Homage To The Poets


There once was a poet from France
who cut off his ear for romance.

There once was a poet from Spain
whose fortune it was to be slain.

There once was a poet from Rome
who made heaven and hell his home.

There once was a poet from Greece
whose heroine had beautiful knees.

There once was a poet from Moscow
whose ten thousand fans went WOW!

There once was a poet from Peru
who starved to death dans la rue.

There once was a poet from Sicily
whose name was lost to antiquity.

The Wild Man

There are desires
against the moon

which afflict me
when I touch you

they call me by my name
confuse dagger with sword

demand waterfall from my agony
street can not ache at my wrist

trees can not love
my coarse shadow

losing you each night
I must dig you out of the stars

stand you straight up still wet
kiss you like a wild man

my hair and your hair singing
the same sweet song

by RC

......................................

The Wild Man with Gentle Eyes

I looked backward in time
When I saw your eyes,

I knew I’d lost those obsidian stones.
Their gentle glow was my own,

Either that or I had been your mother,
Your lover, your own reflection.

I know I was lost myself.
Was I an empty gourd, a rattler,

A tumbleweed, a girl without a father?
I stood still, tilting my head,

A blind woman deciphering
The silence of your wild thoughts.

For years I wrung you out of the dark
To embrace your coarse shadow.

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales


Poem 3

A kiss in a college parking lot
And youth set us on an uncharted course.

The stars were unblinking
The sun, merciless.

I thought I knew the way;
You knew better.

Years later we are adrift, rudderless,
Far from the solid ground of a college parking lot

Empty handed we could try to man the sails again,
But in the silence of our weak effort

We hear only regret and the tireless waves
In their ceaseless lapping.

The Wasp

I am a wasp
against your savory flesh

my antennae
dig in

my wings flutter
in place

the hair on my legs
becomes a riot

the blood rushes
along words

hell-bent
the passion of your eyes

boiling from its cup
onto your thighs

I curl violently into you
and just as suddenly fly off

by RC

.......................................

You Tell Me You’re a Wasp

Before I knew it, you were gone
Before that, I was caught up
In the single-mindedness of an insect,

Survival, survival pulsating
In a simple world stripped of all hypocrisy.
Only after you were gone,

Did I stumble wisely on my way.
Only after you were gone,
Did I feel the sting of your venom.

Today my tears are cold, they catch the light
Like prisms and flick it right back.

A Response by Rebecca Gonzales

The Lovers

you remove your bra
dark clouds and lightning

circle your waist
the winds hurry along your lips

the thighs of your smile
appear from storm clouds

I relish the rain
and the precious hail

your shoulders
a gem stone against me

your belly
now pious

my desire
retreats onto love

new sky peeled
from orange to blue

Me Against Texas

the angry Texas dust
just outside my door

admonishes me
berates me

eyes as big as the sun
claws of steel

razor sharp feathers
bare teeth

down to a snarl
we’ve knocked heads before

always with the same
death-defying result

bruised and battered words
everywhere

blood mixed with blood
blood-brothers

agreeing
to dis-agree

A Mother’s Vision

I am nobody,
who are you?

Emily must have been chicana
because

that’s the way
I was made to feel

growing up brown
in the Texas Fifties

dirt road
propped up by dirt

the Anglo bus
took me to school

to learn a foreign language
I asked my mother

why do I have
to learn this evil tongue

she told me
be patient son

one day you will use
that evil language

to get even
to fight fire with fire

an eye for an eye
you will show them

what they can not see
you will make them hear

what their deafness
has kept them from hearing

Reflections Of A Purple Stone

the desert searches for a wet spot
against a purple stone

a corner of the sun
has drawn blood

pebbles swallow the wind
to prolong your smile

I had run out of gas
but the revolution was at hand

mad windshield wipers
flicked cockroaches

the taco place
would not repent

the ax you wore
for a skirt

was driving me
insane

harvest moon shining
like demon Anglo faces in the night

I threw my jacket
into the darkness

until the sun’s two chocolate feet
rescued me

and my Mayan words
round as coins

Elegy For Andres

The fat boy Andres has died
too heavy to be an Aztec angel

the cabron would drop out the sky like lead
and if he landed on you

well, bro, you’d be dead
or badly brain-damaged like me

son of a bitch knew
he would not outlive Omar

so he poured out his heart
in poem after poem

too sane to be a crazy gypsy
too crazy for this world gone mad

Hope to be back Feb.15
(Organic technical difficulties)

Two Poems By Kiki Dimoula




EASTER IN THE OVEN

The goat kept on bleating hoarsely.
I angrily opened the oven what’s all the noise I asked
the guests can hear you.
Your oven’s not hot, it bleated
do something otherwise your cruelty
will go hungry and at festive time too.

I put my hand inside. It was true.
The head the legs the neck
the grass the pasture the crags
the slaughter all cold.


THIEVES IN MIND

Crying she describes
how burglars wrecked the house
the wretches took her jewellery and raped
old women values.

Isn’t she happy?

It’s been years since any thief
set foot in my house
even for coffee.
I deliberately leave the pot unlocked.

On returning each time I pray
to find the door’s canines broken

the lights shaking as if just having knocked
against a tall earthquake’s head

to see the burial gifts stolen
from the mirror’s mummy kingdoms

as if someone had shaved in the bathroom
and whiskers had sprouted on my beardless touch
their refutation bound hand and foot on the floor

and, coming at its leisure from the kitchen, steam
from warm footprints with lots of cinnamon on top.

Two Poems By The Colombian Poet
Eva Durán

Aunque No Me Ames

Aunque no me ames
y no desees en tu boca
mis pequeños senos
muy suavemente... amanece

Even If You Don’t Love Me

Even if you don’t love me
And don’t desire my small breasts
In your mouth
Very softly... dawn comes.



No Importa Cuantas Veces


no importa cuántas veces
hayas perdido la inocencia
siempre vendrá a ti un hombre
que invoque la magia
y la recupere para ti

luego
por la maravilla de la inercia
te deshojara pétalo a pétalo
dejándote desnuda
liviana

lista para la próxima vez
para el próximo milagro


It Doesn’t Matter How Many Times

It doesn’t matter how many times
You have lost your innocence
A man will always come to you
Invoking magic
And regaining it for you

Then
Through the wonder of inertia
He will pluck your petals one by one
Leaving you naked
Light

Ready for the next time
For the next miracle.

from poetryinternationalweb.org

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales

A Yellow Dress

I forget my own dreams
When I’m defined by your desire
A woman, gentle as a willow,
Dark skin made darker in a billowing yellow dress.
You would have me seated beside you,
Ankles crossed in a tender pose,
Or swishing by in white high heel shoes,
Glancing over my shoulder at you,
The air misted with the scent of gardenias.

In your fantasy I’ll stay, shutting out what beckons at our door.
I’ll gather the folds of yellow dress around me
And listen for a script to unfold.
In your fantasy I’ll stay if you swear to me
That yellow is never the color of aging gardenias or jaundice or disease.
Warn me that the gravel road outside our door
Doesn’t fare well for a hitchhiker in a yellow dress and high heel shoes;
Keep me from uncovering that time and desperate effort
Swirl in the alchemy that renders the dreams of the poor into nightmares.

Like Two Ships In The Night

first time we met
we kissed on that college parking lot

it was love at first sight
and then we parted

lost each other
found each other

denied each other
dreamt those separate but equal dreams

where like two ships in the night
we collide over and over again

the sea of love
churning and foaming

and gathering strength
against our hulls

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales


You and I

In January only a sparrow has faith.
Comfort is a meager memory;

A warming love, a fantasy.
For these days of waiting

I’ve stored your love.
Your whispered words are what I want, need.

They clothe my nakedness,
Draw me to your chest.

We both know what we want.
Destiny will provide what we need.

A Poem By Harold Norse

We Bumped off Your Friend the Poet

We bumped off your friend the poet
with the big fat head this morning

We left him in a ditch

I fired 2 bullets into his ass
for being queer

I was one of the people
who went to get Lorca
and that’s what I said to Rosales

My name is Ruiz Alonzo
ex-typographer
Right-wing deputy
alive and kicking
Falangist to the end

Nobody bothers me
I got protection
The Guardia Civil are my friends

Because he was a poet
was he better than anyone else?

He was a goddamn fag
and we were sick and tired
of fags in Granada

The black assassination squads
kept busy
liquidating professors
doctors lawyers students
like the good old days of the Inquisition!

General Queipo de Llano
had a favorite phrase
“Give him coffee, give him plenty of coffee!”

So we took him out in the hills and shot him
I’d like to know what’s wrong with that
He was queer with Leftist leanings

Didn’t he say
I don’t believe in political frontiers?

Didn’t he say
The capture of Granada in 1492
by Ferdinand and Isabella
was a disastrous event?

Didn’t he call Granada a wasteland
peopled by the worst bourgeoisie in Spain?

a queer Communist poet?

General Franco owes me a medal
for putting 2 bullets up his ass

A Poem By Kathi Georges

The Real Me

The only time I want your tongue
in my mouth
is about an hour after I’ve eaten.
Yeah, right when the bacteria
starts to form
and take their real
gut-killing position.

The only time I want your tongue
in my cunt
is when it’s bloody.
Yeah, so you can really
taste what’s
inside a girl.

You see, baby, I want you to
taste the real me.

I want you to see that
I’m full of bacteria
that can eat you alive.

I want you to see that
I’m full of blood that
drips drips drips
four days a month.

I want to give you
my life.

What do you want to give me?