Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Poems By Juan Manuel Perez

Juan Manuel PĂ©rez, born and raised around the onion fields of La Pryor, Texas, is the author of many full poetry collections, poetry chapbooks, and poetry workshop workbooks. The award-wining poet is also the 2011-2012 Poet Laureate for the San Antonio Poets Association, El Chupacabra Poet Laureate (for lifetime), the 2005 People’s Comic Book Newsletter Award Winner For Best Comic Book Poetry, and the 31st Annual Southwest Texas Junior College Creative Arts Contest Over-All Literary Award Winner (Poetry & Prose) in 2012. Juan is a ten-year Navy Corpsman/Marine Medic with combat experience in the First Gulf War (1990-1991: Desert Storm with the 2nd Marine Division/2nd FFSG) and part of the Special Purpose Marine Air Ground Task Force, United States Marine Corps Relief After Hurricane Andrew during the 1992 Hurricane Andrew Relief Operation in Homestead, Florida. Currently, the author worships his Creator, teaches history, writes poetry, and chases chupacabras by the Texas Gulf Coast in Corpus Christi, Texas.

The Angry Supply Office

Work was hell today as everything went
Straight down to darkness in a hand basket
Let see, I yelled at Malinda because
She likes to take her sweet cherry pie time
I think she gets off on being slow as hell
Pulling supplies we needed …yesterday
And where the hell is “they” when you need them
Not looking down Joe’s crack or those skin marks
Orbiting his hole like dying planets
Nor at Old Fae who thinks she’s still nineteen
I do the very best I can with all
The challenging people that they give me

Then I start to remember where I’m at
Behind a four-walled room all by myself

Alternative Facts

Speaking to my religious mother when I was ten
I told her I wasn’t smoking those damned cigarettes
That what I smelt like, was only “contact smoke”
As she threaten my life with Hell and a two-by-four

Speaking to a pretty woman after she slapped me
I called her a bitch after she said she was married
That I did not enjoy screwing her brains out at all
That I would tell everyone she was a sloppy whore

Speaking to a trembling man pointing a gun at me
Demanding, pleading for me to spill the “real truth”
I told him I didn’t screw his ugly-assed, old wife
That at nineteen, I wasn’t interested in thirty year olds

Truth was whatever I choose to say for that moment
Truth were the facts leading to preservation of self

Tall Blonde

The pretty tall blonde
By the pretty tall palm
Spins a great mighty yarn
To her folks on the farm

Something about big brown boys
That wanna play with her toys
But she’s feeling kinda coy
And just plain annoyed

So she drinks a few down
Gets rid of her frown
Into a pretty gown
To the talk of the town

Now this pretty tall blonde only wants to have it brown
But the real sad truth is she scared them out of town

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