"conquistadors" poems
Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.
Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.
Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an *** Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus crap? How could anyone fall for that?!
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
The day the ships came my ancestors we not of the aware of the forced melting *** that would come into existence
The combination of french and spanish confused the delta slaves
Little did they know that neither language would stick on their burnt excuses of tongues
The days the ships came New Orleans became the beacon of mulatos
And although the conquistadors could **** and beat their slave wives
Their spanish advances were not reciprocated due to lack of of heat to complete the melting
The languages that conquered the delta were combined into something that no outsider would want to encounter
That’s why the Americans came and took it like they did the rest of the country
They mistake the magic for voodoo then rebranded it for themselves
Centuries later the delta is still a melting ***
But it’s one my grandmother’s tongue was forced to forget
Her languages were lost next to her mulatto slave ancestors, left to spoil
So now when people ask
“If you’re hispanic why can’t you speak spanish?”
I can barely find the words in english to explain the years of torture my tongue has endured
When spanish speaking couples walk into my work
My tongue is eager to spill words it wishes it had the ability to create
My blood begins to hate itself over the fact that a third of itself is unrecognizable
My tongue is still waiting for the new boats to arrive and reconcer it
All it knows is to be conquered
No self defense here
When all you know is to be conquered
It becomes a challenge to think for oneself
My tongue can’t decide if english, spanish or french is better
My creole mind is yelling thousands foreign curse words not knowing which one is a true sin
Maybe the sin here is letting the burner stay on too long
The day the ships came
My slave ancestors looked at their spanish lovers and said
“My love, what shall we do once the french arrive?”
With their eyes looking into the horizon the conquistadors replied
“Es no problema para mi, pero tu, tu es la propiedad de estos”
Which according to simple history books means
“Good luck”
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
~~~^¡^~~~
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
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Once, they rode strong on the plains
Before conquistadors bent their will.
Strained their backs, cracked their whips
Made them wear strange hides and speak strange tongues.
Refrain:
But when the time is right
To turn the tide
But not without great loss
To turn the tide!
Part II:
Come again, oh strong one
Strengthen your will, stand tall
Remember the Lost Ones and the glory!
Restore freedom in your heart
Replenish well your table, love the earth
Ride free again and tell your story!
Pick up your arrow, shoot it straight (x2)
Forced to swallow all the shame
And leave dying ashes and broken pearls
So once, they rode strong on the plains
But now, there's dying ashes and broken pearls
Broken pearls
Broken pearls.....
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
Double edged sword is a pania machette
In Belizean lingo.
Conquistadors blade. Slicing on the
Downstroke. Slashing on the up.
Forked tongue.simile
Can't turn the other cheek.
Nor close the gap.
Quisling?,
Smiling mouth
Eyes of death.
Ben Arnold wasn't a bad guy just
Bad information.
Pania machette in hand, flicking blood of the end.
Reaching out with the free hand
Smiling sweet treachery.
****** and rip.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
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
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
*adverts and the internet medium:
d'uh... you forgot the capacity
of the mute button...
wha'? wha'?
audi tt?
(let's expand on the title:
geometry (Y) the three dimensions,
and trigonometry (W)... cosine rule,
i.e. how three-dimensional space behaves).*
i was born in the late 20th century,
and, right now,
i'm seeing the "problem"
you thought jews in europe
were the problem...
ever read anything
on the subject of kabbalah?
i can only reply
with sepultura's:
ra-ta-ma'h-hatta'h...
**** me, the tetragrammaton feels like
licking a pharaoh's toes in linguistic terms...
*and there are always four,
to ensure there's one*.
but at least the aztec pyramids
were not burial grounds, or burial monuments,
rather, sites of capital punishment...
which the conquistadors misunderstood!
only the whites know the concept
of ethno-masochism.
by common-tongue standards
so thoroughly expressed with
the desired eloquence, stated, already.
social sciences are a disease
in terms of science per se...
why isn't there a divine intervention
story with regards to the aztec pyramids?
**** me and the scaffold!
the largest bird on earth,
and instead of flying off,
it sticks its head into the earth
to "hide".
that's pushing it...
that's saying the non-existence of god is based
upon the non-existence of a good joke;
i just don't think he needs to be
revered...
but obviously people have other
plans...
never mind the comedian...
mind the moloch;
so they pray, and pray, and ask, and plead,
and end up looking like amassed lunatics...
they demand praying...
me? i demand of myself thinking about him...
hard to think about nothing,
if i were thinking about nothing,
i simply would be, not thinking;
and you'd probably find me:
painting.
but **** me, aztec pyramids didn't receive
a divine intervention
but the egyptian pyramids did...
clearly the aztec pyramids weren't vanity projects
akin to burial sites / tombs...
clearly...
sites of enforcing capital punishment;
years later mis-translated by conquistadors...
and in militant atheistic form...
said: retarted.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
You can have it all, if you don't need nothing
Keep the good vibes rolling, if it helps with one's loving
It's like a whole EDM festival, coming from your mouth
Not like those turntable dudes, down in the deep south
I thought DJs had had their freestyle spinning last days
Like Catholic church priests and their unholy ******* ways
Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal
They say, ‘I'm the new messiah’.Thanks, but, I don't even try
Thanks to so few, excluding the ones, who waved me on by
I'm sort of creating, a brand new hype and buzz
Full of pure clarity, with a dash of man-made fuzz
When the beat stops, from its fast-talking pace
We all like to flop and drop that ******* bass
Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal
A shout out, to all my southern conquistadors and homeward bound homie’s
Ignore all the Los Angeles doomsayers and Hollywood snapchat phoney's
Elevator doors always be jammin' and then coming to a closure
We all like a moment, of shy mouth miming, with very little exposure
From a worldwide hit or an Aussie Whispering Jack golden classic
From the sound of a crackling frisbee, made from nothing,
but pure black plastic
Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
Hey remember that night when we chased the burglars in the front and back yard
and you almost kissed me?
God, I wanted you to.
I submitted a Post Secret of two young French lovers kissing in the rain
and I wrote “This will never be me” over the woman.
******* Parisians.
Once upon a time,
I bought flowers for myself just because I wanted to.
It was the most empowering thing I could have done.
But for the two weeks they sat on my window sill,
I was constantly reminded no one bought them for me.
Long ago, in a land far, far away,
I used to believe in miracles.
This one time, We sat at the Spanish Arch,
the one the Conquistadors built,
comprised of ancient old stone that caught the tears of the heartbroken,
heard the tales of the old salty men coming home from the bar,
and saw the transformation of an old Irish city into a new, artsy town.
We looked up, saw a shooting star, and wished on it I would be with him forever.
I was 19 once, and he sat on the beach with his flicky blonde hair
and a Corona and his oversized tee shirt hanging off his body
and we sat on that beach for hours, in the eye of the storm, soaking it all in.
It was the first time I realized I could love.
We were 22 and he was in love with somebody else and I loved his soul,
but I wasn’t in love with him and we found out we’re in the same boat.
We will always love each other but we can never be together
because we cannot give each other what we need.
He’s the only man who has never let me down.
As a child, I thought I could fly.
Not physically fly, but Peter and Wendy inspired me,
and I knew I could fly as a dreamer, and soar through the skies
like the hawk or the raven or the finch or the ******* pterodactyl if I wanted to.
And I wanted to. And I did.
I wrote a story once about a girl who ran several miles at two am when she couldn’t sleep
and the personal demons kept haunting her and taunting her
and the whiskey wouldn’t shut them up.
Every once in a while, I clean the house naked.
Sometimes, I kinda wish the UPS guy would catch me.
Every day, my life is filled with sullen, sunken, exposed regret.
I wish I did what I didn’t do.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:14 AM UTC
I shaved my head
the dead protein I suffered small talk
to stripe and style and now it shines
just like the rest of theirs,
the scalps of would-be conquistadors,
made into saggy stocking caps.
I tattooed my neck
with a dotted line
and 'cut here' in cheerful Comic Sans.
They kept the bottom part.
I took my extra bits
and slid them across the table in case someone needed them.
They slid them back--
but my left kidney won Best in Show
And my right lung was an honorable mention.
I sewed the ribbons to my chest.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Her shape is a hidden map
For hundreds of conquistadors
Seeking what’s beyond her lap
Owning her juvenile allure
In the breadth of her landscape
Her once wilderness is tamed
Her soul locked in a bastille
While her lone temple awaits.
All she ever desires is a traveler
She deemed she once knew
Still, the stars won't the answer
When her love is due.
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
I am intertwined
between laughter and sorrows,
miserable smiles
a tear running down
that my naïve cheeks don't feel;
Ignorance is bliss
Need a legion of
angelic conquistadors
to bear me away
on beds of roses,
allow thorns to pierce my skin
drag haloes in mud
in the remembrance
of a tainted innocence
willingly given
and a heart broken
many unbearable times,
but now its open...
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
We arrived brave and bold, art and science at our backs -
A rigid grid of perception to transpose upon all we would see before us.
Expectation of the unexpected,
Of normality with new norms.
Alas, close or foreign, observing or feeling,
Pain is one and the same.
Navigating slow waters muddied by social pollution,
Our lanterns cast a feeble light through the detritus.
Then, as the stream presented the sea, black and thick as a Venus night,
A dart of colour transcended from the voluminous burden.
Do the waters behind represent those ahead,
Or should we portend this tiny creature an omen?
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:33 AM UTC
A lone pearl trembles.
The basilisk eye closes,
weeping its last tear.
Failed conquistadors,
every good man in their tow
drowns in the dry air.
Venom in the dust.
The serpent slinks and recoils.
A vesica pouts.
Not one soldier spared;
a white flag hangs in tatters.
Both sides won the war.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Since times of Spanish exploration,
They ran like gods of speed and thunder,
Across the open plains and wild country,
With eyes on fire and flowing manes.
All colors on their backs of majesty,
They roamed in packs, a brotherhood,
Hell bent on some, yet distance future,
No man could tame them readily.
Their pace so frantic, a restless brood,
They feared all men, and rightly so,
So when the time came to contain them,
They ran their fastest, uneven road.
Living off the land they circled,
In canyons vast with red-rock walls,
Near streams so frigid, shadows deep,
They'd stop to have their fill of life.
Their snorts and breathing, surreal it was,
A call to distance friends who still roamed,
Their muscles hardened, never slowed them,
A magical part of what nature showed.
Then came the conquistadors, gold to find,
With needing means to travel the land,
Saw these gods of flight and fancy,
Deciding they should conquer all.
But wild resist man's arrogant pleasure,
Some died a royal death then now alone,
And man, the most selfish, took their freedom,
But could not stop their restless souls.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
if i were drunk i would kiss you on the sidewalk in the rain
unlimited useless inhibitions a moment of passion
wrestling with tongues i taste your heart
sharing saliva i kiss your soul
too ******
my hands wander and come to rest
conquistadors of the southern americas
**** me senseless and leave me bleeding on the side of the road
my love abuse me for you know not what you do yet i forgive you
i died so you could live the least you could do is **** my...
too ****** my apologies to the god fearing masses yet when you mix orange juice and
tequila from my mind my mouth spews the filth or is it the truth of my feelings
i would love you my beautiful angel if only you would let me
slip my hand into your pants
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Was life truly; ever so sweet,
As in the sun-worshipped, One World,
Beneath feathery banners, all unfurled,
Celebrated rhythm of the Mexica beat,
Applauding the gods with dancing feet,
While eagerly anticipating the final breath,
Of the honoured warrior’s, flowery death.
Lost ancient world, carved in stone,
Temples and plaza’s of grandiose plan,
Before the great pyramid of Tenochtitlan,
From lowliest slave to the highest throne,
Gathered before gods to whom they atone,
With obsidian blade priests begin the flood,
Of a sacrificial ceremony sealed with blood.
But do not weep for the ritually slain,
Or condemn this misunderstood race,
This culture both in and out of place,
Who flourished before interference from Spain;
Immoral inquisitions wielding torture and pain,
Led by Cortez’s murderous gold greed,
Condoned by religion’s, fanatical need.
A pyrrhic victory for invading Spanish-whites,
Conquistadors, who murdered, pillaged and *****
A savage slaughter that not even children escaped,
Brave Mexica vanquished in the one sided fights,
A nation revelling no more during hot sultry nights,
A lost civilization weeping for countless lost lives,
And yet, and yet . . . Mexica spirit; forever survives.
©Paul Chafer 2014
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
I can taste the flow of your brazen energy, as it meanders like an electrical impulse which spans recollected dimensions of distal awareness.
Although we are neither flat-lined nor spiking in our electromagnetic throbbing, that mystical union of physiological members displays the blatancy of our connected conquistadors.
It is important to embrace the promise on the banks of hydrological cycles without fusion of both commodities.
Like an interference pattern which is undiscernible in its direction, we are in a stable rhythm.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
"Let me be your home" she said
it's all she could offer,
just peace of mind and comfort of familiarity.
"Is the rent high?" he asked
joking, in a way,
also making her seem like she had a price to be haggled
they were in like
and liked things so.
Spaniards in space-
that's what these two were,
just a couple of conquistadors
navigating relationships and apartment listings
ended up in her heart
view of the lungs
things were good,
she made breakfast, he did dishes
they visited the brain every now and then
see the scenery
museum of neurons
they love that stuff
rightfully so
they lived quite happily ever after
in her heart
until the attack-
then things got weird,
but their love survived the paplitations and cholesterol
they could survive anything.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
a table salt spilled next to the dead
warrior, a young ****** stands
frozen, over his limp body,
a garrison marched into
a vault stole every thing of any value,
left only, drips of terror
fallow cries whispers
dry lips horror
death,
from the reeking remains of
history, the teacher taught me,
about Germanic victories, Viking tales,
conquistadors.
There,
was where i remember,
this.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 3:57 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
He felt their death worthwhile, even enjoyable
whereas his light and oxygen were dead and forgotten.
gone
he wanted to speak to buildings but they looked redundant
instead,
he offered to converse with some benign God who was staring at him through the rumble of yesterday
couldn’t remember his childhood
only scaffolding could hold him up on
normal days when
phones melted
he dripped sweat and feared the conquistadors of death
he would disintegrate into a dust
a human sacrifice in a hot country his heart ripped from his chest and shown on a screen.
his throat was constricted,
sitting at a cheap mass produced desk
he had been invaded by a majestic warm light but alas
he was just a bricked upman in a suit
his body felt like a memory. this scared him.
he sat in a corner and offered the invisible God of indifference
trinkets and baubles.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 8:18 AM UTC