"gibraltar" poems
99 cent wars, rooftops, Gibraltar Screaming "god bless the fabulous" Christs;
In the eyes of years
Man is king only over that which breathes,
So let's throw hugs in the air,
sit on flowers and vanish to Cook stones on the hips of Cleopatra
with all of December's left footed children
For through the cried ***** tears of furry German banana caskets,
Eternity awaits
In the failures of our greatest triumphs,
So let's dance
After all, Psychological Wednesday societies
Are only good for curing Xbox manifestos and Tuesday sanities
And if we died one day,
it sure won't be yesterday.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Ever heard your voice take a trip mid sentence
And start scrambling eggs,
Ending sentences with verbs,
Mixing Soy sauce with Bacardi
And chasing the laughter down your throat with onions
Cuckolding in the middle of the afternoon
Where violet doesn’t recognize blue
As a hue worthy enough to frolic with the afternoon dew,
And then your brain smiles to your ******
And you choke on a giggle
And wiggle an index finger just a little
And remember black widows
Were once angels who bought into self fulfilling prophecies
Like wearing Armani suits barefoot
And breathing through your skin
Hoping life doesn’t die in your arms
And leave a beautiful corpse
With great stories suffocating inside
And make the subpar ambitions of an unborn child jealous.
Now ever heard a genius cry?
‘cause then you’ve heard an artist cry.
Ever ate pork fried rice on a Sunday afternoon?
‘cause if you have you’ve heard the words of Leviticus cry.
Ever read these written words?
‘cause if you have you’ve heard memories die
And pains scream in alphabets of pleasure—
The universal language of immaculate deception
That sweeps through every tongue in involuntary pneumonia
Like waltzing to the Amen’s of the devil
With oxygen choking your nostrils
And monoxide nodding your fingers to pull the trigger
Of death dancing on the tomb of your destiny
Like how a dose of metamorphosis
And a 1mg of juxtaposition
Is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon.
But ever heard a musical note?
Then you’ve heard the story of how joy lost the war of happiness to bitterness.
Ever heard the sound of silence?
Then you’ve heard the face of evil and the thoughts of serenity
Joined at the hip of rock of Gibraltar,
Nodding heads at the gospels of Gothic prophets
Spewing sermons of a perfecter way to word the meaning of love.
Ever heard a Mockingjay sing?
Then you’ve heard the lullabies of suicide,
Like falling from grace from the eyes of your one true love
And landing on the plastic bag made of her silence
Only to wake from the land of death and catch your voice breaking at mid sentence
And mend it with the lies of sunshine that you call your life.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 2:51 PM UTC
I walked into a sunset that did not belong to me,
Its vivid colours burning across the Mediterranean Sea.
In a fragile, elusive moment of composure
I gazed at the choppy sea moving closer
To the rugged, pebbly, rocky shore
Where I stood alone against the Rock.
The Rock of Gibraltar watched with a smile
As the turbulent Med pulsating with life
Scattered its waves against the strand,
And the sapphire waters kissed the ancient land.
The stormy sea embraced the coast
With fierceness intangible as a ghost.
The air vibrated with a taste of freedom,
With barely audible words of wisdom
That travelled across the centuries
To fill the tangy air with memories.
The voices from the past enveloped the Rock
In an alluringly mythical, protective cloak.
I gathered the strength I drew from the Rock;
Fears discarded, the resolve growing strong,
I walked the Med Steps to the very top
Against a dazzlingly splendid backdrop
Of the breathtaking views of the bay,
Basking in the aura of fears thrown away.
Intoxicated by the beauty, hungry for more,
I was feeling elated to the very core.
The fear of heights temporarily conquered,
The contentment felt almost awkward.
Suddenly, the world seemed a different place:
Offering the nature's graceful embrace.
As the starry night slowly descended,
In my solitude, I felt protected
By the mighty Rock standing tall and grand
Guarding the ancient, immemorial land.
Copyright: Nara Hodge 2018
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Boston Sydney Oslo London Berlin Montreal Ibiza Stockholm Lisbon Dublin....where are you?..Chicago Madrid Turin Liverpool....I need you home!....Tokyo India Rio Helsinki Milan Botswana....please come home....Gibraltar Alice Springs Zurich Tel Aviv St Helier Jerusalem....I really miss you x
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 7:50 AM UTC
Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy music; as I come
I tune the instrument here at the door,
And what I must do then, think here before.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
That this is my south-west discovery,
Per fretum febris, by these straits to die,
I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
For, though their currents yield return to none,
What shall my west hurt me? As west and east
In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the resurrection.
Is the Pacific Sea my home? Or are
The eastern riches? Is Jerusalem?
Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.
We think that Paradise and Calvary,
Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;
Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
"Therefore that he may raise, the. Lord throws down."
2.5k
when a nation implodes into a civil war,
it is heresy for other nations to intervene,
i didn’t hear of the french intervention
in the english civil war...
or a german intervention in the french civil war...
****** didn’t invade spain, and no african
nation intervened in the american civil war...
or mongolia invading russia via siberia
to save the tsar...
but i guess the concept of
globalisation changed all that,
when western nations forgot that they have
professional armies... while syria
has a liechtenstein / gibraltar army equivalent...
former postmen, cooks, bakers butchers and lawyers
turned professional “footballers;”
i can draw you a dairy cow in crayons if you like,
oozing blood: if this view is too complex to digest -
they do it with passion...
your soldiers do it for a paycheque, get it?
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
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
Charlie and D sitting in a tree, Henry VIII comes along, chops down the tree.
part of me constantly and perversely anticipates
what Islam holds dear, the cult of the moon
rather than the sun - sleeping nudges of inquiry
and reminiscence of Freud rather than this constant
pulverisation of scientific safety-nets -
the sun and the scam of diet - Narcissus myth
all too apparent, too self-conscious to feed
the beauty, laboratory type beauty,
statistician's paradise - sun and skin cancer collective,
i'm not an Arab, and i never will be,
but this sort of weather and jet-stream excess isn't
exactly helping either - Einstein might have
saved you from exacting the thought process
(never experiment with it, never)
behind Newtonian cause & effect, but this ****
isn't going away, and you won't be exactly barnacle
jumping mad with Jack & Jill if you voice your
concerns; for all that urbanity the village life
is having a comeback - hello brick, hello tree,
hello tomorrow: the day of never-be -
the Spaniards had a second try at an inquisition
via Gibraltar - the Scots sailed to Brussels -
the village life is having a comeback -
the Americans are hoarding guns prior to enacting
scenes from Bastille Sq. with the guillotine -
they don't know it yet, but they're hoarding guns
to topple the government over - elsewhere
a bunch of Palestinians were throwing stones
at bullseyes for a fluffy toy in a theme park.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
I thought about Norfolk and Norfolk folk,
And Norfolk bricks and the Norfolk coast,
I thought of winds in a hollow dune and waveless seas
Where the heat washed a breeze -
Into a summer fret!
Where hawking gulls who balance by
point towards straight roads at sunrise
Where the hillocks fall down to
The summer's edge
In the wash of the Gibraltar flats
Reflected fractions of a perfect sky
Form blue pools in the heated sand
The stuff of dreams
That Norfolk
Land
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
Garden Parkway YMCA
Dallas, Texas
22 November 1963
Darling Sophie,
Could it be only two months since I let your fingers slip from my hand as that train departed Voronezh station? I fear that this trip was a great mistake. . . .
The boat sailed from Sevastopol as scheduled. Just two days and we were through the Bosporus/Dardanelles and into the incredibly blue Aegean and the Mediterranean. On September 27 we passed Gibraltar and started the long haul across the Atlantic. The work was not demanding though the ship was quite ***** and not really very pleasant.
We docked at Houston in the state of Texas on October 9. Defecting was surprisingly easy. There was supposed to be work in Dallas so I walked/hitch-hiked here last month. But I have not been able to find any work.
The people here, though friendly, are coarse and brash. The stores overflow with televisions, record players, mink coats, but there are many very poor people here too...
The great American leader, Kennedy, was shot and killed today, driving in his open-topped car along the streets of this very city.
My money is gone; my strength, exhausted. How blithely I left you and Russia behind! I feel my lips brushing the tiny hairs on the back of your neck, your ******* swelling. . . . Sophie! May you know great happiness and love! I only ask that in the spring when you visit Krymskaya Pond, that you remember how we knelt there, how I whispered in your ear there, when the air is filled with the scent of its cherry trees that you remember what we felt there. . . .
Yours, always, Nickolay
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
I rode the crested waves
that graced the coptic sea
And crashed into the shores
of North Africa
The water was as warm
The blood hotter still
No one went on living
unless they had the will
You never made a friend
nor aquaintence by the hill
Life was sweet and short
Too easy to be killed
Your best friend was a bottle
A cigarette would do
And in emergencies
a colt 45 was too
We smuggled guns and roses
across the white hot sands and dunes
We bartered in broken languages
while whistling a softer tune
With a third eye looking back
where bullets would fall as rain
On our way to Gibraltar
One dip salute , rev the engine of the plane
There is no water to quench you
To wash away the sins
The waves of guilt run over you
They bring the sharks with fins
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
350
They leave us with the Infinite.
But He—is not a man—
His fingers are the size of fists—
His fists, the size of men—
And whom he foundeth, with his Arm
As Himmaleh, shall stand—
Gibraltar’s Everlasting Shoe
Poised lightly on his Hand,
So trust him, Comrade—
You for you, and I, for you and me
Eternity is ample,
And quick enough, if true.
1.9k
There once was this maid in Gibraltar
who was proud of the ******* in her halter-
so she flashed them around
to the boys of the town
who all took her to bed, not the Altar
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
grandma came from malta, or was it
gibraltar, anyhow dad was very dark.
his hair remained so, with help and support.
i came from england to live here with you
#thebear.
also from another country.
i hear there is trouble in the village.
yes. i am scared they will shout
and say go home.
another country.
sbm.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
Beyond the sleepy hills of Spain,
The sun goes down in yellow mist,
The sky is fresh with dewy stars
Above a sea of amethyst.
Yet in the city of my love
High noon burns all the heavens bare—
For him the happiness of light,
For me a delicate despair.
1.7k
Hide and seek,
I take a peek,
you come so near
then disappear.
I see your smile
but in just a while
I'll hide away
for another day.
the game I play
is truth and dare,
I've worn it out
like an old worn rag.
I don't know you,
you don't know me,
I wont tell
but I actually care.
It's a shallow life
and a shallow dream,
alluded hope,
illusion love,
you're not actually there-
My million pretty faces on an empty fake pedestal.
You weave through my life
like a dream
turned nightmare
turned dream
turned nightmare.
Time is so ****** short to waste it on ********
Cant you see I'm trying to find you?
How high must I build my castle?
How is it that you're so illusive and far away-
but your scent fills the room
and chokes me with sweetness?
I hate this incessant soppiness!
Argh!
My crazy obsession I try to lie and hide so well-
But it's written on my face in flashing neon colours,
desperation is so ******* unattractive!
Where in heavens name can I find myself a cheap plastic heart?
That doesn't breathe
or feel the need to heal?
If you want money I'll buy you.
If you want freedom I'll lie to you.
If you want a bicycle-
well I'm not really into cycling but I'll see what i can do.
I see so much fear in your eyes-
relationships shipwrecked-
and now you've made your mind up about the facts of life.
You've become the rock of Gibraltar-
tough as nails.
You're scary-
ready to weather any storms-
lonely-
but I still know you're soft inside...
You're just choosing the lesser of two evils-
well for now at least.
I know you still cry for your dreams,
stories that make you long,
but then you remember.
Hey! I get just as **** scared.
I mean, who burns themselves time and time and time again
without changing their formulas on life?
I do.
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 6:38 AM UTC
Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy music; as I come
I tune the instrument here at the door,
And what I must do then, think here before.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
That this is my south-west discovery,
[lang l]Per fretum febris[lang e], by these straits to die,
pmdv3 n="33-11"> I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
For, though their currents yield return to none,
What shall my west hurt me? As west and east
In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the resurrection.
Is the Pacific Sea my home? Or are
The eastern riches? Is Jerusalem?
Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.
We think that Paradise and Calvary,
Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;
Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
"Therefore that he may raise, the Lord throws down."
1.6k
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
This pillar of Hercules
is an unthinking, unfeeling piece of rock
with no choice but to hold its ground
and jut its granite neck out to ships
proud that so many have canonized it
as the symbol of strength and fortitude and stability.
You stare at this rock
with your decades of service
to a world that has taken from you
your time, your good will, your money
your extra effort when no one was looking
And you quietly pass
with your hands in your pockets
Instead of holding, or being held in content.
I have done that, you say.
I am that, even with a choice not to be.
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
Right now I’m alive
For now.
How long will I thrive?
Don’t know.
For most of Eternity
I’ll be dead.
Such is Mortality
It’s said.
Let me meditate on that.
Let me contemplate the moment.
Sitting on my mat
Dreaming a romant.
Yes I’m alive
Of that I’ve no doubt.
But where’s my drive?
I must have a scout…
Been to Tenerife and Malta
Scotland and Wales.
Never Gibraltar,
Few travelling tales.
But I’m not a roamer,
Rather stay at home.
Yes ever the homer,
And often alone.
My laptop and telly
Are all that I need.
Give me Keats and Shelley
For a good read.
So it’s right in the Now
I really must stay
No why, who or how
To darken my day.
No thoughts of the past
Or dreams of the future.
Make each second last,
Turn off that computer.
This moment has gone,
Now that you’re reading.
Let’s have another one,
That’s where I’m leading.
For now never lasts,
That we all know.
It’s lost in our pasts,
No longer on show.
I try here to paint
What has been and gone.
An attempt to create
The eternal song.
Paul Butters
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
obviously Gibraltar would vote to remain,
it would be one of the few remains of
the British Empire, the Spanish
version of Hong Kong,
4.1% leave, 95.9% remain,
no immigrants there, just expatriates
from Benidorm - if it voted to leave then Spain
would double the emphasis to eject
the British from the region;
but if you're going to fully pull the thing apart,
and go to a history of myth, Arthur
prior to Angevin Empire, i guess you have
to give that little scrapheap of pride back too -
this referendum is really like watching
Gorbachev pulling apart the Soviet Empire
in slow-motion, it's not chunky like
Kazakhstan, a banoffee pie, but more
like what remained of feeding the 5,000 thousand
at the last supper.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
the horse rummages on the track
and the victory is owned by the ****
soon sleep will engulf my body
like the oblivious quietude of Aokigahara-jukai.
things and their semblance of utmost care.
light begins to burst
and there is little left to see,
wide-eyed, crunched by the efficacy of aches.
taking all to the very heart of hurt
as gamblers wager,
and coming back with the sound of completeness:
a man is a man in his chronology of defeat -
left torn by madness,
a cornered beast pressed against the woods.
the moon plays its lyre, white-washed,
sound wading in the very source of quiet,
hauled out of the Sun, its mother.
this hound stalks the world
with woebegone legs, a reflection of the entire world fractured
by a singular shot at the end.
i hear the guttural snarl of engine
unwavering in its limitations. say, at first light, all exists to paint darkness quicker
than any obfuscated conclusion -- hiding in
itself, its mood for squalors.
the mud dug deep for bones
pared from the slaughter of midnight,
hiding them to mask my defeat:
everything around me sparkles with
the vigor of frailty, all the same.
the nights are too long, scarce as froth
from an opened mouth left flat,
a dry gin bottle.
i imagine sad armies dissolving in pale moonlight, and crosses thumbed down to the snaking hiss of its nondescript prayer.
gears gnash like teeth in anger
of you in your young clothes, the pace of cars
hurrying back to homes.
i remember the splintered wood burning
the last in the round kiln of the Red Lion.
the upholstery of night is the twilight's
catharsis. the coast of dread widens like
the vernal metamorphosis of a young ********** in Gibraltar,
come in, come in with undecided ******
you can hear the fall coalesce with the levitation of ember, landing like feet blunt
on the asphalt beside desolate bicycles
in seedy parks.
the surreal tabulation of analogue repetitions:
death's myriad, in all corners screaming
the countenance rebel, against the floored masses.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
A safe haven
an English town
a solid rock of calm
a rose within the madding crowds
with charismatic charm
this peaceful soil is fuelled
by spanish working men
where traditional English rule
calls us back again
a monkey's retreat
where wild habits prevail
a comfortable seat
with an occasional gale
a land of Britishness
spells safety in it's shores
reliability and steadiness
oozing from it's pores
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Once the levers are pulled down
squealing and removing themselves from silence,
once we become noisy
and our baritones are barges
across rivers that separate us,
once you become the Rock of Gibraltar
and I can point my nose at you in the fog
to gauge not only distance,
but time as well,
then I think
it will resume.
But as the night holds your tongue
on its own tongue, moving you around
inside its mouth in a *** of dense
violet clouds, as so many cities burn in the sky,
I will never hear a thing.
I will only see
your eyes running the gauntlet
of a dense violet night and its violence
of lighthouses revolving quicker than pulsars,
increasing the walls of space.
They scream in the void
for some empty barge and its horn
of compassion.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 7:31 AM UTC