QUARANTINE COVID 19
Much less than a lap
It has more strength
Than the poison of a toad
Although it looks Chinese
Put in royal crown
It is break and tear
From rubbing and scratching
Kyrie eleison is out
Of the third age are
Absent were from Glory
She arrives at the Residence or Geriatric
And to heaven it takes them fast.
The duration of the Flood
Ali Baba's thieves
What is sung in the tute
And much more on the Covid 19.
THE ROGUE CROW AND THE LIVING SKULLS
Smiling skulls, and not so smiling, I saw the rogue Crow, just like me, on the wall of the balcony of a terrace at the CAB Museum, making out Calle Fernán González, in Burgos, where masks came and went as undead, euphoric, singing and dancing the funny Death, not knowing how much is funny, except for that clerical gossip for slime idiots that announces this: "Death is the source of life and hope."
Halloween or Day of the Dead smells of rouge, paints, artificial blood, highlighting the colors red and black; and flowers, many flowers, with the smell of a cemetery.
Skulls and skeletons of all sizes, shapes and colors, remember their dead, without sadness or longing, because they are well where they are; but, knowing that, in the desert of this life; today with the plague of the Coronavirus, death is the way of peace. For this reason, in Spain, as in all the countries of the Globe, there are armies that boast in calling themselves: "Bride and Groom of Death."
Once sitting in front of the spiers of the Cathedral, and leaning on a table, I began to draw a postcard for my dream girl, pilgrim of the World with me, who offered me her friendship and, on the paths of Love, always gave me her delicacy without question.
Behind the wall, on the ground floor of the Museum, there is an orchard with a fig tree, which is a heavenly Easter fig tree, since it produces figs shaped like glans and nipples, a real delicacy.
I have finished the drawing. I have turned the postcard over, to put the address of my girl, who is doing an "Erasmus" in Hannover, Germany, where she has gone to learn German.
Right after the postcard was finished and left on the table, I got up to go to the wall and look at the fig tree again.
Being in this uncomfortable posture, the rogue crow, runing me over timet, went to the table and took the postcard, flying to the roof of a house opposite, without releasing the postcard from its beak.
I wanted to show it my bad mood, insulting it; but no I didn't. Since I read the Edgar Allan Poe’s "The Crow”, I have always admired this bird and more, since I was at the Segovia Council Seminary, always dressed in black cassocks, and where the Segovians called us "crows" or "rooks".
I let it go with my postcard; well, I couldn't do anything else, because I couldn't reach him; and to console myself, I thought that this rogue crow, by a miracle, would go to where my girl is, in Hannover, and drop the postcard at home.
-O good Crow, I shouted firmly while flying, that for my sake you give this postcard to my girl, that I don't want to do so many straws by myself. I appeal to your kindness.
COATED WITH THE GRACE OF LOVE
She and Me had celebrated Halloween
In a sexual act with our loved one
And, when finished, leaning out the window
Naked as we were
We saw passing one or another one
Disguised with a graveyard slab
“Adóro devóte, latens véritas
Te qui sub his formis veris látitas:
Tibi ser con meum totum súbicit
Quia te contémplans totum déficit.”
While me, at this iconic event
From the asses’ folklore
I started to brush her genitals
Ahead and behind
"Pange, lingua, gloriosi
Quem in mundi prétium
Fructus ventris generósi
Rex effúdit gentium ”.
-In your fresh meadows, I spill, my Love
-Your kisses are food
Your staff, my Love, she answered me.
-You, my love, you are the strength of my life
I answered her, runningto the bedroom
Where from a gift box
I took out a bud of red rose
In its midst, an orange glans
That she sucked on the hoop she was wearing
In the spike of his tongue.
Also, I gave her a rope puppy
That dragged a cart
Who carried a flowery penis and mushroom
Among blue daisies.
She joyfully grabbed me by the prick
And without thanking me
She told me:
-Like the wheat in the fields
Make from my flesh bread
As the vine branch
Blood of my immortal pussy.
-Yes my love, I answered
As a bird carrying its spur to its nest
As a son lost to his home
Let's Enjoy Love!
You give me the tartar and froth
From your big and small lips
I give you milk and bread.
The rope puppy
Who also sang, recited:
"To the Banquet of Hope
(Her name is Esperanza)
Love summons us
(My name is Love).
Like smiling skulls
With their naked bodies
Dancing, singing and with party Love
On the bedroom bed
Impregnate the bedroom
With that strong smell
To tiger and telltale
Coated with the grace of Love.
VIRUS CROWN, PAINFUL PLAGUE
Painful pneumonic plague
Corona Virus –Covid 19
You bring grief to a people suffering
Gag, low wages, evictions.
Chest pain that suffer
Patients of high-risk, chronic
And silent the sad sorrow of the hospital
Because they abandon us
Without saying goodbye.
The good doctor’ s drama
Not finding the damn bacteria
To combat the gross comedy of death
A farce of the living who must die.
Pain in men and women
Tiredness of arms and legs
Headache and brains
Based on so many recommendations
To the bitter stroke of the poor
Or the very poor unhappy.
The weeping of those who sign a Will
In mortuaries that add failures
When the light earth or the cross
Global poverty of many and so many
Witout antidote or vaccine on the hands.
Truncated into bordoise thistles
Or farting wolf.
We only have the hand of the doctors
Nurses and assistants
On this global altar of pain
Called Covid 19.
TRES EN RAYA CON CORONAVIRUS
TIC TAC TOE WITH CORONAVIRUS
MORPION AVEC CORONAVIRUS
UNO ONE UN
ŃVISUS VIRUSŃ (IROS VIRUS)
GO AWAY VIRUS Ń
VA-T’EN VIRUS Ń
DOS TWO DEUX
EL OLOR DE LOS PIES ESPANTA EL VIRUS
THE SMELL OF FEET SCARES THE VIRUS
L'ODEUR DES PIEDS MARQUE LE VIRUS
He: Removing the tartar from my feet,
the smell of bad cheese scares the virus away.
Le: Enlever le tartre de mes pieds,
l'odeur de mauvais fromage fait fuir le virus.
TRES THREE TROIS
ņCOMO VAS CORONAVIRUS?
HOW YOU’RE GOING CORONAVIRUS?
COMMENT āA VA CORONAVIRUS?
She: How are you Covid?
Elle: Comment vas-tu Covid?
Covid: Even if you have me in front,
you can never catch me.
In me you’ll see Virus’ reflections
that are fucking you.
Covid: Mźme si vous m'avez devant,
vous ne pourrez jamais me rattraper.
En moi, vous verrez des reflets du virus
qui vous baisent.
© Daniel de Culla
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: email@example.com