"conquistador" poems
I have always liked,
Defiant Africans,
Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta,
Martin Luther King,
Groovy black men,
******* with attitude,
But they intimidate me,
Black men.
Freedom fighters,
Bar room brawlers,
And I rise from sleep,
Sheened in sweat,
Running away,
Scribbling my number,
On scraps of paper,
On foreheads and trousers,
On outstretched palms,
And I’m breathing heavily,
Feeling stained,
Because,
That one there,
The white man in Navy uniform,
With hair on his *****
I know him,
-conquistador-
He smells of garlic and grease,
And my black friends call me,
****** ***** *****
Will he take the lion tooth offered,
Will he make the tribal dance?
-I can teach him to love the earth,
Teach him to plant his feet in, deep-
I ********** from sleep, supported
By thick, colonial, muscle.
I am forging steel,
Industrial iron,
I am engineering a white lover
Beneath the sheets, whilst
Apologising to freedom fighters,
Who call me ****** ***** *****
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
A hippodrome as smoke adjourn
those can wrap Havanas blunt
while Manila fish for sordino
they reek of harvest yet exhume Moro
then San Mateo shall not a maraschino bane
whether they've sought bastion in Italy then
once their hopes shall keep ships ahoy
and Sabatini sing San Marino here
that sandcastle star await his lover in
"The Sea Hawk" a fine costume whence sail
those Antilles with a conquistador as buttress
in this play they call Those Philippines alas meet
El Duarte in a duet with his song set aflame with
great sleeves in such kleptocracy worldwide again.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
An agent of assonance,
An army of alliteration,
A conquistador of climaxes,
A fighter with form,
A marksman of motif,
A mercenary of metaphors,
A ninja of nuances,
A raider of rhyme,
A soldier of synonyms,
A vigilante of voice,
I strike with the fiercest of sentences,
With such clarity and no false pretenses,
I assail with the mightiest of swords,
I am a warrior of words.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
You live on the canal,
by the little swan
that whittles the sun.
A sudden rush of clouds,
a clatter of sandals -
caprice of Dublin.
I knew of Dublin
and its grand canal
from old books tan as sandals.
I read Yeats for a swan,
Joyce for castle clouds
that yielded little sun.
But you, you were the sun!
You lit green Dublin
from within. Clouds
fled from the canals
of your eye. "Swansies."
And summer's far sandals
were today's sandals:
time shifted in the sun,
took flight like the night swan
through ancient Dublin.
You sent letters from the canal,
letters that divided clouds,
only to calve new clouds.
I've never worn sandals,
not ever, but when the canal
danced in my dreams, the sun
pierced my foot in Dublin.
You were my swan,
my elegant swansie,
killer of cloud,
conquistador of Dublin
in gladiatorial sandal,
herald and avatar of sun,
romantic of the grand canal.
Let me taste unclouded sun -
let sandals upend the canal -
send swans by the dozen into Dublin.
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
Procurar sempre na imensidão palavras que se perdem no horizonte,
Me contentar com o recanto e água fresca de uma fonte.
Rios que correis , flor que sempre brota...!
Navios que deixaram de ser frota.
Altares que se veneram sem ter lindas rosas,
Mulheres bonitas que não são formosas.
Homens que se deitam com amores adulterados,
Penitência de sepulcros abertos, fechados.
Sentinelas dum castelo, cristão, mourisco.
Conquistador dum império nunca visto.
Sebentas maltratadas com riscos e tinteiros partidos,
Panteão Helénico de poetas desconhecidos.
Victor Marques
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 8:00 AM UTC
Los animales fueron
imperfectos,
largos de cola, tristes
de cabeza.
Poco a poco se fueron
componiendo,
haciéndose paisaje,
adquiriendo lunares, gracia, vuelo.
El gato,
sólo el gato
apareció completo
y orgulloso:
nació completamente terminado,
camina solo y sabe lo que quiere.
El hombre quiere ser pescado y pájaro,
la serpiente quisiera tener alas,
el perro es un *** desorientado,
el ingeniero quiere ser poeta,
la mosca estudia para golondrina,
el poeta trata de imitar la mosca,
pero el gato
quiere ser sólo gato
y todo gato es gato
desde bigote a cola,
desde presentimiento a rata viva,
desde la noche hasta sus ojos de oro.
No hay unidad
como él,
no tienen
la luna ni la flor
tal contextura:
es una sola cosa
como el sol o el topacio,
y la elástica línea en su contorno
firme y sutil es como
la línea de la proa de una nave.
Sus ojos amarillos
dejaron una sola
ranura
para echar las monedas de la noche.
Oh pequeño
emperador sin orbe,
conquistador sin patria,
mínimo tigre de salón, nupcial
sultán del cielo
de las tejas eróticas,
el viento del amor
en la intemperie
reclamas
cuando pasas
y posas
cuatro pies delicados
en el suelo,
oliendo,
desconfiando
de todo lo terrestre,
porque todo
es inmundo
para el inmaculado pie del gato.
Oh fiera independiente
de la casa, arrogante
vestigio de la noche,
perezoso, gimnástico
y ajeno,
profundísimo gato,
policía secreta
de las habitaciones,
insignia
de un
desaparecido terciopelo,
seguramente no hay
enigma
en tu manera,
tal vez no eres misterio,
todo el mundo te sabe y perteneces
al habitante menos misterioso,
tal vez todos lo creen,
todos se creen dueños,
propietarios, tíos
de gatos, compañeros,
colegas,
discípulos o amigos
de su gato.
Yo no.
Yo no suscribo.
Yo no conozco al gato.
Todo lo sé, la vida y su archipiélago
el mar y la ciudad incalculable,
la botánica,
el gineceo con sus extravíos,
el por y el menos de la matemática,
los embudos volcánicos del mundo,
la cáscara irreal del cocodrilo,
la bondad ignorada del bombero,
el atavismo azul del sacerdote,
pero no puedo descifrar un gato.
Mi razón resbaló en su indiferencia,
sus ojos tienen números de oro.
2.5k
my ***** Little Secret, symbolized
by ***** words and little idiosyncrasies and
secret secret liaisons;
je c'adore,
laying Control alongside
cast off clothing and kicked off wet *******
heartbeat aflutter beneath your
oh so deliberate ministrations and
thighs aquiver beneath your
oh so deliberate teeth.
my wrists chafe; bound by bitter steel to demure wood,
powerless
or rather
entirely in your power.
you've always loved it,
the thrill of exploration, of
Newfoundland, of
conquer and subjugation and ravishment;
your tongue flickering against my
**** like eiderdown,
fingertips tracing spirals and Möbius
Strips upon my *******
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Once, long ago
I gazed upon
the world with
conformity’s eyes
and found it absurd
And I cursed existence
and my fellow man
I built a wall to defend
the tattered remnants
of the sanity I perceived
I still possessed
I built a wall that quickly
became a desolate prison
standing cold in the face
of forgiveness and love
I ignored beauty’s gentle bliss
I insulted love in the name
of an antiquated morality
Oh spirits
Oh demons
Oh harbingers
of what lies
beyond
perception
It was to you
that I entrusted
my salvation
It was to you that
I prayed in expectation
of deliverance
I begged for naught
but a cessation of being
to relieve the nightmare
of existence
In desperation
I grasped the reins
of intolerance
I drew the sword
of superficial righteousness
carving a swath of condemnation
through the ranks of my brothers
for the sake of a disapproving God
I wounded virtue in the name of heaven
I exchanged reason for faith
I threw compassion to the dogs of indifference
What pain has my existence
brought my fellow man?
My path to salvation lies
hidden among the bones
of those I once held dear
Heaven should not
exact such remuneration
for paradise cannot be
purchased with the blood
of hatred and the
tears of martyred tolerance
I will not kneel before
such an altar
Not again
Never again
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
He rises from his grave underneath the looming arm of the willow tree.
His armor, once waxed to a blinding lustre, now rough with rust and dents, clinks and breaks the silence of the narrow land between the sea.
The ground is soft and disturbed, from where man came he has also returned, only to have risen again.
The one he loves is found elsewhere; he seeks while his heart, as withered as his chain-mail, aches.
In love we die to ourselves, like sleep before waking.
There sings a dream within a haze amidst the lucid glow of images, recalling a time where what was once real has long since passed.
Since that passing, decay has taken hold of his life, like wisteria to a pocket of lattice.
The ground was cold, as chilling as his broken heart, and what reason there is for his timely waking is known only to the God who watches above.
The sun is warm and colors the sky in burning orange, just before it sets behind a cloud.
In his mind he sees his love, her shape, her touch, her smile, and opens his eyes to the willow’s trunk.
There in the bark, he sees his love, her shape, her touch, her smile, and with his worm eaten hand, unsheathes his sword, brittle yet as sharp as in the day of its forging.
He says a prayer in an ancient tongue, and whips the air with his sword and stabs the heart of the willow.
Like an earthquake’s rumble the tree splits in two.
In the opening holds a skeleton wrapped in yellow lace.
He has found his love, yet weeps for she is not the same.
She is not the same.
She will never be who she once was.
She has returned to the earth, where all men go to die.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
Lost child afternoon
green pick up truck
cigarettes silver lipstick gold'n red
red like the horizon
in closed eyes
in
underwater blankets
where
Tiny fish and clams and beer bottles swim
Lost Child Afternoon
Gorgeous road signs
laying like a dog
with women of Florida purity alligator tongue
laying like a dead fly
on the carpets chest
resting like a mother
resting like a newborn Larva
like a newborn seed
grasping onto a Nebrask-ian breeze
A'hoy
A'hoy
the sail boat of life
is casting out
give us
give eye
a penny for a ride
for a passser-by
2 pennies to love
3 to keep the love
and 4 to
come back to shore
come aboard
come aboard
the whiskey is
practically gone
practically free
Wear some boots
because it rains
and the mud is thick like hair
the flowers of life
bow like magnificent dream girl eye lashes
questions balance on a blink
come aboard
life seeker
life conquistador
life Apollo 11'er
life
wanderer wonderer
life protagonists
life main character
life 10 dollars
life love affair
life
30 years old
in dog years
Life
Mexican SunRise
Life
A.M.
Life
take her out to dinner
she put on
25 dollar lipstick
to imprint
to stain
your
offered
cigarette.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
Take this useless tongue of mine
I am merely a passive observer in this game we call Life
All ideal;
No action
Egress my soul through the impenetrable fortress
splitting a difference between the realities
of Hip and Loneliness. I find my spirit
obscured within the latter realm.
Take this loveless heart of mine
I am merely a conquistador's familiarity with failure
it beats in rhythms;
consider it a charity
Descending from the heavens of my imagination, a
radiant lioness swifts into my being and lifts
above...above into El Paraiso Del Deseo
It's time to unfurl these eyelids
1-30-13
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
firestarter and match,
pitching endlessly to become more
smoke, then intense crimson flames,
aglow in my heart.
brick and stone edifices form a
fortress around abodes
leaving habitats adrift
and alone
(I DON'T GIVE A **** ABOUT MY PHONE)
passing and switching faces -- an
entourage that follows but yet
the girl is alone.
alas, fire ablaze, uncontrollable but
sometimes tame
marking the forest trail and
spreading the damage, sprout and then destroy
like a fiery divine being
destruction of the old path and
a clean sweep of the
trees that once seemed so formidable
the flame spreads with a staunch
persistence, to maybe prove that
yeah, the water is weaker
like a conquistador who
pillages countries leaving them
penniless
the flame continues
no concern about the consequence or
destruction, set on being set and
ever aglow, what puts the fierce fire
out anyways?
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 11:17 AM UTC
En los solares de Burgos a su Rodrigo aguardando,
tan encinta está Jimena, que muy cedo aguarda el parto;
cuando demás dolorida una mañana en disanto,
bañada en lágrimas tiernas, escribe al rey don Fernando:
«A vos, el mi señor rey, el bueno, el aventurado,
el magno, el conquistador, el agradecido, el sabio,
la vuestra sierva Jimena, fija del conde Lozano,
desde Burgos os saluda, donde vive lacerando.
Perdonédesme señor, que no tengo pecho falso,
y si mal talante os tengo, no puedo disimulallo.
¿Qué ley de Dios vos otorga que podáis, por tiempo tanto
como ha que fincáis en lides, descasar a los casados?
¿Qué buena razón consiente que a mi marido velado
no le soltéis para mí sino una vez en el año?
Y esa vez que lo soltáis, fasta los pies del caballo
tan teñido en sangre viene, que pone pavor mirallo;
y no bien mis brazos toca cuando se duerme en mis brazos,
y en sueños gime y forcejea, que cuida que está lidiando,
y apenas el alba rompe, cuando lo están acuciando
las esculcas y adalides para que se vuelva al campo.
Llorando vos lo pedí y en mi soledad cuidando
de cobrar padre y marido, ni uno tengo, ni otro alcanzo.
Y como otro bien no tengo y me lo habedes quitado,
en guisa lo lloro vivo cual si estuviese enterrado.
Si lo facéis por honralle, asaz Rodrigo es honrado,
pues no tiene barba, y tiene reyes moros por vasallos.
Yo finco, señor, encinta, que en nueve meses he entrado
y me pueden empecer las lágrimas que derramo.
Dad este escrito a las llamas, non se fega de él palacio,
que en malos barruntadores no me será bien contado».
1.2k
I ate a conquistador
I ate a holiday
I ate an afterthought
I ate a bagel
Gosh, what a breakfast it's been
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
the slavs never left europe,
which makes the language
of western europe
riddled with missing accents
noted and seen spoken and unheard of likely
so bemusing you almost wish
they stayed, and played that game
of small town boy, liked khaki,
said khaki was ***** brown,
twist the star of david not the ********
21st century;
then the care to speak the language,
and riddling politicise the language
of that what's spoken for ego as master censor
make ***** of f*ck... please do parabola -
i'll just graffiti in chalk across all fives of the keratin.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
I’ve been mistaken for a conquistador
When really I just break hearts by accident
There’s no evil in my deeds
And no wickedness in my words
I’m just looking for lovers who are lost
I’ve been trying to fix the unbroken
And all I do is break what can’t be fixed
There’s no cleverness in my words
And no thoroughness in my deeds
I’m just a lost soul looking for love
So you will know me by the trail of broken hearts
And the flower in my buttonhole
And that smug look on my face
And the searchlight in my mind
Aimed at nothing in particular
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Daring.
Bold.
Too scary?
No. Maybe? Yeah.
Hesitations? Anxiety?
Yes.
Just let it go, Katie.
Just. Let. Go.
Release.
Look, bro! No handlebars! No handlebars!
Accomplishment.
I finally gathered up the courage and let go.
I abandoned my security blanket.
My inhibitions, my fear, my hesitation
Gone.
Al gone.
I’m a conqueror! A mighty conquistador!
Fear me, for I am daring and intrepid!
I’ve finally conquered fear.
Time to conquer something else.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 1:08 PM UTC
Cataratas
Elas são vaidosas,
Nas montanhas rochosas,
O seu legado é eterno,
Fáceis de descer puro engano.
A sua beleza não é minha,
Pedras jazem desfeitas,
A água que salpica,
Estranha farsa,
A água de cair não se farta,
Ritmo que incita.
A natureza posa por amor,
Que belas e exuberantes,
Assustam o mais temível conquistador,
E deliciam as nossas mentes.
Victor Marques
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 11:56 AM UTC
Vieques
Snakes were here by the grace of God, but
knowing Him, He set them down while He fiddled
with an Egyptian plague, forgetting where He’d left them.
The Navy brought mongooses to eat the snakes
so they could relax and shell the sunrise coast in peace
but mongoose got to eat, as any chicken farmer will tell you.
Spain sent Church and State astride the horse, but conquistador and cleric
dismounted to take in a sunset from ***** Arenas while the sea breeze
whispered soft and sweet to a restless stallion and his starry eyed mare.
Ticks in the grass, indifferent to bombs, bitter on mongoose tongue
bloated equestrians each every one, blithe captives of nothing
but the cold blue Atlantic and the turquoise bath of the Caribbean Sea.
Bored by the endless cycle of creation and destruction, inspired perhaps
to beauty or by niggling guilt, God unveiled the egret, elegant in its simplicity
with a taste for tick and a knack for lazy symbiosis.
The Malecón sways with rhythms we won’t bring back in our carry-on’s, a drink
down the road from the old United Fruit Company dock, short stroll to sugar house
ruins, unhurried drivers nodding to afro-son, waiting for horses to make their way.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
ironically democracy is imposed
by our capitalist task masters
clothed in our rolled gold souls
if it cant be bought
its worth more when its sold
and nothing pays faster
than disaster
war and famine
to a conquistador
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
In my Country
there's an epidemic of poor posture
with no one teaching us
how to hold our guts
I traveled to faraway lands
to learn the secret
of ******* in my *****
its like walking in between
two closely parked cars
as a young lad
I stood alongside another boy
cream of the crop
slick hair blonde and mine black
one girl left for her choosing
between us side by side
Sadie Hawkins went with the other fella
and I heard the adults behind me wince
it taught me something about my pecking order
in the meat market
yet it turned out the prettiest girl at the dance
still had the last choice
and it was me
we held each other close for a time
and the music played on
white gloves and shuffling black leather, thick soles
Is our name a destiny?
Why did Caleb advise immediately take the Land?
for his faith a bounty
these knights and conquering heroes
conquistador cops
vice squads ICE raids
trade war kinderlagers
borders and the shame
of the human smell
unwashed, ***** tired
I'm not that good, I haven't washed many feet
even my own are ***** sometimes
because my floors collect dust and dirt from the porch
that wasn't swept before I came
but I'm glad to be here
a chess board on the floor
and a fern that might make it
tomorrow
we hope to be better
tomorrow
like a new morning
looking out a bright window
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
you
subjugated me,
doing me as
Pizarro did the Incans,
plundering my heart and
ravaging the remainder.
that's probably why I love you so,
because
nothing
feels so good as
being subsumed,
breathless held under
kicking but only
languorously,
like swimming on a Sunday afternoon.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
I wanna lose any semblance of control
Repel down that little lost rabbit hole
Gnaw on the skull and cross bones of
every single bible beater that stood before
their throne like a scarecrow to it's corn
I won't barricade my door, Conquistador
Open the floodgates; bring me the seafloor
10,000 leagues deep and I'm still breathing
I'm teething on a tombstone like Casper
Now all I need is an inquisitive barn owl
prowling for an irrelevant answer
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
When once we dived on the San Miguel
Off the coast of old Peru,
We little knew that under the swell
Was an Aztec treasure, too.
I scuba’d down, and the vessel lay
Tipped onto its starboard side,
And mostly covered in silt that day
That buried its Spanish pride.
The wreck had never been seen before
So my heart began to pound,
We’d found the ship we’d been looking for
Submerged, and under a mound,
While whisking some of the silt away
My eyes had caught a gleam,
The helmet of a Conquistador
Lay trapped, and under a beam.
But as the silt was dispersed I saw
That the helmet still was full,
For glaring out from beneath its brim
Was a fearsome human skull,
The skeleton was intact, and lay
Still trapped, where once he fell,
His legs were caught in a cannon bay
Of the fated San Miguel.
I had no time for the niceties
That I should have shown to him,
But seized the helmet from off his head
And I left him, looking grim,
I took it up to the surface as
The first of our spoils that day,
And told the crew that I claimed it,
It was mine, so come what may!
The treasure trove was incredible
Of jewels and gold moidores,
I didn’t think that my helmet would
Be missed, once taken ashore,
But in my mind was a picture that
I’d seen on the ocean bed,
Of that struggling, drowned Conquistador
And that helmet on his head.
I sat that helmet in pride of place
As a conversation piece,
Tricked it up with a piece of lace
Thanks to a helpful niece,
But then the sounds had begun at night
The clashing of steel on steel,
And shadows, moving in passageways
From something that wasn’t real.
One night, the door with a mighty crash
Fell into the passageway,
I must have been feeling more than rash
To venture toward the fray,
For standing there in the open door
Was a skeleton, with a sword,
Who slipped the helmet onto its head
Not saying a single word.
I watched it wade back into the sea
This pile of ancient bones,
And think I know where it’s sure to be
Back where it lay, alone,
It seeks its brother Conquistadors
Where each had perished as well,
Guarding the store of gold moidores
In the hold of the San Miguel.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
Don Quixote's
defunct
who once
mounted a stale
stallion
and pontificated theimpossibledream
Christo
he was a ragged hombre
and what I have to say is
how do you like your conquistador kid
Mister Muerte
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC