My mother spent 270 days.
270 Days letting her bones lift and organs shift.
To make room in the womb. For you and I.
The future generation, cause when you’re born
It’s appreciation para esa leche.
When your mother was carrying you, she wasn't
Thinking of the evil that men will do.
Don't cut off the hand that feeds you.
But we do.
When we oppress women on so many levels.
Our perception of them less than equal,
Call ‘em tricks
When we demand flicks.
Her dulce's hot like her cuisine,
When pots and pans begin to flip,
And from her sauce you want to dip, your tongue.
But we don't even appreciate this,
When worshiping this,
Dinner de arroz con abichuela negra
Con maduro o tostones
Y un bistec encabollao, should be easy.
But we’re like nah, you’re beneath me.
So shut up and feed me.
And while you’re at it
Could you put the kids to bed
So you could, please me...
Its not hard to detect that respect is lacking.
She should leave, but she won't, she wants to hold her
Family together, so she's like whatever,
Con su dulce, y con su leche.
She's always there to support and carry you,
When you’re sad in view,
But how quickly we forget.
When they pose a threat to leave us.
Suddenly, we’re like a six year old crying for
Wifey, like we use to cry for mommy.
When I say dulce,
I'm not talking sweet, sugar coated confectionery.
But what I'm really saying, when I say dulce...
Is that truly you are parallel to beauty
In ways we can't even comprehend.
And in the same confusion we can't even
Understand... Why we messed up on you again.
Dulce, is the allure to your physical asymmetry.
Its alright if your left,
Is bigger than your right boobi.
Its alright if hips and thighs
Are shoulder wide for curves
That even GPS systems couldn't track.
You see, tu dulce is found in simple things,
Like the way your lips move when you talk,
The way you move when you walk,
The elegance in your presence,
The formula to your persona that radiates this
Charismatic charm, somebody just, ring-the-alarm...
I could see another fine woman could be coming, oohoh,eeh...
But what about her leche?
The one that skips the 1% and goes
For the whole 8grams in the red cap.
now take that, as a lesson learned because you can't
Reduce or water her down. Her leche is pure...
Pure like Rosa Parks who refused to give up
Her seat and made a whole nation stand on their feet.
Pure like Celia Cruz who became the queen of salsa
Shouting "Azuuuca Mama!"
Pure like Harriet Tubman
Who led 300 slaves to freedom.
Pure like Ms. Cuningham my 5th grade teacher, who
Taught me to think outside of the Crayola box.
Pure like my mother, for raising two boys single...
With two jobs just tryna make singles... So she could put food on our
Table this, leche... Is what will nurture us.
And provide for us.
And the way I see it, this will always be a man's world...
But under a woman’s supervision.
“Dulce de Leche” is by Oveous Maximus. Copyright © 2004 by Oveous Maximus. Used by permission of author. All rights reserved.
We are the wind-guided children of the future
The wind-guided children of generations to come
Thy Kingdom come
thy will be done in
the brick of Timbales
We built this gran combo
And planted it in the soils of concrete jungles
y lo pie de mama y papa created the movement
Their salsa swing back the feet smack
Created the movement
for all of us to follow
Our drums were never hollow
It was just a hallway to the echoes of spirits
Feel this cuz this is us
La guida’s ringing
The ancestors are answering like
“pero tato hey forget about Menudo”
Because our dial tones existed in the screams of congas
That shouted our history in vain
Our people had been contained
In nine to five packages
So we found comfort in Goya cans
Cuz we can beat that can like a steel drum
And we can eat from that can a real song
Served in Buena Vista Social clubs that
Fed us cowbells for dinner
with a side dish of cantante vocal cords for flan
And if you thought you was vegan, not tonight
Tonight you are on the one
We are the guan guanco by the ton
So feel the weight pressing against your chest
Cuz this is us
From the depths of Taino Mountains.
Pushed to the north by the winds of
Conquistadores.
Fore-fathers would whisper courage like
“mi hijo no me llore porque”...
We must carry the knowledge
In the wombs of our culture
To give birth to the brighter (sun)
That could perhaps illuminate the children
Of our future.
We started singing songs of bravery using
The force from the same wind that oppressed us,
To re-enforce us.
This is us!
The children of corner store bodegas that
Sold us sweet dreams in “now or later”
Memories that got stuck in the back of our teeth.
Thoughts of colonial freedom within reach,
Hard to speak, so we reached for the wind in
The sky to guide us.
Landed us on twelve inches of wax
While the pupils become intact for teaching.
With the breath of tunes in-tune with the soul within
As we begin to release the sounds of the wind
With a sha ka kla kla kla kla kla!
This is us!
The wind-guided children who found
The fania all (stars) shining in the sky of
Spanish Harlem (nights) driven by the sounds
Of Miranda, el Conti, Pacheco, Barrero, y
Hector Lavoe, la voz que “te lavo” when minds
Were stuck in the dirt of poverty.
Tito’s (Puente) became the bridge between the
Gap from anarchy to sanity
The sound of mambo
Moving our riots feet from the street
To the dance floor
Wooden floors that kept our spirits grounded
It sounded like
This is us!
The children who rose from Taino ashes to spit
Verses that reverse the nervous system of politics
We spit for the god gift given “claves”
The secret language between god and us.
This is us!
That cuchifrito pico de gallo frying the ones lying
To us.
This is us!
The grand central station of Latinos
Speaking in frequencies of fm radio stations
Like “Damas y caballeros ustedes estan
Eschuchando la 97.9 donde la cultura se pega,
Nena nena!”
This is us!
The wind-guided children of eternity flowing from
The breezes of Guaguanco, future jazz,
Jazzing the path to the block en la esquina del
Espirito de Pedro Navaja
If you look for us
You can find us
Kissing your hearts
Like the skin
On a conga!
“Wind-Guided Children” is by Oveous Maximus. Copyright © 2006 by Oveous Maximus. Used by permission of author. All rights reserved.
OVEOUS MAXIMUS, born Ovil Raphael Lorenzo Hernandez Salcedo, is a native New Yorker whose roots go back to the Dominican Republic. He started writing and performing in the summer of 2003. The beginnings of his spoken word career came after his brother, Carlos “Ziiinc Blue” Salcedo, tragically ended his life. This hardship inspired Oveous to live the life he wanted his brother to live, sharing his brother's brilliance, by bringing his spirit to light.
Oveous has appeared on the UPN, ESPN2 and Current TV networks as well as being a featured performer on NBC’s “Showtime at the Apollo” and the 2007 HBO original series Russell Simmons Presents Def Poetry.
Oveous Maximus will star in the upcoming 2007-scheduled national release of “SP!T,” a documentary film which explores the entire world of spoken word, while focusing on four poets from Los Angeles and New York. This film has already received 9 official selections from national and international film festivals and won the Executive Director’s Choice Award at the Pan-African Film Festival.
In 2005, Oveous became a slam finalist and member of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. He was chosen the 2006 NYC louderARTS Poetry slam champion, and was part of the 2006 and 2007 louderARTS Poetry slam team that took the national finals stage by storm. Oveous has performed in countless venues across the US and Canada. He's also toured in European cities such as London, Paris, and Grenoble.
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