Wednesday, August 19, 2009

-Rosalilia Mendoza

We are wombyn

We are one with each other

We are one with the earth

Our tierra madre

We are born to a universal womb

The umbilical cord of

stars and galaxies

is attached to our belly buttons

when our hearts first beat

it beats as one

can you feel it?

The moon guides our fertility cycle

The ocean heals our broken bones

The sun gives us our creativity

And the dirt feeds our babies

With riquezas de frutas y vegetales

Maíz, frijol, granada

We are one

Our tierra madre

Can you see her?

She is crying

When it rains

She is dying

When there's flames

on her greens

right now, our cycle is broken

its dry and hot in January

the flowers stop blooming

in may

because there were no

april showers

it snows in august

how could this happen?

No one hears our mother cry

As they silently but violently

Rape her with skyscrapers

Roads, bridges, cars, planes

Sweatshops, maquiladoras

Every night, she hurts

Every day, we do nothing

Our mother is silently crying

Our mother is silently fighting

Our mother is silently dying

What are we doing

To defend her?


Quiero una huelga donde vayamos todos.
Una huelga de brazos, de piernas, de cabellos,
Una huelga nacido en cada cuerpo.

Quiero una huelga
de obreros de palomas
de choferes de flores
de tecnicos de ninos
de medicos de mujeres

Quiero una huelga grande
que hasta al amor alance
Una huelga donde todo se detenga,
el reloj las fabricas
el plantel los colegios
el bus los hospitales
el carretera los puertos

Una huelga de ojos, de manos y de besos.
Una huelga donde respirar so sea permitido
Una huelga donde nazca el silencio
para oir los pasos
del tirano que se marcha.

I want a strike where we all go out.
A strike of shoulders, legs, hair,
a strike born in every body.

I want a strike
of workers of doves
of drivers of flowers
of technicians of children
of doctors of women

I want a great strike
that includes even love.
A strike where everything is shut down.

the clock the factories
the nursery the schools
the bus the hospitals
the highway the harbors

A strike of eyes, hands, and kisses.
A strike where breathing is banned,
a strike where silence is born
in order to hear
the departing footsteps of the tyrant.

-- Gioconda Belli

Xicana Feminism as "Theory in the Flesh" (1981)

"A theory in the flesh means one where the physical realities of our lives-our skin color, the land or concrete we grew up on, our sexual longings-all fuse to create a politic born out of necessity. Here, we attempt to bridge the contradictions in our experience.
We are the colored in a white feminist movement.
We are the feminists among the people of our culture.
We are often the lesbians among the straight.
We do this bridging by naming our selves and by telling our stories in our own words."

From Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua, This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color San Francisco: Aunt Lute Press, 1981.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

This night was breath taking, cannot wait until April.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

3rd flier....I think I'm getting better.

But on a more serious note, come through to the Open Mic Series I'm organzing!

WHAT: In collaboration with Still Waters Poetry Collective, we will be dropping a MKE Summer open mic series for youth & young adults

WHEN: This series will run from Tuesday June 16th through August 18th (7-close)

WHERE: Two different locations will be utilized: Brewed at 1208 Brady St. and Taste of Art on 47th and Lisbon

WHY: The purpose of this series is to provide a place for youth and young adults to come, meet, build community and share their art, music, poetry, and spirit. There will be at least an hour block after 9pm to kick it, freestyle, etc. The venues will alternate weekly. The idea behind this is to build community that will travel to the other location the following week.

If you have any questions, would like to host or feature hit up:

Jeanette Martin (414)758-0199


Alida Cardos Whaley (262)352-6036

Sunday, June 7, 2009


Monday, June 1, 2009


Saturday, May 30, 2009

how I miss to breathe...

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Just for la Raza

My cultura's not for sale gringa
when you grab a silver ring from
an Indio's stand and ask
"Koo-an-doh Koo-eh-stah"
in your sorry ass Spanish

I've seen tourists in Mexican bordertowns
Winter Texans in Tamaulipas
Wild college kids on Spring Break
Buying anything under ten dollars
Smiling at impoverished children
Returning to a privileged America

It's not for sale
though the sign says
You get more for your dollar
Less for your peso
My culture wasn't devalued.

I've seen gringos come for miles
to hear a "real" Mariachi
enjoy a few bailables
watch some surviving Indian dances

But you can't capture us on a cd,
photograph us and
make us part of your collective memory

We have our own
and in them
You are still the gringo invaders of Texas
the treacherous robbers of Aztlan
the "big brother" of the north

In my memory
you are a foreigner to me
I will not give you our precious things

My people are not for sale
I am not a happy jarabe
a rhythmic son
a colorful Jalisco dress
a Chiapas Zapatista

I am not the most vivid and publicized
I am not a woman being beaten by police
I am not a drug lord or president
I am not a technocrat
That is not my cultura
That's the media

Precious things are sacred and
your dollar will never buy you
My memories
My history
My place in a community

My cultura's not for sale gringa
and neither are my men
"Dark, indigenous looking Mexicans"
are for Anthro books and theses papers
Not for the real world
Not for your photo album

You cannot have my songs
or dances
or looks

You cannot buy the sacred stories
the history of a revolution
the pride of my cultura

These are priceless things
which have been bought with blood of Mexicans

Mexicans alone
Not for you gringa
Not for the tourist
Not for the journalist

Just for the Raza

Those of us who know we own it
without having to buy it.

La Paz

The peace in which you exist is a virtuality. You think that you live in peace tranquility and comfort. But this peace is a lie, because there can be no peace without dignity, justice, and liberty for everyone everywhere. In fact, the more that you believe in this false peace, you justify, validate, and legitimize its means: Terror. Your peace is our terror. A fair trade organic latte mochachino isn't and never will be enough for there to be a true peace; nor an energy efficient car, nor a solar panel, nor a compost bucket, nor your local sub-urban "community's" recycling program are peace in our world. These, perhaps might be good little steps, but by no means are they ends. To commercialize sustainability for a pseudo-leftist, bourgeois political class, who seeks only to feel guilt free for its peaceful, tranquil, and comfortable life, is in fact commercializing our survival. In your world, if we can afford it, we are allowed to survive in peace.


Ahorita yo me pregunto lo que paso por aquí
Por estas tierras tan ricas cuál será su porvenir
De los hombres ya no hay duda, nuestra vida ya cambio
Nos hicimos tan modernos, que hasta el monte se seco
Ahora si somos modernos, nuestros tiempos han cambiado
Ahora hay grandes producciones de maíz, pina, y de ganado
Con las grandes maquinarias, todo se ha simplificado
Solo que muchos estamos peor que tiempos pasados
Hasta los


vinieron, a conquistar nuestra tierra
Ahora yo me voy pal’ norte, pa’ ver como siquiera te mandare cuando pueda
La plata para la casita, pero me la hace moderna pa’ que se vea mas bonita
Y que viva el desarrollo, pero que se ha sostenido
Y sobre todo señores, que sean muy bien compartidos
Si hablan de globalizar, pasemos del dicho al hecho

Globalicen el derecho, de vivir de trabajar
De tener comida y techo, de tener comida y techo

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

im off to mexico in 1.5 days.

going back to the mother land....

that's all I've really asked for this whole time.....I can't wait to feel alive again.

Monday, January 5, 2009

building a community from the bottom-up, difficult in the U.S.

& its hard to find others passionate as oneself.

y que si quiero hablar el spanglish?