Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Fancy Book
By Samaris Ayala
Fancy Book
My first love did not destroy me
As a pupil I was a princess
For you see my parents were prolitariats
In the old world, a few opportunities
I adored my teachers
They taught me well
Yet they could not prepare me
My first love did not destroy me
In my libraries there was no
accomodation for Puerto Rican literature
I read classics and my scriptures
Life was simple
My first love did not destroy me
At the fancy school
They handed me a book
I was first in my family
To go to a fancy school
None before me
I became absorbed and I began to wander
These anthologies were foreign to me
My first love did not destroy me
I was raised as a strict Catholic
My siblings and I worked while
going to school
Yes we were poor
But Unlike, Down These Mean Streets
We did not argue over color
My family was color blind
The world of Piri Thomas was
Ghetto
He dictated and I became frightened
Impressionable as a a child
Not until later did I comprehend
That my barrio was not ghetto
We were a communtity
We were barrio, not ghetto
Why was there so much confusion
When Piri Introduced himself
As a voice of history
New York City-based Samaris Ayala contributes her poetry to the Puerto Rico Sun. She may be reached at sallypatches@yahoo.com.
By Samaris Ayala
Fancy Book
My first love did not destroy me
As a pupil I was a princess
For you see my parents were prolitariats
In the old world, a few opportunities
I adored my teachers
They taught me well
Yet they could not prepare me
My first love did not destroy me
In my libraries there was no
accomodation for Puerto Rican literature
I read classics and my scriptures
Life was simple
My first love did not destroy me
At the fancy school
They handed me a book
I was first in my family
To go to a fancy school
None before me
I became absorbed and I began to wander
These anthologies were foreign to me
My first love did not destroy me
I was raised as a strict Catholic
My siblings and I worked while
going to school
Yes we were poor
But Unlike, Down These Mean Streets
We did not argue over color
My family was color blind
The world of Piri Thomas was
Ghetto
He dictated and I became frightened
Impressionable as a a child
Not until later did I comprehend
That my barrio was not ghetto
We were a communtity
We were barrio, not ghetto
Why was there so much confusion
When Piri Introduced himself
As a voice of history
New York City-based Samaris Ayala contributes her poetry to the Puerto Rico Sun. She may be reached at sallypatches@yahoo.com.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Visitando a mami, Utuado, PR
DeLares says:
"I happen to be driving to Ponce and was "beside myself" that I couldn't stop fast enough to photograph these two lovely women as they walked on a mountain road under a huge red parasol.....they looked a bit tired (so I wanted to think:) and I backed up and offered them a ride. .........After a cool glass of fresh lemonade (on their lovely country porch) I took this mother and daughter photo. Doesn't mom have the sweetest "mami" smile? Her visiting daughter had just retired as a chicago bus driver....... Mom (96yo) has never left the island."
"I happen to be driving to Ponce and was "beside myself" that I couldn't stop fast enough to photograph these two lovely women as they walked on a mountain road under a huge red parasol.....they looked a bit tired (so I wanted to think:) and I backed up and offered them a ride. .........After a cool glass of fresh lemonade (on their lovely country porch) I took this mother and daughter photo. Doesn't mom have the sweetest "mami" smile? Her visiting daughter had just retired as a chicago bus driver....... Mom (96yo) has never left the island."
Friday, September 16, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Monday, September 12, 2005
Featured story:
Sentinel & Enterprise - Stores hit it big with diversityLatino products are lining up store aisles in Fitchburg.
Sentinel & Enterprise - Stores hit it big with diversityLatino products are lining up store aisles in Fitchburg.
The Coffee Bag
By Samaris Ayala
The Coffee Bag
Every morning she
Goes through the same
routine
With her little bag
To make coffee
She welcomes us
With every morning
It's a display
Of her innocence
Modern times of
Which she rebels
She is traditional
But her little coffee bag
Is our bell
Samaris contributes her poetry to Puerto Rico Sun. She may be reached at sallypatches@yahoo.com.
By Samaris Ayala
The Coffee Bag
Every morning she
Goes through the same
routine
With her little bag
To make coffee
She welcomes us
With every morning
It's a display
Of her innocence
Modern times of
Which she rebels
She is traditional
But her little coffee bag
Is our bell
Samaris contributes her poetry to Puerto Rico Sun. She may be reached at sallypatches@yahoo.com.
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