This page is to celebrate and show my appreciation for latino poets.
Not all the poets are of Latino origin, although all the poems encapture the latino spirit.
If you would like to use any portion of this page, please contact the poet via email to avoid copywrite infringement.
All duplication of work on this page is prohibited by the webmaster (me), and the poet.
All rights reserved.


"I was born in Italy. I left Genoa when very young. My family was seafaring and I have an affinity to the Americas, I've done a lot of travel as my poems will tell, but I have found my niche in the Caribbean I am Latino by default and by destiny. Even though I might have a citizenship when you live around the world, what nationality do you become? I am as old as I feel which is young but I have a few years on my back. I am an Architect mainly and work mainly in the cultural and heritage field so I get very political about peoples' rights and the abuses they have and are suffering."

"Yes it is all copywrited somewhere depending
on where I was".
"I am working on a collection to be published. In bits and pieces alot has gotten published.
"I observe, I get touched, I get upset, I fall in love and I like to leave someone a bit of me. Inspiration is always around. It's getting the message on a sheet before it gets filed in netherland. That's the problem.
Writing Style:
"Writing and words come. Style? It is the rythym of those that are around me. I have experimented but free flow is more spontanwous. I write for common persons not academics."



Caribbean family they say

White man with dark baby

Cuddling loving him as his own

On a public sidewalk

Downtown by a known bar

Man white or so he seems

Baby black or so she seems

But what are colours made of?

Been through Bermuda

Been through Barbados

What colour was I

What colour were my friends

What colour were my brothers and sisters

What colour was their soul

They was people and people have no colour

They are because that?s what love and friendship makes them

Tell me please who the light skin lady is

Tell me please who the brown skinned lady is

Tell me please who the dark brown lady is

Tell me please who the black black skin lady is

Tell me please about you unconscious wish to be white

As if white or whiter makes you better

Tell me please about Africa and what black is black

Life started in Africa and how many shades of black exist

There is no grey

Black is a warm colour until it turns white

How many shades of white exist before they become that warm black that gave the world life.

Why must I that came out of North Africa be subjected to this internal racial strife

We have mixed and we will

You are vexing my past

My mother

My father

My grandfather

My grandmother

Were they raped as you think

How convenient

Or maybe then before all these arguments about colours, races, slaves, genuine love and frustrations

For things unsaid and unjust

Someone thought that what God started

It should move forward and that this

Dark white person can stand outside a known bar and

With Caribbean pride cradle the baby of a sweet friend from Christ Church.

I am not her father

But I am her father

I am not her lover

But I love her

But that is part of my family

And yes

I am so proud that the Caribbean family is my family.

Basseterre 2/26/00

Everyone is a poet


Many verses do we think of and we do not write

Lost emotions

Lost feelings

We never write them and how difficult to remember them

But who finds the time to write

That is your poet

They?re no better than you are

They to have words that somehow get lost before morning comes

Before a pencil and paper is found if the key words are not jotted on a handy napkin

On a greasy palm, hand or wrist.

So he that writes becomes a poet

Because you can read him and read him

But your thoughts were just as worthy as the ones written down

May they reflect your long lost verses

May they keep your soul composing

Because your thoughts are out there and when we are able

We pluck them from our Cosmo

For you to read

For me to be sad about.

A poet?s life is the sadness of the universe

A defect born of shyness

Continuing guerilla warfare

Trying to speak of love, respect and often

Impossible dreams of life

Goals never achieved that others might achieve

Of truth

Of loneliness

Of questions never answered

Of the woman you love but cannot live with.
(This poem was written in both Spanish and English and I hope everyone appreciates it in both languages.)
Era una niña
She was a girl

Negra negra y tan negrita
Black black but so beautiful black

Viviendo en tierra ajena.
Living in a foreign land

Hermosa en tu juventud
Beautiful in your youth

Preciosa en tu innocencia
Precious in your innocence

Enamorada de la vida
In love with life

Siempre defendiendo tu feminidad, tu verginidad.
Always defending your femininity, your virginity.

Transeunte come muchos, sin documentos como mas
A foreigner like many, with no papers like many

De lugares conocidos, de lugares desconocidos
From places known, from places unknown

Mejor olvidados
Better forgotten

Viviendo su compleja pobreza en lugares pobres pero mejores
Living you complex poverty in places poor but better

Sin familia en su sentido
Without a family in the meaning that my have

Era una niña
She was a girl

Negra negra tan negrita
Black black but so beautiful black

Viviendo en tierra ajena.
Living a foreign land

Y nosotros en la calle le fuimos padre, madre, hermano, hermana, tio, tia, abuelo, abuela
And us in the street we were her father, mother, brother, sister, uncle, ant, grandfather, grandmother

Pero nunca amantes por el amor que se tenia.
But never lovers for the love we had for you

Hay respecto en la calle en el barrio por la gente sincera.
There is respect in the street and in the slum for sincere people

Era una niña
She was a girl

Negra negra y tan negrita
Black black but so beautiful black

Viviendo en tierra ajena.
Living a foreign land

En el sol de la Sabana Grande descansaba siempre
In the sunshine of the Sabana Grande you always rested

Sonrisa a la mano, palabras buenas, optimismo Cristiano
A ready smile, good words, Christian optimism

Pidiendo nada y dando mucho.
Asking for nothing but giving so much

Era una niña
She was a girl

Negra negra y tan negrita
Black black but so beautiful black

Viviendo en tierra ajena.
Living a foreign land

Llego la venganza de Dios a punir los malhechos
God?s vengeance came to punish bad deeds

Y se la trayó innocentes y pecadores victimas
And took her away innocents and sinners victims

De los malhechos de nosotros.
Of all our past sins

Ya la sonrisa no se asienta
And now that smile no longer sits

En su lugar de La Sabana Grande.
In your bench in the Sabana Grande.

Era una niña
She was a girl

Negra negra tan negrita
Black black but so beautiful black

Viviendo en tierra ajena.
Living a foreign land

Estará con Dios y ojalá que no sufre más
You must be by God?s side now and for God?s sake may you suffer no more

Pero siempre vive en el alma de quien la conocí.
But you always live in the heart of those that knew you

Si no eras Venezolana
If you weren?t Venezuelan

Ahora lo eres
Now you are

Porque estas abajo de nuestra tierra
Cause you are now part of our earth

Y no te puedan rechazar.
And they can?t send you away

Nunca mas te pueden maltratar.
No more can they mistreat you

Basseterre 2/3/00 after service in memory of victims of the Venezuelan flood.
I shall never have any more news about this good person and with her of five more good friends.
CILLASTAR (This poem was inspired based on communication between Him and I.)

You do things with words you say
But I am not words.
Words are more than I
They are my dreams
They are what I am not.
In the anonymity
Of bits, bytes, servers
They are something to me
That I shall never be
But a lot to you
Capturing, defining
To rhythmic letters
Sound and feeling
What I wish for you
For you unknown searching.
To someone always special
Always beautiful.
It's these little things
That make loneliness
Creative and worthwhile
Always waiting for it now.

Linda Nieves-Powell

Ms. Powell is the CEO and president of the company, Latino Flavored Productions Inc. "(Ms. Nieves-Powell) not just a Latina writer/producer, she is a talented and fearless comedic writer with a gift for writing realistic and humorous dialogue, and a knack for selling Latino performance pieces to mainstream audiences. Born in Greenwich Village and raised on the Upper East Side of New York City, Linda is the product of Puerto Rican parents.
She has written various comedic stories and plays including a play, "Tina Does Perez" which won a place in the annual HOT Festival at Dixon Place and again won a production in 2000 at the ?Latina Playwrights Festival?. In the last 3 years she has written over 50 articles for several well-known print and on-line Latino publications including; Latina Magazine, Estylo Magazine, The Daily News Viva Magazine,, and Latino Impact Entertainment News. This monologue is her latest work and she is developing the project for Off-Broadway and has her sights set on bringing this entertaining and empoweringpiece of work to cable television.

"YES" 1997-2001.
"I have been published but my plays have not been."
"It was a frustration of not seeing enough positive images of Latinas on television."
Writing Style:
"I seriously do not know the answer to that...and I think I'd like to keep it that way because I don't want to pidgeon hole myself as a writer.



Then fire me! I don?t care. But let me remind you - I?m the only one you got that can speak English! Yeah, I thought so, I-own-one-five-and-dime-store-in-the-worst-section-of-Brooklyn-and-think-I?m-Donald-Trump.

How?s he gonna tell me I take too many breaks?

This is the year 2001 baby! Slave trade was over long time ago Mister Manager!

I ain?t no five and dime cashier anyway. Yo soy una actriz. A future Latina star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

I wanna see what you?re gonna do when you see me running with the big boys like DeNiro, y Pacino y Garcia.

I?m telling you as soon as I get that call?the call that will change my destiny, I?m gonna turn my back and I ain't ever coming back.

Keep your broken down roach motel tenements and drug infested ambitions! That?s what I?m gonna be yelling down to you fools when I?m on that 747 to L.A. L.A. I like that. Imagine me, Lisette Davila Rivera in L.A. La La Land, the land of dreams. The place that people play lotto with their lives. I?m gonna be bigger than Rosie Perez, Jennifer Lopez, Salma Hayek, Rita Moreno and Raquel Welch all put together. I?m gonna be so big that little white kids are gonna wanna be just like me, instead of me having to be like them.

They?re gonna want to know how to dance salsa y merengue. They?re gonna want to eat rice and beans, con chuletas y aguacate. They?re gonna want to watch Sabodo Gigante for 24 hours like any other bored Latino does on a Saturday night.

I?m gonna turn the whole world on to being Latino!

It?s our turn now. Our turn to show the world that we?re not just little boat people trying to hitch a ride. We got power in our numbers. By the year 2050 Latinos are gonna rule the world! Well, maybe not rule, but we will be occupying a hell of a lot of space.

You?re gonna be able to pick up a phone book in Wichita, Kansas and find a million Juan Rodriguezes. You?re gonna find Mexicans, Dominicans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, South Americans on every inch of this planet. We?re gonna be everywhere! They?re gonna have to make us the primetime television lawyers and doctors on those stupid sitcoms - instead of the spanglish speaking maintenance man.

I want to see my face on the TV set for a change. I want to see my olive skin gracing the covers of Vogue and Elle Magazine. I want to see my arroz con pollo thighs inside the Sports Illustrated SwimSuit issue. Not some skinny little waif with bones sticking out of her back that calls herself a supermodel. Let Kate Moss walk through Orchard Beach in the middle of July without getting laughed at.

Bendito nena, put some clothes on, you look like a human wishbone!

What?s a body without thighs, without a little bit of sofrito! Ah? Yo soy Latina and proud of it baby! Nobody?s gonna make me feel like an ugly duckling because I?m not anorexic or bulimic, or choose to be. This is my body, my face, take it or leave it.

That?s what I?m gonna say to the Steven Spielberg and I bet you he?ll hire me like that. Why? Because I?m not gonna be afraid to be me. That?s right! I?m gonna give my people what they?ve been wanting for a long time. A chance to see themselves. A chance to feel good about themselves. A chance to free themselves from Brady Bunch reruns. That?s right. I watched that show for years thinking I had the worst parents on the planet. I never saw Mrs. Brady take a chanqletta to Marsha?s head.

I asked mommy why she didn?t act like Mrs. Brady and you know what she said? She said, ?If you don?t like the way I do shit around here, then vayase, go, and take your father with you!?

So for years after that, I fantasized about being a white child in the Brady Bunch house. I pictured Papi coming home from work and hugging me, sitting me on his lap and telling me how much he loved me. And how proud he was of me just being his daughter. And no matter what I decided to be when I grew up, he would love me regardless.

And then bam! Reality hits you square in the face. Because the truth of the matter is there is no Brady Bunch existence for Latinos. 25 million strong and we?re still playing the extra in the drug free America public service announcements instead of the principals in an Ivory Snow commercial.

I don?t wanna be what they want me to be. I?m a square peg and proud of it. And like they say, you can?t fit a square peg in a round hole. And I know too many squares perpetrating round holes these days. Little do they know that when you force yourself somewhere you don?t fit, you get stuck. Wedged for life. Can?t go forward. Can?t go backward. Thinking round is the only way out. If they only knew that one day it?s gonna be hip to be square. That?s right. And I?ll be right there.

As soon as I get my shit together and get outta this stinking ass job. I?m gonna be on my way to super celebrity stardom. And leave everybody behind. Everybody. Even Miguel Quinones, the dreamer that?s been sleeping in my bed for the last two years.

The man whose mother nicknamed him Negrito after she realized her affair wasn?t a secret any longer. The man whose five light-skinned, green-eyed half-brothers made him hate himself and his existence. A man who hides behind dreams, thinking that he?s got to prove to people that there is worth under that brown-colored wrapping. The future color of America. A Latino lost in that white picket fence dream that America obsesses over generation after generation.

Toxic energy is what he?s giving me.

I say to him ?Miguel the only way you?re gonna be happy is when you find yourself?. But he keeps hearing his mother?s voice. That wicked voice that told him that he was ugly because he didn?t have straight hair and thin lips. Well, she never really said it like that but he could feel it. He could feel her neglect and shame when people use to stare at him. Miguel will always wish he was born to another color, another race. He will never be happy with the gifts that God has chosen for him.

?Miguel, who cares about white picket fences and yards full of roses and a in-ground pools that drown away the pureness of our roots. Get those things only if you want them!?

But Miguel wants them so that he can show them to the world. Show the world that he is worthy. Worthy of occupying the same space? Worthy of breathing the same air?

Kiss my ass!

Nobody is gonna make me do anything! I will buy my house in the suburbs because I want to buy my house in the suburbs, not because I want to impress you with my house in the suburbs. I have the power to be me, not you. I will always be a proud Latina, so that my future son or daughter can grow up confident, self-assured and proud.

So that they can carry on my love for this beautiful culture of ours. This wonderful array of gifts that have been passed down from our ancestors. A language filled with sazon-colored words, exotic foods that feed the hunger of the heart and music?oh that music?music that makes you standup and yell,


Custom made gifts that some of us throw away for the sake of becoming accepted into a culture much colder, much less passionate than ours. A culture that looks at our gifts with a sigh of disgust for fear it will bring down the value of their communities.

Don?t move into our neighborhoods! We don?t want you here, unless of course you look like us; you act like us; you become us. Forget your past. Join our club. It?s free membership! All you gotta do is drain your blood so there are no traces of history left. Forget where you come from! This is your home now! What more can you ask for?

Well, Lisette Davila Rivera just wants to feel like she?s home. That?s what I want. So that I don?t have to worry about what you will think of me if I?m sitting in my backyard listening to the conga?s and timbales on the radio while Willie Colon y Tito Nieves y Marc Anthony make love to me with their voices. I don?t want to have to hide my multicolored family from your homeowner?s association. Tio Hector y Tia Juanita can?t help the African, Indian and European blood that run through their veins.

And neither can I. Let me be who I need to be -- a proud Latina. Will you let me do that?

The End