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Sweet Yiddish whispers in my black and white slippers
Delving into daydreams of dark and desperate days
Spilling turpentine on tiles tearing me away for miles
Feeling frantic flutters in the back of my brain
Bearing backlot benches bordering the land of Spain
Roses rowing to Roman seas that no one sees
Leering lullabies of lackadaisical lovers, known to never fly
I like the way this one sounds
Cash Carlos Jan 28
Forgive me,
for all the time
I've lost gazing into your eyes,
for dreaming of you
when you were away,
for imagining you
before we met,
for wanting
more of you,
even when
you are in my arms.

Forgive me,
but my soul
knows
what it wants,
and all it wants
is you.
Viewfinder 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
ChrisE Nov 2018
Speak Spanish to me
because I don't want to understand
what your spewing at me
just let me kiss down your jaw
and stop just at the corner of your plump lips
leave you craving more
then chase me
let's run
away from the past
and let's fall into the present
speak Spanish to me
because I'm in love
probably with much more than just the language
speak Spanish to me porque
you have etched
the rhythm of your love on my body
te quiero amor
I love you love
SUNDARAM SARMA Nov 2018
Granada is a town that holds quite well its very own,
With an unique culture blend that is difficult to disown,
There is the confluence of diverse religions,
Which frankly, is nothing short of legion

Christianity and Islam pervade all aspects of daily life,
In shops, monuments and restaurants with hardly any strife,
It always feels good to see such diversity,
All the more so when there is unmistakable unity

The up and down alleys are a countless maze,
That can leave visitors in a state of daze,
There is little possibility however of losing track,
Since there is rarely ever a cul-de-sac

Restaurants and street cafes are just about everywhere,
All one needs to know is how to get there,
The variety of cuisine is as diverse as it can be,
That one just needs to ask "what will it be"?

Flamenco performers strut their talent at the wayside,
With enthusiastic onlookers egging them on side by side,
The foot tapping rhythm is pure joy to listen,
Through hours of practice, drawn from inspiration within

Crowds gather at the square for a glimpse of the sunset view,
Grabbing vantage spots for the breathtaking view,
The endless clicking of photos is inevitable as it would seem,
For those who skip it, it would probably remain in their dreams

Ice creams and sorbets come in a multitude of flavors,
Making a choice is never without a waiver,
People of all ages love savoring the cool taste,
From morning till late night, there is rarely any haste

Driving through 15 feet narrow alleys would appear to require special skills,
Not so to the locals who probably deem it a routine daily drill,
Peugeots, Renaults, Skodas and Benz can all be seen at play,
Hey, this is Europe - hence there is little surprise at the wide array!

From Granada to Cordoba is the next lap of our travel,
Wonder what mystique it is likely to unravel,
Thus far it has been totally exhilarating,
So look forward to some more poetic commentating
SUNDARAM SARMA Nov 2018
Cordoba is home to the largest mosque in the world,
The Mezquita's architectural splendour is a stunning monument to behold,
It is a confluence of Jewish, Islamic and Christian trinity,
Whose influence through the ages will stretch to eternity

Swarming with tourists be it individuals or groups,
Who throng the roads through which they incessantly troop,
The multi-cultural mix is what makes the sight so appealing,
One cannot but experience the inescapable joyful feeling

As one saunters through the must- visit touristic Jewish Quarter,
The innumerable winding lanes and by-lanes really do not matter,
Rows and rows of shops have a wide range of offerings,
All that one needs to do is spend without bothering

It's a gourmet's delight at restaurants when it comes to variety,
One needs to go through the menu card in it's entirety,
The trick is to experiment with different types of food,
Hopping in and out of eateries makes you feel so good

The sweltering heat does little to dampen the enthusiasm,
People go about their work with no less dynamism,
The famed Spanish siesta can still be seen at play,
With shuttering of shops and offices just past mid-day

With tourism a major factor contributing to the economy,
It is important to underscore the need to live in harmony,
This trait among people is so blatantly on display,
An ingrained culture preserved till this very day
SUNDARAM SARMA Oct 2018
As I embark on my bucket-list travels,

There is something I wish to unravel,

To see my skills at penning poetry,

Over which currently I have no mastery



My family kept goading me,

To shed my lethargy,

And make a beginning,

Which in hindsight, was a self- awakening



It was on a fine morning in sunny Spain,

That I decided to make some meaningful gains,

In penning my first few lines,

Without allowing my mind to work overtime



While walking down the streets of Seville,

You see people wanting to do what they will,

It's a wonderful feeling of being stress-free,

Which makes me think "is this what life is meant to be"?



The street restaurants are a gourmets' delight,

That's  sheer heavenly bliss in every bite,

The menu variety is the joy of any epicurean,

And the task to choose makes it no less Herculean



Street cafes abound in no small measure,

With people flocking in droves to seek hedonistic pleasure,

The wining and dining carry on past midnight,

And makes you wonder whether the end is ever in sight



Beating the heat with a cool retreat,

Are ice creams and sorbets in an array of treats,

The flavors on display makes one spoilt for choice,

But once decided, it is a matter to rejoice



The popular flea market on Sundays,

Is a rarity not seen everyday,

Hawkers displaying their unique wares,

A sight not beholden everywhere



The ornamental antiques,

Embrace the mystique,

To the ardent art lovers' gazing eye,

There is so much stuff that money can buy



To the connoisseur philatelist,

There were no stamps that did not exist,

To the persevering numismatist,

The jingle of coins was a means to co-exist,

The rustle of currency, an erstwhile pleasure to the notaphilists,  

Such a variety of notes no longer exists



Amazing to listen to the ceaseless chatter,

The noisy banter, little did it matter,

Price haggling was no laughing matter,

Achieving the end result was all that did matter



The Triana sector famous for its ceramic ware,

Artistic glazed tiles, pottery and curios discerned just about everywhere,

Such is the craftsmanship excelling in intricate designs,

The wide variety on display just blows away your mind



Meandering through streets and alleys was a pleasure,

Whilst enjoying the local traditions in no small measure,

The staccato Spanish chatter of passers by,

Was a joy to listen- an unique experience that money can't buy



The number of cathedrals was definitely aplenty,

Each with a history extending to posterity,

The majestic domes and sprawling structures,

Bore  ample testimony to ancient and contemporary cultures



The  numerous horse carriages sauntering on the cobblestone paths,

Were a sight to behold with their inimitable trot,

The tourists and locals alike beamed as they rode by,

Responding to the constant cheers of passers-by



As the day dawned on our leaving Seville,

It was more out of compulsion than our own free will,

That with a heavy heart we had to bid adieu,

Knowing fully well that such a feeling was not anew
Aa Harvey Aug 2018
Juan Marques Lopes


Juan Marques Lopes lives in Vain;
To move one day is his only wish.
Free himself from a poor life with his wife,
For he knows he can do better than this.


One hundred years have come and gone,
Since the day that he was born;
To a Shepard’s daughter on a farmers land.  He was her only son.
Three decades ago he received a bite to the neck
And thought he would die from the blood loss.
For the pain to stop and to save his own life;
He said he'd sell his soul whatever the cost.


One moment of weakness and his soul was the Devils;
To do as he pleased, just to not die like this.
Freedom from death must come at a price;
For a vampires thirst craves the deadliest kiss.


Juan killed all his friends then he killed his own family;
To feed his thirst for blood and for power.
Three times a day, he must feed on their blood;
For he sold his soul to Satan, this is his last eternal hour.


(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.



























BANG!





















An artificial cloud.

































“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;

indoors,

apart,

he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and a beast crashed in.

She turns and the fear is paralysing.




"FERMIN!"







































­












He leaps down steps
and explodes
as it rams her
to and fro,
bashing her head
against the wall
where horns sin
and horns gore
cement and brick.

He grips the tail
heaving its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine,

he slips and slides
in fractured glass
and finds a horn
and yanks the head;

is yanked instead,
half dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to shout and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer
fast and frantic
flying flustered
by the frenzy
finding the
pattering
of
pavement



petering



into





the











street.





"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"





His hands bleed
and flesh breathes.

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy, she tends to him
with searching hands,
and scolding words.
Men and women
fuss and frown,
always making sure.

"Podria haber sido peor"

Another story for the herd.
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
Terry Collett Aug 2018
Madrid is where
you were ripped off
by some trader,

where we ate
that god-awful meal,
but the art was good,

and the sunshine
warmed us through,
and the wine

or Bacardi and coke,
and the base camp tents
were o.k.

You didn't like
Sans Sabastion;
I went to mass

at the Burgos cathedral;
you said you would
give it a miss.

Malega where
Picasso was born
was your favourite place.

The base camp
was good and that night
at the disco

up until the small hours
dancing and drinking.
And the Spanish guys

were dancing too,
eyeing up the girls,
giving them

the language thrill,
but we went to my tent,
but the ex-army guy

was asleep there so
I walked you to your tent
and walked back

to my own
neither of us alone.
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