Pic: Isabel G. de Diego: “The Poet & Writer de Culla in Candas Beach (Asturies). Spain
ON THE HIGH SEAS
Here I am as a mythological talent
Of flesh and blood
Presiding and protecting the banks
Of Candas Beach, in Asturies
With a higher order more than Neptune
On an imagined bricklayer level
To make sure the horizontality
Of lines or surfaces
To appreciate its angle of inclination
And to direct visuals
In horizontal direction
Or with the angle of inclination
That is wanted.
There is not much of a crowd of bathers.
I look at Diana, Venus
And above all
At a beautiful young woman
Who is lying on the sand
In the intermediate stage
In the metamorphosis of insects
Showing ittle hairs
From the small lips of the vulva
Outside the crotch piece
Of the swimsuit or bikini
As does the mussel.
I like this more
Than to recite poems from my harvest
In the House of Culture of Candás
Because, poets and poetesses
That participate with me
Are excessively meticulous
And delicate with the Verb.
Embedded in the divinity
From the Cantabrian Sea
And being part of it
I don't see barnacles on the rocks
Something light and little thought
Looks like a child
Or calf found
In the belly of a dead cow.
Now, I’m looking at a woman
That looks like the Anfion‘s woman
That whipping his son
For having made gangs of thieves
Getting out the swimsuit
To the daughter of her friend from Madrid
With every whip on the boy's buttocks
She warns her friend:
-Thebasiana, do you know, do you see:
“To the boy and to the mule
In the ass”.
-It's the best medicine, Níspola
Pic: de Culla
TWO STORMED ASTEROIDS
Robin Hood was making a monumental straw
In a clearly favorable sexual posture
In a place in his legendary Sherwood Forest
In Nottinghamshire, England
In which woodcut is made
Trying to get his prick really erect
Or iron rod where the Roman pylon runs
In the open slit that had the trunk, at his height
Of the famous and old Major Oak
Over eight hundred years old
When, suddenly, in his ejaculation, before putting it
Among the constellation of his sperm
That he related with the sternum
As a soldier of the Roman militia
That fought with a pole or spear
And went to the opposite sternum
Two racing cars or tormented asteroids
Fell in the center of the clear forest
Round star or buttock figure
That, for him, they were only two
Of the seven main stars of the Pleiades or Cabrillas
Or the twinned asses of Castor and Pollux
From the vulgar constellation of Gemini
Or two round kettledrums of dirty trick.
From his ejaculating post
Or important masturbating dignity
Prick chippet itself when it broke
Forcibly and rude
Near the mouth or astral slit of the Major Oak
Holding, forcing, constraining
His legendary cock
As the primitive Asturians did
Of Tarragona, Spain
Or that king of Persia from Holy Scripture
That was Daríus
Hytaspes or Artaxerxes Longamanus ‘son.
For the excellence of his masturbation
Robin Hood rose to the sky
Splitting with his prick
The celestial vault in twelve equal parts
By means of meridians
Knowing in the ecstasy of his self-esteem
The Physical Geography of the Earth:
The Ocean, the Gulf, the Bay
The Inlet, the Anchorage, the Strait
The Creek, the Roads. Port and Outer Harbour
The Breakwater, Dock, Lighthouse and Watch
Etcetera etcetera; and from Heaven:
The Clouds: Cirrus, Stratum, Nimbus. Cumulus
The Fog, Rain, Snow
The Snowdrift, Aurora Borealis, Rainbow
Lightning, False Suns, Halos
Shooting Stars, Zodiacal Light, Fatty Fires
And, above all, Mirages
What he said shaking his prick
About Sherwood's oak green:
-I fell from my Donkey.
Everything has been a mirage.
Pic: Isabel G. de Diego
A GREEN MONKEY
In Moradillo de Roa lands
On the banks of Burgos
Going down to Uncle Julio's almond trees
From the Rita winery
I saw a green monkey
On top of a branch.
-How handsome he is! I told myself
-Little monkey, monkey
Where did you come from?
Look that you have courage.
What are you doing there
Uploaded on that branch?
Don't you know you can fall
The monkey answered me:
--No, I'm not going to hurt myself
Because I have seven lives like cats.
There is a very pretty girl
That comes to see me
Three times in the week
But as you do not come
To Rita's cellar
When she comes
Because Moradillo don't like you
I can't invite her
And I spend the day
Like an anchoret
Trying to crack
Some almond tree with the tail.
- Oh, idiot, how cute!
As you find favor with me
And now people are at festivity
I will take you with me
To the Rita’s pergola
And for some roasted black puddings
And some salami to the wine
That I’m going to give you
You have to delight us
With some of your funny things.
-That's done. But wait
My dear Daniel
That over there is coming
That little girl
And I want to see her happy
Making to her lovely things.
(From The Corvus Review)
is a beautiful thief
that on the bus or subway
that carries me
from work to home
kisses me and hugs
and, without me noticing
he opens my bag
and steals my wallet
taking my money
and all the documents
for later, escape fleeing
leaving me alone
And without boyfriend.
ME AS GODDESS OF HALLOWEEN
This night 31 October, me, my boy friend, and friends had a vivid dream of a splendid night as deep as eternity itself and our bodies were the spectacular dance of pumpkins and universes. Tattoos of pure energy formed our flowing hair, and wine and scones dissolved when I spoke in a warm and gentle voice:
“I have come to tell You that We are free”.
-Isabelle (Isabel G. de Diego) is a Poetess and Photographer.
YES, SHE’S A GODDESS
Yes, she is a Goddess of Halloween
Like a signal spiriting away the great night
That laughs with pumpkins of light.
Not ever our disturbances are special
But shared in the moral
As well as the literary sense
Of that tattoo sanctified
In the perpetual weaving and reawing
Or our skeletons.
Live declares itself in Death
Waylaying the voices as they came
Throug one by one
Seeing signs in their heads and driving
Themselves toward being.
The another side of Moon laughs
And dances knowing that this girl
Is Goddess while all of us
Are trying to do protecting our thoughts
From interruption of our own time
Sounding like Halloween
Living trough it too expensive
Crossing the streets
Demanding entrance in our lives.
Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet and photographer. He is a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, and other groups. He is director of the Gallo Tricolor Review and the Robespierre Review. He has participated in many festivals of poetry and of theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Geneva. He has exhibited in many galleries including Madrid, Burgos, London and Amsterdam. He moves between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos; e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org