"cadiz" poems
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
“Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?”—say,
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
2.3k
Quiero ir a España
Quiero andar en las playas de Cadiz
Caminar por las calles de Valencia
Andar en los lugares turísticos
Comiendo un helado de vanilla
Con el amor de mi vida
Pasando un buen tiempo tomando fotografías
Eso sí que me gustaría
Miraría a los ojos al amor de mi vida
Le diría cuanto lo admiró
Cuanto lo quiero
Después irnos a comer a un buen filete
Platicando, riendo, haciendo memorias haha pero cuando sucedería eso? cuando..
Spain
I want to go to Spain
I want to be in the beaches of Cadiz
Walk through the streets of Valencia
Visit turístic places
With the love of my life
Having a great time
eating a vanilla ice cream cone
with the love of my life
taking photography pictures
That I'd like
I'd look in his eyes
I'd tell him how much I admire him
how much I love him
Then later we'd go eat a nice steak
talking, laughing, making memories
haha but when will that happen? When?
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
“Why talk? If you do not listen to me?", he asked. He spoke to her in Kurdish, the language of her misty childhood memories. Simon had guessed, but did not know, could not know, how deeply she was speared by this simple statement, spoken flawlessly by a man she thought she knew. She ceased her melody, and as the chords faded away, so her warmth disappeared. Her eyes watered...cleared, darkened. Memories long buried, embalmed with religious care, rose again out of the shadows she had banished them to. "How dare you speak to me like that. Who do you think you are? How do you know my language, my childhood?"
"You talk in your sleep..."
She leaned forward and slapped her friend across the face. She knew there was something wrong with him, knew that there could be no such thing as unconditional companionship, as real altruism.
How stupid she was, how naïve to believe that she might have found someone who didn't want something from her, who didn't have a price.
Simon, who knew the alleyways and alcoves of the past like a lover knew his partner's body, should have been more concise. But it wasn't in his nature to approach personal history with spotlights and pragmatics. Ta'ra was accusing now, calling him hideous, a betrayer, one who steals sweet things in the dark from lack of courage. "It's not like that Ta'ra, not an ugly thing like you make it," he tried to explain. But she did not want to hear, did not want to listen as he tried to tell her how she cried in her sleep on the long drive from Cadiz, how Clara told him a little of their history together in Morocco. "So Clara told you so much did she? I should've known she'd pout to somebody as soon as she could, as soon as I wasn't listening! So what else does she tell you? What else does she say about me when I'm not around? Or do you do more than talk hmm?"
She was standing over him now, guitar abandoned like an orphan, her green sweater all askew. So close to him he could smell her. "It's not like that Ta'ra, she cares for you, wants the best for you, and I...I..." he trailed off. "You what? You fantasize about me, you put my face on those ****** you find in the bars and cafes?" She slapped him again, crying in earnest, and he knew that the choice now was his.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
Half way up inside my *** is a little kind of lump,
like a chum who lets me down, but i cannot give a thump!
Into next week..
'cos my eyes would start to leak.
It's become a constant presence, though a little bit unpleasant,
so don't tell anyone.
Shhh...
That's not it bursting I must stress, although I do confess,
I inserted a brush handle by the light of Susan's candle,
and made a ****** gush.
A sable number 2,
which you are welcome to,
and you can have the mush.
The Amoco Cadiz, would have quailed at the outflow,
millions of surfers would have shrank and yelled "oh no",
this is not lush, please flush. And do rush.
So a reduction in the pressure of this dinky little fissure,
may not last so very long,
can't say the same about the pong.......
So a shilly shally poking, with a brush that now is broken,
and my pals are all a- choking while the question then is spoken.
Why put a brush where the sun don't shine,
A roller does it better every time!
And has more coverage!
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 11:58 AM UTC
There was an Old Person of Cadiz,
Who was always polite to all ladies;
But in handing his daughter,
He fell into the water,
Which drowned that Old Person of Cadiz.
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"If
you run your fingers
down my back
like that
I won't say no.
So, if no is what you
want,
then stop,"
I say
as you bite into
your peach,
red sticky sweet
drips down your
hand,
Your swamp eyes
shine.
"How can peaches
be that red?"
I fumble
as you press
your lips
to my neck,
shoulders,
soft of my stomach.
I bite my lip
to stop the noise
as the room
fills with peaches.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
Old man looking back in time
He remembers it well when the Mediterranean was
rich grassland had many lakes and the people
living there never starved.
A mountain ridge between Spain and Africa kept
the Atlantic Ocean away, but a seer had been on top
of the ridge and seen the mighty ocean, and felt the strain
of the mountain and took to warning people to move
upland; only a few listened and moved to Cadiz.
Earthquake, big fissure in the mountain keeping the ocean
at bay; it took forty days and forty nights, only a few people
with their chattel escaped.
The new ocean was now called: “Between Land Sea.” and people took up sailing,
trading and warring, later tourists came who
had no interest in the passing of time, and that is ok, I understand
that most goats ended up in Spain and the donkeys in Tripoli.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 4:02 AM UTC