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DRACULA AND THE WIDOW

They tell a story, which is a joke:

That during a boat trip

At the Retiro’ pond, in Madrid

A widow gave Dracula

Who was the ferryman

a black pudding

Who put it in his chest.

And, when he removed it from

From his pectorals, spit

And offered it to the widow

Other boats arrived with many people

And she had no choice

Than to put it in her breast

Hearing Dracula saying:

-Morenite of my eyes

You burn me, you burn me hot.

He said it for the widow, it's clear!

For whom he had a liking

Responding to the woman:

-It's good in good faith.

Dracula, like a shy vampire

Started to fly

And the widow shouted:

-Dracula, behind that grave

There is the one who was my husband

Go with him and put your saddlebag

On him

So he doesn't go cold.

 

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                                                                      (Grafitti en Burgos)

FIGHT, FIGHT, BETWEEN INSECTS

By legitimacy of their grandparents

Dogs, cats, animals

Humanoids and aliens

The victorious ones

The others murdered and killed

Show yourself, they want to be

Brave and ambitious

To get the baton of command

These parasitic insects, fleas

Infectious mites, ticks

Flying insects, cushion flies

Humanoids and extraterrestrials, kaffirs

Of those who cared so much

Those judges of the Inquisition

Worshipers of death

And the sacred shit.

They all want to bite us

Snoring

And get into our blood

Their hodgepodge of poisons

With which they make us lose our reason

So we scratch our bodies

Leaving our parts raw

Committing the eternal barbarism

Go, catch him and cap him

And, in the worst or best case

Shoot him

What is the legitimacy and manner

With what is achieved

By the governments

How the story that has been

In fratricidal struggle always

So on Earth

As in the sky.

 

FIVE HAIKUS

 

My Lady hellish

The Sun has its tide in Bloom

As Me without doors

 

Rain is coming now

When I am gone and You also

I empty myself

 

Spring is here

You should visit this place

Exhausted hard land

 

Mantra the traffic

Into a circle of Death

Driving a quiet car

 

Nothing but to be born

Hear the light of Vulva

Birth and be content

 

© Daniel de Culla

 

 

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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