SUNDAY, APRIL 27, 2014 | THE BROWNSVILLE HERALD | D5
D4 | THE BROWNSVILLE HERALD | SUNDAY, APRIL 27, 2014
$100 + $65 Gift Certificate
donated by Letee’s Hair
Studio and Day Spa
YA NO MIRES AL PASADO
Si supieras cuánto diera
Si tan solo imaginaras
el amor que por ti siento,
tus angustias quedarían
desvanecidas en el tiempo...
dejarías de ser presa
de un recuerdo ya lejano.
Si dejaras que uno sólo...
tan sólo un verso te tocara;
que salido de mi pluma,
se posara en tu mirada,
se abriría tu sonrisa...
Cantarás en tus mañanas,
y darás a mis anhelos
esa luz que se ha apagado.
Honorable Mention • Honorable Mention
$50 + Watch donated by
One day this past summer, in no special place,
No words need be said, just look at her face.
Hunger pains, what else can she do,
Just one more day to make it through.
Tattered dress faded, faded from time,
She struggles forward to pick up a dime.
Sandals she wore, on the soles of her feet,
Was no protection, from the Sun’s scorching heat.
Dark clothing she wore, from toes to her head,
As if out of respect, respect for the dead.
Refusing to stop, and talk to a stranger,
Disgust and distrust, she sees only danger.
One only knows, what her dreams were once were,
It’s perfectly clear, they belong to her.
A lonely church bell, comfort for some,
Another long night is still yet to come.
Volará... Rauda y ligera
volará, mi alma agasajada,
devorando con sus alas
el viento huracanado...
Volará, si te lleva en sus delirios
al refugio donde aguardan,
los sueños más sublimes...
Y las ansias aplazadas.
Ya no mires al pasado,
no condenes tu presente.
Alza tu mirada ardiente...
Toma mi mano y deja,
que mi abrazo te proteja...
Y este amor viva por siempre.
No choice in the matter, she begs for food,
The hearts of others, depends on their mood.
Next to the ally behind the bus station,
It’s hard to believe we’re the world’s greatest nation.
Ignored by many, passed by, by most,
She feels so ashamed; they think she’s a ghost.
Where will she sleep, another cold night,
Alone in an alley, a pitiful sight.
One only knows what tomorrow will bring,
Just more of the same, a circle or ring.
Just for this moment, from thoughts that were hidden.
I share them with you in words that I’ve written.
Rio Hondo, TX
$25 + Cinemark Movie Tickets
GRANDMA’S OAK ROCKING CHAIR
Memories woven, as tonight we rock
A rhythm of squeaks, like ticks of a clock
My grandchild squirms, he’s fighting off sleep
Enjoying this time, moments we’ll both keep.
If would you allow one…
at least one of my verses to touch you;
emerging from my pen,
resting on your glance,
your smile would widen…
you will sing in the mornings,
and give to my longings
the light which has become dim.
We read stories, I read to his mom
Sang old vesper hymns, God knows where they’re
Then favorite songs, I began to hum
‘Til he fell asleep, while the rocker strum.
It will fly… swift and light
it will fly, my feted soul,
devouring with its wings
the thunderous wind…
It will fly, if it carries you in its frenzy
to the refuge where,
the most sublime dreams…
And the delayed yearnings await.
She rocked sick children, for many a year
She told them stories, and dried their tear
She rocked when she, was unable to sleep
She planned and worried; and sometimes she’d weep.
Don’t look back,
don’t condemn your present.
Raise your ardent gaze…
take my hand and let,
my embrace protect you…
And this love remain forever.
She chatted and rocked, when friends stopped to call
In storms she rocked, to the drum of rainfall
A noble person, from her chair she’d reign
Until her chair, seemed to groan with her pain!”
Now we’re rocking, the fifth generation
With loving thoughts, and much adoration
For those before; now for our tots we pray
They’ll rock in this chair, ‘til they’re old and gray.
Spring iS Here!
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EL RIO BRAVO – THE RIO GRANDE RIVER
As you hear Taps, feel blessed that
these unsung words ring true.
For this scared tune remains wordless,
yet deep in red, white, and blue.
Taps is pure and holy
with its unsung words. Its eulogy:
Veo a mi pobre madridista, fría y enferma
Miro sus arrugas, calles de amor ternura
Miro la mujer que me ama aunque su vida era dura
Oigo su bello corazón palpitar
Oigo el dolor en su voz me hace llorar
Su fragancia me hace recordar mi niñez
Su fragancia llena tierno calor nunca con frigidez
Siempre dando sabor a mi vida
Por favor que nunca me faltes ningún día
Siento su dolor y me quiebra el alma
Siento su fuerza débil,
pidiéndole a dios que le dé de cenar a su alma
Patria serena… hoy tengo para ti solo laureles
Pues en tu suelo nuestros héroes han caído
Y existe en cada flor y en cada río
El aroma sutil del ya partido
a pocket of poverty
along the southern tip
of the Texas Tropical Trail
lined with dilapidated shacks
El Rio Bravo means the river runs wild
Torturing those who wander it to be free.
The Rio Grande River appears to be a place very mild
Full of sugar cane fields as far as the eye can see.
Patria serena… llenas están las comarcas y los cerros
De fragores de batallas y de truenos
Pero nada inmuta a tu corazón tan bueno
Y sólo existe tu amor dulce y sereno
run-down trailers full of families
mounds of junk and garbage
buildings boarded-up with No Trespassing signs
On the banks, the children are white and brown
Güeros and prietitos they are called.
Some of them are happy, but some have a frown
Because in this river some of their loved ones have stalled.
Patria serena… en ti percibo yo tristeza y desencanto
Y sufro yo al pensar que te debemos tanto,
Aún resuena la campana de Dolores
¡Y al resonar tiñe tu faz de mil colores!
dogs wandering the streets
women behind piled-high card tables
and clothes lines, trying
to sell whatever rag they can
They couldn’t make it through to the other side
Didn’t think the current was that strong.
They followed one another listening to the guide
Only to learn that he was wrong.
Patria serena… caudillos han luchado por tu honra
Hidalgo, Allende y la Corregidora,
Me cuesta tanto detener mi llanto
Cuando recuerdo con amor a quien te quiso tanto
highway patrol, sheriffs, deputies, constables
and drugs everywhere
here in the ‘heights’
the town just ten minutes from us
“El Coyote” made it across like he did, time after time
Never really looking back to see who was there.
Just thinking about how he would spend his dime
And once in a while, he’d catch a little girl who’d stare.
Patria serena… la imagen más fecunda que yo tengo
Es cuando un mexicano grita que te quiere
Al sentir que es suelo de tu suelo
¡Y al palpitar tu corazón, es sangre de tu sangre!
white winter Texans
with big, beautiful homes
on the emerald golf course
of another world
He’d seen this little face before
Not one he ever wanted to see again.
She was holding her mother’s dress that tore
As the current, swirled around them and that’s when…
Patria serena… a tí debo yo haber nacido
En una tierra tan grandiosa y tan querida
Tan llena de culturas y de razas
Que por el mismo Dios ya ha sido bendecida
Laguna Vista, TX
He yelled, “Keep on moving, freedom was over there
Where her future children would be some day.”
She reached into the raging river and pulled her mother’s hair
Knowing that with her mother her children would someday say,
Days is done,
Gone the sun,
The prayer, in this tune, is God’s will.
Wars are won in battle.
Beneath the sun or moon,
Taps’ ghostly tune
fills the air with echoes
of a battle cry for heroes.
Born in an old battlefield,
Taps consist of 24 beautiful notes.
In prayer, it accepts God’s Will.
In battlefields, Taps often replaces bullets.
In faith, it offers us a time to heal.
As we whisper softly, once again
none have died in vain.
Like hearing a mourning dove
singing from nearby trees,
Taps reaches for Heaven above
offering us rest and peace.
For when heroes die,
Taps echoes a lullabye.
“Grandma, Grandma, I’m in a school play,”
Exclaimed our beautiful multi-ethnic, dark-eyed,
dark-haired Sophie from South Carolina.
“Will you make me hunters’ vests for my friend and me?”
Over to México to buy the fabric,
Waiting in the bridge line to return
I shout, “She looks like Sophie!”
A beautiful multi-ethnic, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl
Darting among the cars and trucks,
“Buy my Chiclets,” her big eyes plead.
No school play for her.
Life is not dull living on a resaca,
with nutria, gar, and the brash chachalaca.
Massive turtles with frying pan shells;
sometimes the water’s so foul that it smells.
Muscovies, anhingas, black snakes and heron
all know the water’s secrets therein.
Placid surfaces mirror the sky
as I stand on the bank often wondering why,
but when I hear the call of the Great Kiskadee,
I know there’s no place that I’d rather be
than watching the water flow on its way,
washing away the cares of each day.
Emily J. Foltz
CONTEMPLATE (THIS MOMENT)
I stand at the edge of the water
the waves roll to my feet
I look out over the ocean
and the day is almost complete.
As the oak rocker creaked, it seemed to say
“I’ve soothed many, as I rocked in my day
Grandma rocked the day, her baby was born
We rocked for years, until tired and worn.
Ms. Pat Tesh
FIVE MILES AWAY
ODE TO A RESACA
If you knew what I would give
to kiss you
If you could only imagine
the love I feel for you,
your sorrows would be
dissolved in time…
you would stop being prey
of a faraway memory.
Ruth E. Wagner
DON’T LOOK BACK
ALMA DE MADRE
Frank J. Lugo
Shrimp boats way out at a distance
and seagulls laughing fly by
a cool breeze touches my shoulder
as the light is leaving the sky.
Here by the water I wonder
what happens to us at the end
to me it doesn’t much matter
this moment I’m happy my friend.
Los Fresnos, TX
Take me to the place where
My toes meet the sand,
And my hands create castles
Where the water rushes to the surface
There you’ll find me
With my feet sinking down, down
As I walk and splash, walk and splash
I hear my mother calling
But it’s time for me to catch my wave,
My visceral wave consumes me
The song of the sea illusions me
And takes me to that deep place
The hard rocks
Patria serena… queda aún tanto por decirte
Pero la historia se escribe con proezas
Y surgirán así nuevas grandezas
¡Y escribirán sus letras nuevas los poetas!
My feet slip and bleed
I get caught in the under current,
Marred by seaweed
Javier García González
H. Matamoros, Tamps.
The taste of salt burns my nose
As the water threatens to choke my hope
In the distance I hear a myriad of voices
That sound like crashing waves
On the horizon as the sun sets
The Voice calls
I fight and steadily race back to the shore
Gliding in on peaceful waves
Crawling in on all fours
With my hands sinking down, down
There you’ll find me
And in the distance I see
A chance to begin anew
Recorriendo un Labrador
sus campos una mañana
alló una zarza bellana
entre su trigo mejor
Arranco la con cautela
la puso junto al indero
y le dijo a ti te quiero,
tu serás mi centinela
He gives out a long, low whistle;
She knows that little tweet.
She lifts her chubby, little arms;
He sweeps her off her feet.
Her cherub face lights up with smiles;
Both hands go for his beard.
She giggles and gurgles and babbles away;
To her Grandpa the words are clear.
With her flashing eyes and drippy chin,
And a mouth that never misses;
She wets his face with sugary drool
And gives her Grandpa dirty kisses.
He wipes off the drool and makes a face;
But it really makes his day;
When Baby wets his whiskers down
In her own sweet, drippy way.
WHO SAYS DINOSAURS ARE DEAD?
I see them in the movies and story books I’ve read.
And late at night before I sleep and I’m lying on my bed,
I close my eyes and visualize them dancing in my head.
So if you stop and think real hard of something that could be,
You just might make a dinosaur become reality.
“Mira abuelita, how strong my mother can be
She cooks and cleans as if there’s no tomorrow.
But never speaking about what she would see
Or what happened as a child in El Rio Bravo.”
The waves didn’t make a sound.
They just sat there with me and watched me cry.
The pain of birth is always welcomed with joyful happiness.
Why is death never welcomed?
The moon watched me cry as the sun gave away.
The majestic ocean saw my pain and the waves came alive.
Their song, a song of love.
They opened their arms and welcomed me home.
Ah, the pain of death so tender, so welcoming I am home.
Así en manos de la siencia
virtud adquiere el veneno
que hasta lo malo hace bueno
bolundad e inteligencia
Thank you to everyone
who participated in
The Brownsville Herald’s
first annual poetry contest.
I am born into death.
My fragile body will die within my time.
The ocean and the waves still call my name; I yearn to return.
José De La Garza
A PROCLAMATION TO PEARL
Thanks friend, for teaching me about unconditional love,
how to give proper belly rubs,
that the grass is always greener when you’re outside,
for listening to me when I have to vent and not judging what I have to say,
how to run wild and free,
to break loose from my leash every now and then (even if I get in a little trouble),
about making the most of everyday as if I were living in dog years,
to always stand my ground and guard my territory,
that loyalty makes and keeps friends,
that a tilt of the head and a trick can get you a reward,
to show that I’ve got a tough bark but don’t bite,
and to howl with passion and tenacity.
Thanks for being a warm furry shoulder to cry on,
that special someone to always kiss goodnight (I know I will always get one in return),
and finally, for being an eternal soul mate,
and for giving my family and I cherished memories with you that are everlasting.
So here is an ode, a proclamation, to you my pal,
to the paw prints you have left behind and the ones you still have to make,
and most importantly,
for being a LOVE like no other.
“Poetry is when an emotion has found its
thought and the thought has found words.”
For cameron county judge
A Strong County
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