What say you become the subject of my poems
and in detail of my mind hear its uncensored messages

There is no truer words than what you'll find here my Dulcinea
No door, no window, no passage of old
more accurate and real than these words on paper

Blankly I write for you
Letting my pen dance to the vibration of your universe
tapping with alien music that I failed to escape from
I know the consequence
I know the debts
Powerfully you have captured me
as if by attraction you forced the universe
to cast your spell
leaving me drunk with you in my thoughts
with places once fine on my own
now seeking the companionship you provide

My Dulcinea
If you would allow me to write for you
let these silent words of mine be known to you
let those same words enter you from the heart
before all places blessing me with your embrace

I will make the world envy you
provide you the romance women
from all works of life sought

Dance with you under the finite light of the stars above
singing the ballad of my soul
that it may cease to torment me in silence

We could build a castle in our dreams
On a peaceful beachside
No cyclones can blow it away
Dress up like a queen of my heart
You deserve the diamond tiara
We could walk ashore bare foot
Holding hands watching the sun set
Like a gold coin dipping in water
Hear the breeze singing memories
I would carry you in my arms
Back to our palace, lay you on the bed

For Alonso, the day was sinking into dusk
But for Dulcinea, her knight was rising.
Long his lance’s shadow stretched
And thus his stories, picaresque.

He flaunts his tale of espionage,
Purring silent and clandestine
“there I sprung from camouflage
and smote these vile leviathans!”

“Oh, please don’t stop,” the gypsy cries
draining doubt from starlit eyes
From behind her fan of elegant slips
She retracts the rivets to her lips.

Alonso mounts the moment of his concupiscence
to rescue the fair Dulcinea from her diffidence.
But the windmills turn for our quixotic man
Whose delusions are rescued by a chaste heroine.

Years later a man was overheard in Cordoba…
el estaba hablando con unas senoras
“Oye musas, puedo decirte,
he visto algunas cosas.”

“…mi vida se salvo una noche estrellada
por una mujer de gran belleza
que volvio a las tablas de la fortuna
aqui, en mi reino de Iberica…”

Quijote and Dulcinea
of fairy love dreams,
concealed brave heart,
unrevealed raving beauty,

I stare at my shadow
and I see you,
me, Dulcinea,
me, Quijote,

and I blame the ingenious
of this shadow play
for in the truthful sun light
we are naked and alone.

I think about it, *******,
And it leads me to this place.
Teeth all clenched and aching now,
From shouting in your face.

I told you, I ******* hate poetry.

But you poets listen, and then you don't.
You can't, you never will,
Touch me with your sentiments,
Dropped at my windowsill.

******* your muse,  her wells of eyes,
Just **** the ***** and be done.
Stiffen readers with the tale,
But don't count me as one.

Your Dulcinea's sweet and, well,
(She's better than the last…)
You're dying for a future now,
Not living in the past.

For sweet Art's sake, a nest of lies,
The poverty of self,
puts You up high and lost, in shadow,
and Pining, on the shelf.

So speak your mind now, if you must,
Aloud, to no avail.
Your nature blind of clever words,
Is always bound to fail.

idealistic,I smile to be deluded
by realism as the windmill slaps my ***
again, romantic chivalry my duty
saving damsels righting wrongs

In La Mancha in the archives my story
resides , and i have not been sleeping much,
reading causing my brain to dry , as a result
excuse my being quick to anger,

whenever I feel Dulcinea is in danger.

and, it has been many an innkeeper
who has knighted me
and many a beating I have taken
left in the gutter

as the priest decides which of my
books to burn in an effort to dull
my ardor, ferocious giants loom
disparaging my squire

calling him unintelligent
and greedy, to them I shall draw
my sword, to the death

To my squire's defense, I ride!!
Sancho will be governor, and my

Dulcinea is crying.

La Mancha y sus mujeres... Argamasilla, Infantes
Esquivias, Valdepeñas, La novia de Cervantes,
y del manchego heroico, el ama y la sobrina
(el patio, la alacena, la cueva y la cocina,
la rueca y la costura, la cuna y la pitanza),
la esposa de don Diego y la mujer de Panza,
la hija del ventero, y tantas como están
bajo la tierra, y tantas que son y que serán
encanto de manchegos y madres de españoles
por tierras de lagares, molinos y arreboles.   Es la mujer manchega garrida y bien plantada,
muy sobre sí doncella, perfecta de casada.   El sol de la caliente llanura vinariega
quemó su piel, mas guarda frescura de bodega
su corazón. Devota, sabe rezar con fe
para que Dios nos libre de cuanto no se ve.
Su obra es la casa -menos celada que en Sevilla,
más gineceo y menos castillo que en Castilla-.
Y es del hogar manchego la musa ordenadora;
alinea los vasares, los lienzos alcanfora;
las cuentas de la plaza anota en su diario,
cuenta garbanzos, cuenta las cuentas del rosario.   ¿Hay más?  Por estos campos hubo un amor de fuego,
dos ojos abrasaron un corazón manchego.   ¿No tuvo en esta Mancha su cuna Dulcinea?
¿No es el Toboso patria de la mujer idea
del corazón, engendro e imán de corazones,
a quien varón no impregna y aun parirá varones?   Por esta Mancha -prados, viñedos y molinos-
que so el igual del cielo iguala sus caminos,
de cepas arrugadas en el tostado suelo
y mustios pastos como raído terciopelo:
por este seco llano de sol y lejanía,
en donde el ojo alcanza su pleno mediodía
(un diminuto bando de pájaros puntea
el índigo del cielo sobre la blanca aldea,
y allá se yergue un soto de verdes alamillos,
tras leguas y más leguas de campos amarillos),
por esta tierra, lejos del mar y la montaña,
el ancho reverbero del claro sol de España,
anduvo un pobre hidalgo ciego de amor un día
-amor nublóle el juicio: su corazón veía-.   Y tú, la cerca y lejos, por el inmenso llano
eterna compañera y estrella de Quijano,
lozana labradora fincada en tus terrones
-oh madre de manchegos y numen de visiones-,
viviste, buena Aldonza, tu vida verdadera
cuando ta amante erguía su lanza justiciera,
y en tu casona blanca ahechando el rubio trigo.Aquel amor de fuego era por ti y contigo.     Mujeres de la Mancha con el sagrado mote
de Dulcinea, os salve la gloria de Quijote.

I see you out there
Though I don't see you
You have beautiful hair

      courage. endurance.

Get off the horse, Don Quixote, my knight!
Sad news I have for your ears tonight...
The image of dream blew away as a smoke.
Tired waiting for you keeping heart on the lock,
Dulci got married your friend - Don Juan.
Wind mills are many, but life - only one...