| Joe Navarro, Literary Vato Loco |
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| Floricanto in Aromas, CA : August 2007 Photo by Lucía Aguilar-Navarro |
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| Chicano poet, Joe Navarro, is a Literary Vato Loco, creative writer, teacher and activist for social change from Hollister, CA. He has been a featured poet in various coffee houses, as well as colleges throughout the U.S. Joe has authored seven chapbooks of poetry. His most recent titles include: Ambidextrous: In Two Languages and Poems y Poemas (poetry for children).
Joe's writing is inspired by a desire to create meaningful works that echo the voices of oppressed people everywhere who aspire for human dignity and human rights. He was also inspired to become a writer by an eclectic vibe that includes the beat generation poets, along with Amiri Baraka, Alurista, The Last Poets and others. Please note that GeoCities is Scheduled to close this website on October 26, 2009. You will be able to find my poetry at: http://joenavarro.weebly.com http://www.originalpoetry.com/poet/PoetaJoe |
| Thank you for visiting my website. I hope you enjoy the poetry. Please forward the link to my website and check it frequently. Thank you. |
| The Magnificent Wall
I approached the Animated wall That moved Alive with passion While glorious colors Sang in harmony Before my enchanted eyes I saw who civilizations Rise and fall With heroes and heroines Replete in all their splendor And idealism gushed Like a wild stream My heart swirled In amazement and wonder As I followed The living images That gracefully Danced before My delighted eyes I followed hypnotically As I witnessed The magnificence Of massive towering pyramids Being mounted by Elegant feathered serpents I soared across The delicate blue sky With a giant eagle Moving swiftly Across the currents Of lofty ideals I followed The magnificent wall Which captured my Sub consciousness While omnipotent gods Graced my imagination My heart sank Into the depths of despair At the sight of a despot And then ascended At the sight of Proud revolutionary martyrs I continued on Through a tidy Agricultural valley Nearly crying At the sight Of my sweaty grandparents Stooping over the fields I continued the trek Across the splendid wall Which enticed me to ensue it Though urban centers And I found my mother Struggling to survive The wall drew me Further and further along And stunned me with its Extraordinary beauty Which glistened with a bright sun That warmed me And gave me hope I was seduced To my greatest pleasure Then shocked in horror As the mural abruptly ended In the middle of an idea And the artists were arrested For defacing sterile property © Copyright 1999 |
| Viejito in San Francisco
Hey viejito, why are you running after palomas ? You chase and they fly. A game that you play, but they play too. They taunt and tease you, as if to say, “hey viejito, come catch me.” You run faster and Faster, as if to pursue a wide circle. Las palomas pick at your ego until you give chase. They laugh, you laugh, and the game goes on and on… © Copyright 2000 |
| Outside His Whiteness
I told this guy that he should step outside his whiteness. And he did. But he felt odd at first. Everything began to look strangely different. Truths suddenly became lies. The rich got richer, the poor got poorer, there was no justice. Wow! He exclaimed. Everything is clearer now! He began shouting with excitement. Everything was blurred before! I couldn’t tell right from wrong. I felt no compassion for people who cried about oppression. Now my heart hurts for all people who suffer. Oh my god! he shouted. All of this clarity is making my head spin. It’s giving me a headache! I just realized that Black people were enslaved! And Indians were nearly annihilated! Mexicans were forced off their lands! Did you know that they made laws against Chinese? Japanese were locked up for Being Japanese! Wow! He shouted again. He then open-handedly grabbed his temples and squeezed his head tightly, as if it were preparing to explode. I stared at him, not knowing what to do. Then his eyes turned up into his head, showing only the whites of his eyes. Then he fell back into his whiteness. I asked if he was okay, to which he unfortunately responded, Oh yeah I’m back to normal again. © Copyright 2000 |
| If There Is Anything I Could Do Right
If there is anything in this world that I could do right, it would be being able to help preserve a small piece of humanity from poverty, genocide, famine and cultural extinction. It would be shedding off the rotten stench of the industrial and post industrial embrace of pimping our mother, la tierra and rejecting the neo-liberalist, pro-imperialist anti-indigenous laws of social darwinism. I would take a moment to shed my comprehensive addictions to technological conveniences that mutilate my human connection with the natural world and look at la tierra with the eyes of people who adore her with respect, praise and prayer. If there is anything in this world that I could do right, it would be embracing a humble practice, where I would self-sacrificingly endure hardships to preserve a tradition that has survived the endurance of time. I would decipher my convoluted dreams that are sung to me in time-honored voices accented with drumming of the heart-beats of my ancestors, reminding me that our purpose on this earth, our mother, is to preserve her, not destroy her. I would awaken as a relative to all living creatures. I would reach out to my sisters and brothers who persistently hold onto the future, by honoring ancient times, and resist all pressures to become extinct. In a simple act, for a precise moment in time, I would make a humble difference that would preserve a people’s way of life. © Copyright 2006 |
| Ever Wonder Why?
Ever wonder why A Palestinian named Jesus Looks like Robert Redford? Don’t ask why It might be a lie Ever wonder why An Aztec god Named Quetzalcoatl Was a Norseman? Don’t ask why It might be a lie Ever wonder why Joaquin Murieta A Mexican hero in California Was hunted as a bandit? Don’t ask why It might be a lie Ever wonder why You mamá Lived on welfare When there were jobs Don’t ask why It might be a lie Ever wonder why Your carnal Fit the description Of every criminal on TV? Don’t ask why It might be a lie Every wonder why Your hermana Is described as A spicy enchilada? Don’t ask why It might be a lie Ever wonder why You are treated As a foreigner On your land By the thief Who stole it? Don’t ask why It might be a lie Ever wonder why You wonder why Every single day? Don’t ask why It might be a lie © Copyright 1999 |
If you value freedom… thank a human rights activist |
| Millions of People Millions of people, You know, Human beings, You know, Children, Elderly, Mothers and fathers, People with names And faces, People with histories, People who have loved And have been loved, Yeah, millions of those People Live in poverty In Americ © Copyright 2004 |
| Abuelo (Grandfather)
I had a dream, during predawn hours, where the spirit of my abuelo had awakened my consciousness from its deep slumber. He told me something that I couldn’t understand. I listened and listened, but couldn’t make sense of his message. At times he spoke Spanish and sometimes spoke an ancient language. I tried to understand, but I couldn’t decipher the barrage of words. Scent of sage passed through his lips and each syllable of sound was accompanied by the heartbeat of a drum…deep, then shallow…deep, then shallow… deep, then shallow. Suddenly, as I inhaled the sage, my abuelo spoke to me in the voices of all my ancestors. He told me that they survived successions of assaults to ensure that generations will follow. They live through me, I learned…I keep their spirits alive as long as I preserve their memories in my dreams. My abuelo spoke again, with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Each pound released a syllable of ideas. He told me that I must enter the dreams of my grandchildren too. Then, my abuelo hugged me and faded into the air. --Joe Navarro ©Copyright 2008 |
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