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the lost city of the Incas,
survives and breathes
with this cataclysmic vegetation
still malignant and undying
to conjure divinity
for those lack,
in the purest form,

it awed Neruda and Che
with the shimmer of the first light,
the smell is a poisonous offering,
the view is like an unforgotten love,

most of the nights in my sleep
I come back from there
and some of the nights
I wish I could never.
Aztec Andy's abode was a dorsalfinned cathedral.
Inca Ian was his neighbour on banks of the Fongufeasle.

Inca Ian's residence was  a portholed volcano...
Or were their gaffs prefaffs of adobe & gold? I dunno.

IOUs on Andy's quipu arrears of human sacrifice,
when he encountered a jaguar, nonpouncer most polite,

decked in snazzy golfslacks & proffering sage advice
in Morganfreemanny, mammalian-masonic matey voice.

'Alrite, Andy?' spoke Jaguar, 'Say, I heard from Inca Ian  
you're all out of Olmec odalisques; devout, nubile, heathen

volunteer tzompantli t'malanoint w/ treefrog slobber,
then slit from stem to stern w/ your consecrated stabber

- not best joboffer...  P'haps most puissant Pashungo
is new deity for thee, Andy, now's the time to unfollow

virginovorous Ningovice, current blessing provider
for whom gore congeals upon temple table like sunflower

toms drying. Taboo tabasco  of Mayans' sprayin' midriffs
never tamed Ningovice's terms or propitiatory tariff.

You should switch to Pashungo, mate!' the Jaguar softsold.
'Ian did' - w/ pythonic aplomb  his tail pointed to portholed

volcano yonder. Aztec Andy wasn't born in the Bronze Age,
there'd be some mass grave formula & clause to assuage

this god on four legs, Pashungo. Andy owed it to old idol
to first unscroll small print in codex of Gaznumplepecol

to be informed  of penalty plagues Ningovice might visit
upon his crop of afterdinner lint & upon the spirits

of Andy's ancestors, Ningovictecs all. 'Worship Pashungo
today for limited introductory gift (no jaguano

passes these liquorice lips),'  insisted Jaguar, his whiskers
waggling distinguishedly. Like one of Jaga's lectures

to Lion-O,  a tutelary trait to junglecat's sales patter,
& a twinkle like early onset feline Alzheimer's,

chatoyant bants in the leopard-lookeylikey's langtries,
his lookers lacking overblinking of beast who deceives.

So th'Aztec advanced towards pantherpimpled proselytizer,
who thru couchant-sejant-sejanterect- rampant roared a riser

inopinate, clawful carnivore cosh thwacking
w/ newton bump of  Reg Varney's ***** busjacking

a doubledecker, fryingpanning Mesoamerican sun-moonie
flatfaced & flat out, tho' like he'd  lost match of '1-knee, 2-knee',

Aztec Andy fell prone, flat on his face. So as his next meal,
Jaguar dined on Andy's spine like a strawberry jellied eel.

Back on his Aztec Hi-tecs, Andy hadn't a cat in hell's to scramble
- moves like Jagger going for the jugular had Jaguar. Who'd also       hornswaggled

Inca Ian w/ Pashungo mumbojumbo for a previous feast,
tho'  kippercision of supine Ian aped bloodcounting savage priest's.

I'm sure you've heard to beware Greeks bearing gifts or even
brochures,
but now you know to never ever
trust jaguars in natty trousers.
quipu= Inca string and bead abacus
tzompantli =Mesoamerican wooden rack for displaying skulls of human sacrifices & war captives
ConnectHook Apr 2016
Wife-beater, drum player
blower of holy pan-pipes
Plumed, bejeweled in ****** plastic
Inca priest, mestizo beast
multi-kulti prophet
(who chooses to live in the USA)
where liberals kow-tow
while you show them how
to adulate indigenous
crypto misogynous
eager to pay eager to please
diversity’s devotees buy your CDs

a perfect idiot from the mythic Sierra
naming your brood after Andean peaks
pre-Columbian pachamama freaks
eat it up: your Inca schtick
(but ask the battered gringa-chick
about your unsustainable ways:
who hits who smiles who beats who pays ?)
(based on a true story)

♂∅☯✰☠
a  poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016
            ✿
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
            ☮
She was my homecoming queen
She was the period to the end of my dreams
We conversed on the golf course that night
Her blouse unbuttoned
Her breast bare
Shadows danced across her chest
as the wind predicted rain
How I wished I remembered
what we said
But all I do . . . are spider bite kisses

How the years decay
Lucky in love
Lucky on death
Teeth that once were sharp
have been ground down
Homecoming Queen
My Homecoming Queen
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
~~~^¡^~~~


she comes for water
from the wild
dove of desert
nature's child

she of sweetness
plumage neat
buff and ecru
to my feet

she is pure
sleek of line
her's perfection
in design

she's so close
I see her eyes
she's not afraid
of my great size

curious
she looks at me
a wild thing
completely free

what have her
ancients
done and seen?
Manchu Pichu
Inca kings?

missionaries
born in Spain
conquistadors
who've
come for gain

****** men
so brutal, bold
slaughter natives
for their gold

****** in "marriage"
Aztec queens
so now their
bloodlines
are rarely seen

i think on this
Oh! Poorest love!
so much like them
my

Inca dove


soulsurvivor
(C) 6/14/2015
I was so touched by
this beautiful creature

she was shy at first
then came right to my feet

We leave water out for the
desert animals
and she is familiar with me now
so she gets really close

Much as the trusting natives
of these continents
came to the Spanish
They were slaughtered.
And could not even keep their own
bloodlines.

Fortunately for the little dove
I am gentle
But this is a lesson
BE CAREFUL WHO YOU TRUST

~~~^¡^~~~
Prabhu Iyer Oct 2014
Carved in stone, lost in time,
freezing my parted smile,

Peering down into the unknown,
I sit next to you, toting my arms:

Where is the world
that breathed you to life?

On this lonely peak, tires
upon tires of hopes and dreams
retreat into the the terraced
spirals of mists; Every mystical
dawn dissolves into the lakes.

Gnomes bear the burden of
mysterious gates to the beyond,
as whispers tiptoe to strains
of the Quijongo.

Here epochs and worlds end.
And counts begin all over again.
Creepy Halloween blues!
Jeff Raheb Aug 2014
I arrive in Lima
The sweat-sogged poverty
lumped onto concrete
pushes at my heels
The tight black air
swallows the nakedness
of prostitutes and thieves
Pockets empty like a traveler’s stomach
growling beneath the world of Los Incas

In Cusco
My head throbs in the thin air
with the sound of boys
trying to shine my boots, my sandals
my bare feet
no problemo
women sell fresh papaya and guava
sweaters and trinkets
Hawkers surround me
like a tightly stitched T-shirt

Cusco
The Navel of the Earth
A bulging belly
throbbing
digesting
living

Sunset
I spread my toes
over the evaporated flood waters
of the Rio Urubamba
where it once flowed
from the fingers of Manco Inca
over the fleeing conquistadors
at the top of Ollantaytambo
Momentary brilliance
before you retreated to the jungle
Spain, always gnawing at your heels

It’s a mouth-full-of-coca-leave’s journey
to Macchu Picchu
I enter the dream
spitting wet leaves
on the silence of a dead kingdom
Gasping for air that once filled lungs
of Inca messengers
carrying news of defeat and conquest
over the great Andes
Los Incas Caminos
The cloud-dripped mountains
spread green across my eyes
I see ghosts
a steady move of feet through the depleted air
Porter, takes my backpack
carries it against his brown crusty skin
ancient, sun-baked descendant
of the Earth’s naval
A toothless, painless smile
It must have been different
before we came
with money the color of unpicked rice
Now I hear your belly-groan
Between the perfectly fitted stones
of Sacsayhuaman
My voice bounces circular
off invisible walls
because your magic has survived you

Macchu Picchu
Unknown and majestic
Hidden from blood
from the stink of vultures
No more
Black raven feather
drops on my skull
floats on the shiny gray stone
under my feet
which are wrapped in dried, brown skin
naked, without a heartbeat

It’s past sunrise
the tourist bus has arrived
and the flat shadow of the crowd
blocks the light of the ascending sun
that tries to penetrate
the perfect holes
of a perfect wall
in an imperfect dream

— The End —