Rican People
More like the Orinoco River perhaps

I made sure I had my Mexican flag

The street cheered as Oscar moved toward

Humboldt Park

Abuelas yelling from windows
Youngins yelling from cars
Kids yelling from bikes
There were even two gangbangers yelling
As they rode a schwinn tandem bike
You know the kind that has
two sets of everything

even the drunks who don’t seem to care about anything where yelling

the news sent helicopters
and they reported it was a riot at first

“ this just in live from Humboldt Park the third riot in 40 years
why the Puerto Ricans riot? join us for a full report at 6”

but when they read Michael Rodriguez article
in La Voz our community newspaper
they changed their story

I heard a littler child ask her father
“who is that man on their shoulders?”

the father said “that’s a Puerto Rican hero?”

as we reached the first 59 feet tall flag on
California and Division

There was a calm over the crowd
Silence
as if Roberto Clemente was at bat
in the bottom of the ninth
down by one run
basses loaded
with a full count 

Oscar stepped down off our shoulders

He looked at the flag closely
Felt the cold steel
Observed the detail of the work
And gave a smile
More so with his eyes

The crowd cheered

We approached the park
A sound system was set up on the back of a truck
Lourdes Lougo gave the introduction

You are home now Oscar you are home
The crowd wept
Then Jose Lopez spoke
You are home now Oscar you are home
They wept some more

Then there was poetry by the youth of the Batey Urbano

Judy, DVS, Pinky, Melissa, Mat, Janeida, Jay Jay and Xavi all read

I read as well and Eduardo Arocho too

Oscar went to the mike
And the crowd erupted
For 20 whole minutes he could not
Say a word over the cheers

During his greeting

We cried
Laughed
Smiled
Cheered
Yelled
And cried some more

After we finished
We went to eat at the cultural center Juan Antonio Cortejer

Dona Claudie cook special

We had every type of Puerto Rican food made
There was alcapurrias, flan, tembleque, chuletas, morcilla, asopao, pastelon, pastels, albondigas, mofongo, mondongo, chicharron de pollo and every type of sweats from café coloa.

We ate talked and laughed
We smiled cheered but most
Of all we celebrated and prepared for the next days work

All of this on the day Oscar came home

The beautiful growing Flowers reborn


We Are

We are the wretched of the Earth
The labor that moves the sand
We are spics, niggers, wetbacks, beaners and pork chops
We are U.S. treaty failure
We are barrio dwellers
Culture creators cut across communal skies
We are loving abuelos, abuelas
We are community builders stopping gentrification
We are presos politicos
We are freedom fighters
We are present farms, urban harvest
We are the children of Latin America
Bastardly speaking forgotten in a new land and ancient land
We are the children of African slaves,
Indigenous blood and Spanish conquest
We are Irish, German, Arab, Jewish, Muslim
We are the grandchildren of
Simon Bolivar. The children of
the Virgen de Guadalupe
We are the children of Pancho Villa
And Zapata, of Che, of
Adelita, of Lolita Lebron we are
The children, of the Zapatistas
We are the children of Latin America
Excited to oblivion
We are love compassion and hope
We are Caesars, Huelga, and Si Se Puede!
We are Lolita, shots on Congress
We the Brown Berets and the Chicano movement
We the Young Lords
We are the Cuban people in ’59
We are Venezuelan and the Bolivarian Revolution
We are Nuyorican Poets penning
Puerto Rican Pride
We are undocumented peoples crossing
Borders breaking boundaries and barriers
We are separated families split by
Concrete thrones made of steel
We are Zocalo and Batey Urbano in Chicago
We Boricua, Chicano, Chicana, Chi-Rican,
Mexicano, Puertoriqueno, Dominicano, Central Americano,
Mexi-Rican. Latino Chi-cano
We are breakers, DJ’s, MC’s,
Painting poems on walls
We are despised, hated, loved, exoticised
We, faces in the crowds at marches
Against the war in Afghanistan, in Iraq, in Palestine
We are those who stand along side
Blacks for free our people from modern day slavery
We are Christ, Moses, and Quetzequatal and Tonantzin
We are the sun that shines bright
We are unified communities chanting
“Boricua, Mexicano Luchando Mano a Mano!”
We are a new American dream
We are those who create love from hate,
Hope from despair, compassion from none,
And humility from arrogance
We are those who say live and help to live
We are 500 years of resistance
Welcome to America
Welcome too the New World