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, Anishinabe, 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
Befor 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 echos 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 birth place 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 teotihuacan
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


Blood Dries Black

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 adonred in
colors of red white and blue

one bullet
that opened Ches chest in Boliva

that reddened the Balcony in Memphis

that entered and left Huey P, Newton

that stole the breath of
add us intervention and people assassinated by latin america


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 creat bueaty 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 assisnation
Are hard to phthnom
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 atrocitys before use

which of us will clean the wounds of Filberto
not because he was the most astute
or because we agreed on evry 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 Adberto Toress
through bars of steel on floors pf concreate

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 



On the Way

Silence by moon light they run, hide and duck
Lonely footprints through deserts and mountains
Alone only with the night to keep them company

Its cold to cold to feel
Their throats dry
Lupe drank his own piss last night

North prints in the sand trek for a new life
But today life is an illusion painted by the darkness of the desert

There are stories of people shot and murdered
Left for dead
Only leaving empty hollow foot prints

And those who die of thirst
From the heat
From the cold
And those caught and sent back

But they are willing to risk it
Their lives
because for them there is nothing else

Empty hollow foot prints trek throught the deseart through the mountains

Everywhere they starve so modernity can feast on itself
Every year their land decreses so coparte castles may be erected
Every month they leave so the medial jobs can be filled
Every day there blood spills so capitlal may flow freely

Blocked by triple fences
And operations like gate keeper

Their footprints are what is left in the sand and mud
Shadows of the shadows
They all move North

Because it is unbearable
Because underdevelopment is what el Norte is known for
They move because to stay is to die

Juana in the trunk of a car
Pregnant for hours sitting silent

Fernando lost moving through the winds
could not find his way
Thirsty so thirsty die where he lay

The Gonzalez brothers where found will bullets
Peaces of their brains where sent ten feet from their body

Lidias was taken away and raped
By three men
Her body lay hidden under sand and stones

Ten unidentified bodies lay in a van
Toppled and burned

Even children with baby sized graves
Leave their empty foot prints in the sand

Some crawling away from dead mothers

Yes these are stories that are more then stories

And we can look away but this is our reflection

Walls of seperation
Of steel and wire
Guarded with hot lead
and automatic weapons

these are the lives
of those that leave empty foot prints
in the desert and mountains

but more make it then do not


Inside they are Dancing
Welcome to America