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Susan O'Reilly  Oct 2013
Malaga
Susan O'Reilly Oct 2013
Blossoming shrubs

enveloping pubs

not a cloud in the sky

budding am I



Malaga in September

weather I'll remember

29 degrees and counting

each day it seems to be mounting



I'm not liking the creepy crawlies

giving me the heebie jeebies

to everyone's delight

I squeal in fright



Spanish are fine

until behind them in line

no problem pushing

with choice adjectives I'm gushing



My muscles are loving the heat

I can even touch my feet

my back thinks its in heaven

my shoulder readily rev-ing



Still a week to go

my tan a no-show

this sunbathing is hard work

in the shade my husband lurks



Batteries are charging

my stomach's enlarging

relaxation is seeping into my pores

lullabies, each others snores
Terry Collett Jun 2018
Malaga was where
we stayed up late
and danced and drank
at the disco.

Where we found our tents
at the base camp
and opened up
and lay fully clothed
too tired or drunk
to undress.

Where Picasso was born
and we discussed
his art until
the early hours
and too sleepy
to go on
or make love.

Malaga where we lay
on the grass
in the afternoon sunshine
smoking
watching others
pass by to and fro
or kissing in either tent
once your tent mate
had gone to see art.

Malaga where I sensed
the night air
and lay on my back
watching stars and moon
and dark space
and the dark moods
of the human race.

I wonder where
you are now
and to whom
you made love
or where and did
you ever go
to Malaga again?

That time of sunset,
the down fall
of hard rain.
© right now, Terry Collett
Couple in Malaga 1970
Terry Collett Jul 2016
We slept on the coach
from Madrid to Malaga
apart for getting out for meals
and to stretch our legs

Miriam sat next to me
sometimes laying
her head on my shoulder
other times looking out
at the passing Spanish scenes

that last meal was nice
she said
I could have eaten more

so that is why you
were nibbling my ear
back there?
I said

no that was
for different reasons
she said
if we were alone
on this coach
instead 30 odd of us
I'd have you
on the back seat

not sure the driver
we'd be pleased us
******* on his back seat
I said

when we get to Malaga
and in our tents
maybe *** can be
on the cards
she said

but you share
with that quiet girl
who wouldn't say
boo to a goose
not sure she'd
appreciate it
I said

she laughed
not with her
or with her there

Piccaso was born there
I said
my favourite artist

was he?
she said

yes and there's
a Roman theatre there too
I said

not too much culture please
she said

ok
I said

she unzipped my jeans
and her put hand inside
to investigate my pecker
her fingers
like a bird's beak
pecking at it

I held her hand
and removed it

you'll have to wait
until we hit camp
I said

she sighed
and put her hand back
in her lap

I placed my hand
on her thigh
and touched her skin

she smiled
but wouldn't
let me in.
A BOY AND ******* A COACH TO MALAGA IN 1970
Terry Collett Jan 2014
Miryam unzipped
the tent flap
and looked out
pretty dead out here

she said
Benedict looked at her ****
hiding behind
the blue jeans

come back in then
no point
in going out yet
she zipped it

back up
and crawled back
beside him
and lay down

looking up
at the blue tent canvas
what do you think
Morocco's like​?

she asked
Morocco
he replied
she laughed

I know that
but to experience it
apart from what
was in the booklet

they sent
with the other stuff
she said
have to see

when we get there
he replied
are you sure
that ex-army bloke

won't be back?
she asked
not for a few hours
he's gone to see sights

in Malaga
lucky us
she said
make the most of

he said
she gazed at him
is there no
satisfying you?

pretty much not
he said
she smiled
I’m sure people

heard us earlier
she said
your fault
if they did

he said
all that noise
and giggling
and oh oh oh

more more
I didn't
she said
you're making it up

pretty much so
he said
she kissed his cheek
to think I thought you

were the quiet one
she said
I am quiet
as a mouse

he replied
what if he comes back early
and we're making out?
she said

he won't
he's off to see
where
Picasso was born

and other
arty things
Benedict said
people might talk

if they see me
in here too much
she said
they can't see you

in here
he said
they might hear me
then be silent

he said smiling
trying to unbuttoned
her jeans
she watched him

biting her lower lip
seductively
and turning her head
at an angle

who said you could?
shall I stop?
he said
no don't you dare

she breathed out
she held his fingers
and helped unbutton
until it was

all done
there now you
she said
and unzipped his jeans

with one motion
why would he want
to see
where Picasso was born?

she said
taking off
?her jeans
and what other arty things?

Benedict undressed
listening
watching
takin
her tight ****
in the blue bra
museums
art shops

galleries
that kind of thing
boring ****
she said

putting her jeans
and underwear
to one side
yes guess so

Benedict said
what if
he changes his mind
and comes back?

she said
laying down
next to him well he'll get

a free lesson
in biology
won't he
Benedict said

she smiled
and kissed his neck
and said
utterly ****

what the hell
what the heck.
Terry Collett Nov 2012
In Malaga
at the base camp
you danced at some disco
and drank Bacardi

and coke and it was
well into the early hours
of the morning
when you left

with Mamie
tiptoeing between
tent ropes and the unlit
areas between

and she said
I can’t find
where my tent is
and you said

I’d let you share mine
but that young army guy
is in mine
and three in a bed

is a bit cramped
but where is mine?
she said
searching around

touching tent ropes
as she went by
you stood watching
trying to decide

where your tent was
what are we to do?
she asked
let’s go back

to the club
until it gets lighter
or we remember
where our tents are

you said
but I’m tired
she said
I want to go to bed

and sleep
you searched around
by the hedge of the field
and then said

wait
I know where
mine is now
and you led her

to the tent
and unzipped it
and there inside
was the army guy

fast asleep
you can come in here
if you like
you said

but she just stood there
in the semi dark
cussing into the night
come on in

and be quiet
you said
I want my tent
she said

I want my own ****** tent
ok go find it then
you said
and began to climb inside

wait
she said
in a hushed voice
and came over

to your tent
and looked in
what about him?
she asked

he’s asleep
you replied
what will he say
and finds me here?

you gazed
at the sleeping soldier boy
his mouth open
his eyes closed

a soft snore
filling the air
either come in
or go elsewhere

you whispered
I can’t
she said
not with him there

and so she turned
and wandered off
into the semi dark
another chance walking off

into the night
some things you hope for
you murmured
never come right.
Terry Collett Jun 2012
Mamie met you
in the base camp bar

in Malaga
her curly red hair

damp from a recent shower
and said

Picasso was born here  
In this bar?

you said
No

she moaned
In the city

in 1881
and she took the drink

you’d bought her
I like Picasso don’t you?

she asked
taking a sip

of the drink
and you noticed

the tight tee shirt
snugly holding

her firm *******
and her eyes bright

as sunlight’s breaking dawn
yes

you said
I like his later work

not the Blue
or Pink period or

that Cubist *****
and your eyes

slipped downwards
along her slender frame

the tight blue jeans
caressing her small

but plumpish ***
her fingers holding

the glass
and you thinking

of other things
far removed

from Picasso‘s art
though knowing he

would understand
where your mind

had wandered
and what the scene

your mind had set
like some dramatist

preparing for a play
she sipped more

of the drink
her head thrown back

the nice turn
of the neck

the chin
the nose

the ears protruding slight
between her red

and curly hair
and wondered deep

as you drank your own
if the other hair below

between her thighs
was as red and tight

as that above
and she said

breaking through
your thoughts

Was it lust or love
that moved his brush

Picasso I mean?
and oh you mused

taking on her words
and squeezing

the meaning
from each syllable

that was uttered
on her breath

to lay my head
upon her breast

not to sleep
but dreaming rest

and you turning to her
said High love or low lust

fed by his fond muse
moved his brush I trust.
Terry Collett May 2016
That base camp at Malaga
tents and bars
and a wash-house

and showers
and best of all
of course

(after the bogs
and showers)
was the bar

and Miriam said
there's a disco tonight
at this place

you coming?
of course
why not

as long as you're here
and there's *****
I said

so we went
and it was hot
and there was too

many bodies dancing
(or such as
it was called)

and you had to fight
your way to the bar
through tides of people

in all kinds of clothing
and body smells
and hair styles

and girls with too much ****
so it blocked your way
and then once you got

to the bar you had
to make the bar keeper
understand your language

and if he could hear
through the din
of disco music

you eventually
got your drinks
and Miriam was over

in a corner at a table
she hogged
from some French guys

and she said
some guy pinched my ****
did he bring it back?

I said
she snorted through her nose
bringing up the last

drop of coke
I'm seriously
she said

sorry about that
and gave her her drink
and sipped my

*** and coke
and looked around the place
to see who may

have pinched her ****
but there were
too many bodies

dancing away
and chugging about
so I sat and said

I guess you have
a cute ****
and someone needed

to touch it to see
if it was real
maybe so

she said
but it's
my **** still.
A BOY AND GIRL IN MALAGA IN 1970 AT A BASE CAMP.
Terry Collett May 2015
Miriam
begins her
*******

in a tent
at base camp
in down town

Malaga
2am
party done

boozing done
the music
for dancing

turned off now
and she says
she's not here

the fat dame's
not come back
to the tent

so what now?
Benny asks
shall I stay?

well I can't
have good ***
without you

she replies
are you sure?
Benny asks

sure I'm sure
she replies
enter in

and zip up
the **** tent
so Benny

zips it up
and begins
to unzip

and undress
watching her
shed her clothes

best he could
in half light
from moon's glow

and stars' shine
what if the
dame returns?

Benny asks
she can make
a *******

or *******
Miriam
says to him

naked now
her soft ****
hanging there

inviting
him to stare
he listens

to the wind
blowing hard
against blue

stretched canvas
come on then
come on in

Miriam
says to him
so he did

his **** ****
rising up
and then down

capturing
the moon's glow
not too fast

she utters
keep a pace
keep it slow.
A BOY AND GIRL JOIN FORCES IN MALAGA 1970
A Gouedard Jun 2014
i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
shimmered
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso's
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
***** ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren't allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could **** in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art
completely
screaming
meaningless
poems
words
endless
passiona­te
words
consumed
by life
Terry Collett Aug 2015
Miriam
sips her cool
Martini

I drink beer
the disco
music's loud

people dance
we just stand
by the bar

both smoking
and drinking
Malaga

the place where
Picasso
was born in

and she says
how about
we drink more

then go back
to my tent
and have ***?

what about
the plump dame
you share with

won't she mind?
I ask her
she's gone off

to Tangiers
by ferry
and will meet

us later
at the camp
Miriam

says to me
o that's good
I tell her

I didn't
fancy the
idea of

having ***
with the plump
dame as well

she titters
as she drinks
her red hair

of tight curls
is shaking
I watch her

standing there
her figure
scantly dressed

I thinking
of the time
in Paris

that first ***
on the coach
at the back

Beethoven's
music on
the coach

radio
all others
asleep or

occupied
by the sights
of Paris

going by
the windows
let's go then

Miriam
says to me
so we leave

the night club
and wander back
hand in hand

to her tent
but there by
the tent flap

the plump dame
changed my mind
she utters

drunkenly
stay the night
go with you

tomorrow
I gaze up
at the sky

of the night
and ask the
o big why?
A BOY AND GIRL IN MALAGA IN 1970 AND A CHANCE MISSED
Terry Collett Jul 2017
The coach drew up
at the base camp
in Malaga.

Miriam and I
got off
and eyed the scene
the area of tents
and bars
and camp restaurant
and the club house
where they had discos
in the evening until late.

We followed our guide
who showed us
where our tents were.

I was with an ex-army guy
Miriam was with
some other dame.

See you later
at the bar
she said.

Will do
I replied.

The ex-army unzipped
the tent
we clambered in
with our bags
then he zipped up again.

Better than
the last camp
he said morosely.

I placed by bag
to one side
and got out
my sleeping bag
and lay on it
to rest
for a short while.

He unpacked
his sleeping bag
(better than mine
probably ex-army)
and lay down
staring at the roof
of the tent.

He talked about
his army days
and about his mother's
new boyfriend
and how he didn't
get on with him
and how he only left
the army because
of his nerves
and depression.

I listened
but in my mind's eye
it was Miriam
there *******
and I thinking
that a blessing.
A COUPLE IN SPAIN ON A CAMPING TOUR 1970
Trees in groves,
Kine in droves,
In ocean sport the scaly herds,
Wedge-like cleave the air the birds,
To northern lakes fly wind-borne ducks,
Browse the mountain sheep in flocks,
Men consort in camp and town,
But the poet dwells alone.

God who gave to him the lyre,
Of all mortals the desire,
For all breathing men's behoof,
Straitly charged him, "Sit aloof;"
Annexed a warning, poets say,
To the bright premium,—
Ever when twain together play,
Shall the harp be dumb.
Many may come,
But one shall sing;
Two touch the string,
The harp is dumb.
Though there come a million
Wise Saadi dwells alone.

Yet Saadi loved the race of men,—
No churl immured in cave or den,—
In bower and hall
He wants them all,
Nor can dispense
With Persia for his audience;
They must give ear,
Grow red with joy, and white with fear,
Yet he has no companion,
Come ten, or come a million,
Good Saadi dwells alone.

Be thou ware where Saadi dwells.
Gladly round that golden lamp
Sylvan deities encamp,
And simple maids and noble youth
Are welcome to the man of truth.
Most welcome they who need him most,
They feed the spring which they exhaust:
For greater need
Draws better deed:
But, critic, spare thy vanity,
Nor show thy pompous parts,
To vex with odious subtlety
The cheerer of men's hearts.

Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say
Endless dirges to decay;
Never in the blaze of light
Lose the shudder of midnight;
And at overflowing noon,
Hear wolves barking at the moon;
In the bower of dalliance sweet
Hear the far Avenger's feet;
And shake before those awful Powers
Who in their pride forgive not ours.
Thus the sad-eyed Fakirs preach;
"Bard, when thee would Allah teach,
And lift thee to his holy mount,
He sends thee from his bitter fount,
Wormwood; saying, Go thy ways,
Drink not the Malaga of praise,
But do the deed thy fellows hate,
And compromise thy peaceful state.
Smite the white ******* which thee fed,
Stuff sharp thorns beneath the head
Of them thou shouldst have comforted.
For out of woe and out of crime
Draws the heart a lore sublime."
And yet it seemeth not to me
That the high gods love tragedy;
For Saadi sat in the sun,
And thanks was his contrition;
For haircloth and for ****** whips,
Had active hands and smiling lips;
And yet his runes he rightly read,
And to his folk his message sped.
Sunshine in his heart transferred
Lighted each transparent word;
And well could honoring Persia learn
What Saadi wished to say;
For Saadi's nightly stars did burn
Brighter than Dschami's day.

Whispered the muse in Saadi's cot;
O gentle Saadi, listen not,
Tempted by thy praise of wit,
Or by thirst and appetite
For the talents not thine own,
To sons of contradiction.
Never, sun of eastern morning,
Follow falsehood, follow scorning,
Denounce who will, who will, deny,
And pile the hills to scale the sky;
Let theist, atheist, pantheist,
Define and wrangle how they list,—
Fierce conserver, fierce destroyer,
But thou joy-giver and enjoyer,
Unknowing war, unknowing crime,
Gentle Saadi, mind thy rhyme.
Heed not what the brawlers say,
Heed thou only Saadi's lay.

Let the great world bustle on
With war and trade, with camp and town.
A thousand men shall dig and eat,
At forge and furnace thousands sweat,
And thousands sail the purple sea,
And give or take the stroke of war,
Or crowd the market and bazaar.
Oft shall war end, and peace return,
And cities rise where cities burn,
Ere one man my hill shall climb,
Who can turn the golden rhyme;
Let them manage how they may,
Heed thou only Saadi's lay.
Seek the living among the dead:
Man in man is imprisoned.
Barefooted Dervish is not poor,
If fate unlock his *****'s door.
So that what his eye hath seen
His tongue can paint, as bright, as keen,
And what his tender heart hath felt,
With equal fire thy heart shall melt.
For, whom the muses shine upon,
And touch with soft persuasion,
His words like a storm-wind can bring
Terror and beauty on their wing;
In his every syllable
Lurketh nature veritable;
And though he speak in midnight dark,
In heaven, no star; on earth, no spark;
Yet before the listener's eye
Swims the world in ecstasy,
The forest waves, the morning breaks,
The pastures sleep, ripple the lakes,
Leaves twinkle, flowers like persons be,
And life pulsates in rock or tree.
Saadi! so far thy words shall reach;
Suns rise and set in Saadi's speech.

And thus to Saadi said the muse;
Eat thou the bread which men refuse;
Flee from the goods which from thee flee;
Seek nothing; Fortune seeketh thee.
Nor mount, nor dive; all good things keep
The midway of the eternal deep;
Wish not to fill the isles with eyes
To fetch thee birds of paradise;
On thine orchard's edge belong
All the brass of plume and song;
Wise Ali's sunbright sayings pass
For proverbs in the market-place;
Through mountains bored by regal art
Toil whistles as he drives his cart.
Nor scour the seas, nor sift mankind,
A poet or a friend to find;
Behold, he watches at the door,
Behold his shadow on the floor.
Open innumerable doors,
The heaven where unveiled Allah pours
The flood of truth, the flood of good,
The seraph's and the cherub's food;
Those doors are men; the pariah kind
Admits thee to the perfect Mind.
Seek not beyond thy cottage wall
Redeemer that can yield thee all.
While thou sittest at thy door,
On the desert's yellow floor,
Listening to the gray-haired crones,
Foolish gossips, ancient drones,—
Saadi, see, they rise in stature
To the height of mighty nature,
And the secret stands revealed
Fraudulent Time in vain concealed,
That blessed gods in servile masks
Plied for thee thy household tasks.
Terry Collett Oct 2013
Are you in there?
Miryam said
through the canvas
of the tent

no
you replied
I'm out
you are there

she said
and unzipped the zip
and poked her head
in the gap

you were lying there
in your sleeping bag
gazing at her red
fuzzing hair

and large eyes
where's your friend?
she asked
gone for a shower

you said
she unzipped all down
and came in the tent
walking on her knees

like Toulouse Lautrec
in a wig
and lay down beside you  
how long before he's back?

no idea
you said
have we time for ***?
risky

you said
sometimes risky
is enjoyable
she said softly

running her hand
down the outline
of your leg
not when an ex-army guy

comes in
and see his sleeping partner
******* some red head
in his tent

you said
she pouted her lips
spoilsport
she said

in your ear
yes I guess so
you said
what we doing today?

she asked
we're moving
onto Malaga apparently
the coach leaves at 9.30

she looked
at her wrist watch
gives us an hour
she said

in a whispering voice
gives me an hour
to get showered
and dressed

and breakfasted
and such
you said
she lay back beside you

on the sleeping bag
isn't Malaga
where Picasso was born?
yes that's right

you said
do you like his work?
she asked
sure

it makes me
want to see it again
and again
it does?

she said
as if I had said
I like to wear
ladies's underwear

don't you find his work
kind of odd?
she said
that's what I like about it

it breaks out
of that prison
which people have put
around art

as if only
such and such
can be art
she put her lips

on your cheek
wet and warm
don't I tempt you at all?
not one little bit?

she walked her fingers
down your leg
and moved them
towards your groin

not about 6ins worth?
she said sexually
how did we get
from Picasso

to you finger walking
on my *****?
all is art you said
she whispered

you've left the zip unzipped
the ex-army guy said
poking his head
in the gap

what's she doing in here?
he said
just popped in
to see how he is

Miryam said
looking at the guy
with his short
back and sides haircut

and smelling
of shampoo and soap
well now you've seen
you can go

he said
can't he and I
have *** first​​?
she said

in her imitation
Monroe voice
no you can't
he said

go elsewhere
if you must do
such things
and he sat back

on his haunches
and stared at her
his arms folded
Ok

she said
and kissed your cheek
and walked on her knees
out of the tent

and stood up
and looked in
before the ex-army guy
could zip back up

shame
she said
we could have had
a *******

go away
he said
before I slap your backside
promises promises

Miryam said
and walked off
towards her tent
across the camp base field

girls huh?
you said
but he didn't reply
he just began packing

his stuff into his suitcase
ready for the next move
and so you closed your eyes
and imagined her

there beside you again
listening
to the patter patter
of the Spanish rain.
SET IN SPAIN IN 1970.

— The End —