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HeWhoExplores Dec 2018
Leaves crumble under unwashed trainers; silence
He walks along the avenue with hands in pockets,
As street lamps pave the way along the lonely avenue
A Hen Party is sighted; their noisy presence noticed
Out of nowhere a taxi rolls up, a casualty is claimed
He gazes at the midnight stars and smiles
Like a fantasy; a big bubble that hasn’t yet burst
Conversing and gentle laughter picks up at the street corner,
Whilst crowds of hipsters and young people dance and discuss
As Friday nights go; rules are meant to be broken
As this quaint little place provides an escape from it all
With its neon signs and hippy vibes,
Its bonsai trees and chandeliers
Bikes hang from the walls and flower pots roam free
He is greeted by an Ola! and a welcoming smile
A piano sounds from within, a cold breeze chills his neck
He rolls up his collar and enters; silence
a deck
now with
Bedouin high
there dream
her red
quotient in
Catalonia with
Montserrat qua
mountain deem
hindmost their
trials to
independence back
to innermost
Barcelona as
watershed lariat
begun this
year Ole
a story in  Spain
gbye Feb 2018
I've been taught that there isn't a place more beautiful than barcelona
The streets are placed with purpose and thought
People mill about with only smile lines gracing their face
The air tastes like citrus, honey, and sea breeze
A paradise I've never known

Sometimes I fear the paradise within it is one I've created
Far from real
And is the product of my own desperation

Sometimes
                      I fear the love in your eyes is barcelona
thoughts from before the sun sets
Caleb Stevens Nov 2017
Can we dig a path to France,
Here in the woods of Washington?
I want to take you to Barcelona,
Dance on the green hills of Ireland.
Can we set a course to the heart of joy?
Let me take you around the world.

Grab my hand and I'll grab yours,
Let us walk and live in love.
a tongue with cheek lampoon
that shout Barca, save
Barcelona when  blazing jack (of spades)
into the net with goal of The King's Cup
if Estelada retort his court
these embattled cries of democracy in Spain
why land ** as Mariano Rajoy
A bull rush in team
A tale of dawn where
my genius at play for her beads
if thunder hie will quicken quinine
why Doeville surely nigh and on route yon
that bare a drove her handkerchief spar
in field with hills to make her rich still clad in negligee
and between her steps arose Carthage in antiquity
a lore of ages to unfold Spain today
with a guitar strumming this spicy song of quest so inane
As such let us see a referendum
marta effe Sep 2017
I don’t remember my life in London
anymore

Barcelona -
tagliata da flussi di suoni come boulevard*

Stella is gone away on acid.
I trust her, what else?

Nat is Polish
but I thought she’d be Spanish

And Richard.
Young - and  a monkey.

Deepty will marry an Indian engineer.
Wide hips, same problems.

******* Italians in El Born
*cut by flows of sound like boulevards
Steve Sep 2017
The heady aroma
That's Barcelona
The hustle of the night
The bright morning light
The heat of the day
The Sí people say
The Catalan Way
Such a polished persona
That's Barcelona
From a little trip there.
Martin Narrod Aug 2017
Anything All of the Everything

Events of Summer quickly ensue, it takes hold of you quickly, while the police drive thru. You cannot find it half-way into the night, you could hold up on a park bench or lay your blanket on the slough. Perhaps when your dreams kick, your asterisks will come, build a map of your defense and then head for the sun. Some foe outwit the wounds of life, furry blister-like faces, when they take up the star dust diamonds, the trail guides take after hurrying up paces.

The festivities of fear are living oaths inside of marbled starve rocks, they harvest shoots and ladders, and keep tabs on wild beasts and livestock. There's no match throughout the campgrounds. There's no matchbook light to find us. If you're quick enough with your 70s, then perhaps you'll follow the nightness that's arrived us.

In aide of her lift-gate, shredding pensive miens and speeding mimes, taking ward of one thousand fathomed depths, assumes courageous anti-hate isms. She can come quickly with a syzygy, her van packed with fresh woes of Sunday, then around Monday humbly hides her stuff in the small hems of her bed linens. You can't outwit the governess who preys on handicapped children's thrift finds. She makes clothes and keeps her hands to bed. She bares new graves for time's new roman epithets and moving pictures. She  unplugs her bleeding tongues under some new sone for her monarchic archetypical audiophile party.

While the umberphiles sleep, nyctophiliacs stalk grizzlies. Mosquitos quaff at human blood, while their offspring keep drinking. The idle bugs throes, misanthropic and useless, teach electric lusters' mouths to grow into fiery hoops with which to slip past all the clueless.  The arachnids might dance, the haunting verbs they might fray. The Egyptians at first glance, try to hide their heroine pyramids away.

So hush little violet dormant flowers, fake your fertility and keep your skeptic drink. Keep each one you might meet, within one hundred feet of where you sleep. Keep your arms length's supine, your supplies out of reach, practice wrapping yourself up inside boxes where the souls can sleep.

If you only once catch a fool, avoid the plague-speak certain lips might tell. Each uttered word commanded with too much ******* across the bandwidth. Mortal courses can't be taught, human voices can't keep the draught, ferocious abstract engineered humanity has escaped this truant absence and immorality. You, you catch a fool, she could preach hurts and djinns, it could dot the I's of when, and unfurl the sighs of men. Berthed earthlings that the **** ascribes, hurts the worthless and sours true purpose widths of curfews and its curses, all these biomes perfervidly reserve the fury for their furtive perversity, elements to obscure the telemetry that has coddled such a dark conflagration of immensity, it's the cluelessness of these transgressors that forces the abhorrence towards all-white-everything professors.
While sitting in Grand Teton National Park at the entrance to Spalding Bay.
requiEM Mar 2017
Valencia Oranges
A yellow coated dream
Mustard-colored-tiles-are-much-colder-than-they-seem
Swimming in a sweatshirt
Watery-eyed and rosy cheeked
Music playing faintly
Curiosity is peaked
I imagine waking up
To humidity and cream
In my coffee, jingle my loft key
As I walk my way upstream


Sunglasses tint
All the oranges red
Valencia enters my veins
Rouged and widespread
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