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Pic: Isabel G. de Diego: “The Poet & Writer de Culla in Candas Beach (Asturies). Spain


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

For example

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

And Mine’s

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

And that

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

Thebesiana replies.


C:\Users\Dani\Documents\Dos Asteroides.jpg

Pic: de Culla



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

Spiting sperms

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.


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Pic: Isabel G. de Diego



In Moradillo de Roa lands

On the banks of Burgos

Going down to Uncle Julio's almond trees

From the Rita winery

Almost dizzy

 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

And hurt?

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

Well occupied

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)



“Black Friday”

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

badly decomposed

And without boyfriend.




Isabelle’s Selfie


         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 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.



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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: gallotricolor@yahoo.com