• Poetry by Robert Tinajero

    Listen to Poems from Love Revolution

    Poems from my second book of poetry.

    Love Revolution

    Available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble

    Love Revolution presents a collection of poems by Robert Tinajero. Divided into five sections (three major and two minor), Tinajero's verses explore a wide range of topics, situations, and emotions, particularly focusing on various types of love.

    My Poem Chosen for NPR "Tweet" Poems

    My poem "Tacos" was chosen to be played on NPR as part of their Tweet-length poems series.

     

    https://www.npr.org/2013/03/13/174127353/muses-and-metaphor-2013-tweet-us-your-poetry

    i've been under many ceilings

    i’ve been under many ceilings

    seen, stared, glimpsed

    the first

    a new womb hospital room ceiling

    sleeping somewhere in my memory

    of bright lights

    infused with life and new smells

     

    the one above my first bed

    tall strong

    aged with scuffs, scrapes

    and ant-size holes

    remnants of pencil throwing

    ice-cream fights

    and tacks

     

    my first dorm room

    off-white peeling paint

    possibly pregnant with asbestos

     

    my first apartment

    that mayonnaise, goose-bumply

    mother to a rattling ceiling fan

     

    cold unfamiliar ceilings

    of hotel rooms

    in just-here-for-the-weekend cities

     

    ceilings of houses

    not quite home

    random ceilings

    above random houses

    of random people

     

    dentist’s office and

    one night stands

    with floral prints that don’t

    ease the uneasiness

     

    but tonight

    i slip off my socks

    lay in bed

    and remember

    wood, tile, paint

    vents, bugs, webs

    and think

     

    i have seen and slept under many ceilings

    today i have decided

    i want to see the rest

    with you at my side

    soft poems

    i’m tired of soft poems today

    i want my words to

    jump up and stab a racist cop

    put on gloves

    sweat and bruise and bleed

    help a migrant pick a thorny crop

    i want my words

    to grab a brick and throw it strong

    rearrange themselves

    into a Nirvana song

    i want my words

    to make the black graves of

    mississippi hum

    grab a stick

    and rape that drum

    grab that gun

    load it

    cock it

    sit in the hands of Che Guevara’s sons

    i want no less

    than stress

    than a mess of muddy poems

    feeding the minds of muddy homes

    i want my words…

    i want my words to be keys

    to minds, to chests

    to cells in jails

    want them printed

    on the rags in Molotov cocktails

    i want my words

    to flow and be off rhyme

    i’m tired of soft poems today

    i want my words to change the time

    i want my words to change the time

    last street

    what street

    will be the last one

    my casket rolls through

     

    will it be long

    and winding

    or short—

    a quick bump

    here and there

     

    who will drive my hearse

    will they know my name

     

    maybe it will be Alameda

    or Montana

    or a street that is dirt at this moment

    like the home i’m headed to

     

    will the sun be out

    or clouds

     

    will someone on the street

    stop and point

    stop and think

    i wonder who’s in there

    i wonder if they loved life

    and lived it

     

    i wonder too

     

     

    [this poem was included as part of the art piece Inscription by Shinpei Takeda]

    tacos

    when i was young

    tacos were seen as poor food

    people al pastor

    forced to hide

    between the flour of “civilized” american culture

     

    Hear me read my Tweeted poem, “Tacos”, on NPR

     

    [I read my Tweet/Poem about 30 seconds into the audio clip]

    http://www.npr.org/2013/04/29/179829149/listeners-muse-about-flowers-and-tacos

    the little table

    she had a little table

    in her quaint apartment

    in the corner

    by the window

    by the window

    with the escape ladder

     

    on it

    a telescope

    a microscope

    and a crucifix

     

    the telescope reminds me to look

    beyond myself

    and

    to realize the minuteness

    of my existence

     

    the microscope

    my grandness

    the simplicity of life

    and

    to realize how fragile

    both are

     

    the crucifix

    for purpose

    and hope

     

    …whether he is God or not

    i know somebody

    was willing

    to die for love

    birthmark

    she will

    think it’s weird

    that i noticed

    that small

    brown birthmark

    on her back

    after that

    black dress

    came off

     

    but as we lay

    there

    unsure and

    not wanting more

    than this

     

    i thought that

    that imperfection

    is perfect

     

    and we are all

    beautiful

    poetry to a love

    i’m trying to create with ink

    what God created with flesh

    i’m trying to put into words

    the poetry that drips from your body

    smokestack (my Asarco heart)

    another call

    another

    short conversation

     

    my heart crumbled

    not like

    vast empires

    historic walls

    or majestic towers

     

    but more quietly

    subtle

    a more parochial fall

     

    a crumble

    that i played a part in

    like a smokestack

    imploding

    on the streets

    of my home town

    what if that was all?

    what if that was it

    what if that was all

    what if my life ended

    at the end of this poem?

     

    maybe right now

    some exotic spider is weaving

    its way through

    some papers some books

    some trash on the floor

    headed for my right, bare ankle

    ready to inject the dew of its fangs

    ready to stop my heart

    leaving me there dying

    with no one to call

    no one holding my hand

    no one speaking strongly to my soul

    hang on hang on

    or to whisper me sweets

     

    what if this is all

    what if it’s all over

     

    who have i loved

    who have i hated

    who did i call

    where did i visit

     

    what have i smelled

    what have i seen

    what have i read

    what have i written

     

    what have i done

    and failed to do?

    Poems on Wild Detectives Website

    My Poem Included in Art Piece

    My poem “Last Street” was included in the art piece “Inscription” – Shinpei Takeda, New American Museum

     

    last street
     

    what street

    will be the last one

    my casket rolls through

     

    will it be long

    and winding

    or short—

    a quick bump

    here and there

     

    who will drive my hearse

    will they know my name

     

    maybe it will be Alameda

    or Montana

    or a street that is dirt at this moment

    like the home i’m headed to

     

    will the sun be out

    or clouds

     

    will someone on the street

    stop and point

    stop and think

    i wonder who’s in there

    i wonder if they loved life

    and lived it

     

    i wonder too