Chicano Poet

Friday, September 28, 2007

My niece Nadia Cardenas
(my brother Julian's daughter)
piloting a C-5

Thursday, September 27, 2007

My nephew Aesop Cardenas
(my brother Valentin's son)
read about him here

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Fred’s Lament

In black and white
I couldn’t tell she was a redhead,
but my hero was Desi Arnaz.

I could not see the freckles
on the inside of her thighs,
but my hero was Desi Arnaz.

She raised hell and mayhem
about nothing and nada,
but my hero was Desi Arnaz.

Her high and whiny voice
sent chills up my hairy back,
but my hero was Desi Arnaz.

Why was I stuck with Ethel
when I wanted to love Lucy,
but my hero was Desi Arnaz?

I could be singing the blues
instead of Babalu,
but my hero was Desi Arnaz.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Angular Self-Portrait With Hayley Mills

I dream I’m making love to Hayley Mills
while peasants question from windowsills
and then go back to being poor.

There’s not much the police can do,
and the priests can only misconstrue
what they have learned well by mistake.

From sundown to sunup
love pitches his tent in a cup
which once belonged to William Butler Yeats.

I dream I’m making love to Hayley Mills
in the ancient, angry Mexican hills
where her thighs quiver on Aztec stone.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Identity Theft

He claimed that he was a black poet,
but he wrote like a white man.
Somebody please hit him with a rubberband.

He claimed that if you write
with your heritage in your heart,
you can not create real art.

He subscribed to such nonsense
that he lost his darker audience.
He mistook boos for appaudience.

Identity is what you see in the bathroom mirror,
but if you look in the rearview mirror, dear,
race is closer than it appears.

Friday, September 21, 2007


I knew I was Mexican
by the way white people
looked at me.

If I walked across town
the police would stop me
and ask where I was going.

If I rode my bicycle
on the wrong sidewalk
old white ladies would cry rape.

If I went out
with a white girl
both sides of the tracks would frown.

I never had an Uncle Hank
only a Tio Fidencio
no cousin Phil only primo Pablo.

Today I know I’m Chicano
by the way the Mexicans
look at me.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Gambling With Guernica

The O.J. Simpson Poetry Prize, which awards 33 million dollars
to the winner, was recently presented to

Eddie Golddigger

Everyone assumed that the ol’ gal, Joan Ashbery, would walk away
with the bundle. Wrong! The Vegas oddsmakers had all been found
with their throats slashed and never had a chance to enlighten us
with their picks, gurgled the DA.

There are no photos available since the paparazzi were run over
and killed by a white Ford Bronco driven by Lindsey Lohan,
Britney Spears, and Paris Hilton--- not a pair of panties between them.

The buzzards refused to eat the rotting paparazzi. Even the maggots
were heard to exclaim, NO WAY, and crawled away to greener pastures.


The Chicano literary critic, Flaco Delgado de la Slender y Lumbriz,
has called Gambling With Guernica the most brown-nosed Hispanic
epic poem ever written. Even going so far as to claim that it is on par
with e.e. cumming’s Buffalo Bill..... Gasp.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

G .I. O. J.

War Is Over

“O.J. Simpson is the greatest
peace-maker of our times.”
John Lennon

With the Iraq war spiraling out of control,
costing more and more American lives
(only American lives have any value,
of course) anyway, with the war dragging
on and on, old Dubya finally had to admit
that he and his cronies could not win the
war, they decided that it was time to call
in the only man on earth who could find
a solution. Yes, you guessed it! O.J. Simpson.
War hero, our savior. The very incarnation
of every fucking God ever dreamed up
by squirming mankind. In just a matter of days
O.J. restored order to the worn torn
country and brought peace to earth. His
mastery at finding a solution astounded
the solar system. Even the Mars rovers
stood up, pointed their antennas our way,
and said, huh? O.J. was welcomed back
home to New York City with a ticker tape
parade.We can never re-pay him. Every
son of a bitch in America is indebted to him.

Monday, September 17, 2007

American Hero

O.J. Simpson remains one of America's
most endearing of heroes. During the
911 attacks he was the only man in the
whole of New York City brave enough
to climb into both Towers at once and
rescue the 2,700 who would otherwise
have died. He even rescued the passengers
in the two airplanes. Saved them all,
he did! Even the hijackers. This man is
truly a man for all seasons, a hero like
no other. God bless him.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

The Traveling Poet---Chris Eliot(in real life,
this is really T.S.Eliot's grandson)

Friday, September 14, 2007

The Giant

I looked out the window and saw a man walking down the street. He appeared to be twenty feet tall. Except for his height, there was absolutely nothing extraordinary about him. I ran outside to join the neighbors. The giant did not seem to notice us. We all stood there in awe. Soon we could hear the sirens of the police.
When they arrived the giant did not pay any attention to them. They talked to him with loudspeakers, ordering him to stop. He kept walking. A SWAT team arrived. He did not obey them either. They opened fire. He fell to the ground with the loudest thud any one had ever heard. Scientists went to work to figure out who or what this giant was. Eventually it dawned on them that this giant was God’s midget plumber.
Apparently, the Pacific Ocean was just a leak in God’s toilet. You Polynesians know what that makes you, right?

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Little Joe Y La Familia Lost In Time

I went to New Jersey
but he wasn’t there anymore.
I dug for Jimmy Hoffa instead.

I went to California to look for Emily’s aunt---
they said she’d never lived there.
Oh, frigid, quaint New England.

I blew up Texas in my trousers
with Marilyn askew in the last doorway.
Those Mexicans sure did a job on Davy.

I went back to New Jersey
and insisted that Billy show himself.
But his wife wore the pants in that family.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

The Falling Man

Some say the world will end in fire,
some say in ice.
Either way, it won’t be nice.

Some have their hearts cut out
by Aztecs with obsidian swords
and find no heavenly rewards.

Some don’t see the train in time
and cross the railroad track.
There is no going back.

Some die of cancer or heart failure,
some die in their sleep.
Nonetheless, the relatives weep.

But I am the falling man
and I know what my fate will be.
I won’t hear the sound I make when it reaches me.

read the story of the falling man here.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Pyramids Of The Son

When the towers came tumbling down,
they crushed illegals---
Mexicans, many who were well known

to Alfonso Rincon, who delivered
sandwiches and pizza to the towers
during the 1990's, he names names,

he twirls faces in his mind,
"DNA testing," he says, "can not
tell you a damn thing about who they were!"

He lists all their occupations,
janitor, cleaning ladies, maintenance men,
messengers. and people like him

who just delivered this and that
to the doomed towers.
"Spanish is the language of the working people

in this country." he says with a curse
as Immigration leads him away from his present job
of soldering wires at a defense contractor in Austin,Texas.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Hijo de Payasa

My mother clowns from the grave,
her big red nose strikes out
both Gehrig and Mantle.

Her large guaraches linger in the Fifties
and tell the old black lady,
sit your ass down and shut up.

She scratches at me from the windows
of an apartment building
and slams the curtains on my little hands.

You see what I’ve grown up
to be, momma?
She makes balloon animals for dirt.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Be Back September 10