"malaga" poems
i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
shimmered
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso's
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
***** ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren't allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could **** in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art
completely
screaming
meaningless
poems
words
endless
passionate
words
consumed
by life
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Blossoming shrubs
enveloping pubs
not a cloud in the sky
budding am I
Malaga in September
weather I'll remember
29 degrees and counting
each day it seems to be mounting
I'm not liking the creepy crawlies
giving me the heebie jeebies
to everyone's delight
I squeal in fright
Spanish are fine
until behind them in line
no problem pushing
with choice adjectives I'm gushing
My muscles are loving the heat
I can even touch my feet
my back thinks its in heaven
my shoulder readily rev-ing
Still a week to go
my tan a no-show
this sunbathing is hard work
in the shade my husband lurks
Batteries are charging
my stomach's enlarging
relaxation is seeping into my pores
lullabies, each others snores
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
That time we went to Fez
and you said
it's like Biblical times
all these fecking donkeys
and camels and people
dressed like Jesus
I said to Miriam
so it was my first time
and we had to leave
the vehicle outside
the gates of the city
she said
we were sitting
at the Moroccan bar
of the camp base
sipping cokes
and had French loaf
sandwiches on plates
beside us
but it was good
I said
and that mosque
I went in was great
I had to take off
my sandals mind you
but hey the site
inside was good
I didn't go in
but that market
was out of this world
she said
she sat on a stool
beside me sipping her coke
she had a pink tee shirt
and red shorts
-I loved red-
and bare feet
I looked at the feet
recalling mouthing
her toes that night
in Malaga after
the shower
at the camp base there
and well the rest followed
I bit into the French roll sandwich
lettuce
cheese
cold lamb meat
and some kind of pickle
those women wore
those black gown things
she said
could only see their eyes
I don't think I could wear
one of those
I like to be seen
and why bother
to wear make up
or wear something skimpy
if you've got one
of those on
she said
they don't I guess
that's their religion
I said
she bit into her French roll
and was silent
she smelt
of apples and hay
and I could have licked her
but we sat and ate
and thought of the beach
and moon and stars
and ***
if not too late.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
Miryam unzipped
the tent flap
and looked out
pretty dead out here
she said
Benedict looked at her ****
hiding behind
the blue jeans
come back in then
no point
in going out yet
she zipped it
back up
and crawled back
beside him
and lay down
looking up
at the blue tent canvas
what do you think
Morocco's like?
she asked
Morocco
he replied
she laughed
I know that
but to experience it
apart from what
was in the booklet
they sent
with the other stuff
she said
have to see
when we get there
he replied
are you sure
that ex-army bloke
won't be back?
she asked
not for a few hours
he's gone to see sights
in Malaga
lucky us
she said
make the most of
he said
she gazed at him
is there no
satisfying you?
pretty much not
he said
she smiled
I’m sure people
heard us earlier
she said
your fault
if they did
he said
all that noise
and giggling
and oh oh oh
more more
I didn't
she said
you're making it up
pretty much so
he said
she kissed his cheek
to think I thought you
were the quiet one
she said
I am quiet
as a mouse
he replied
what if he comes back early
and we're making out?
she said
he won't
he's off to see
where
Picasso was born
and other
arty things
Benedict said
people might talk
if they see me
in here too much
she said
they can't see you
in here
he said
they might hear me
then be silent
he said smiling
trying to unbuttoned
her jeans
she watched him
biting her lower lip
seductively
and turning her head
at an angle
who said you could?
shall I stop?
he said
no don't you dare
she breathed out
she held his fingers
and helped unbutton
until it was
all done
there now you
she said
and unzipped his jeans
with one motion
why would he want
to see
where Picasso was born?
she said
taking off
?her jeans
and what other arty things?
Benedict undressed
listening
watching
takin
her tight ****
in the blue bra
museums
art shops
galleries
that kind of thing
boring ****
she said
putting her jeans
and underwear
to one side
yes guess so
Benedict said
what if
he changes his mind
and comes back?
she said
laying down
next to him well he'll get
a free lesson
in biology
won't he
Benedict said
she smiled
and kissed his neck
and said
utterly ****
what the hell
what the heck.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
I’m tired of these lonesome nights
spent **** in fist and staring at the ceiling.
Exist in thought and again through
ever-changing screens;
it’s been years since I lived through action.
Desiccated white heels in the dust of Savannakhet.
Finding love in the half-dark Bangkok hotel room.
The bar-maid in Malaga, hash from Morocco,
all those nights spent lusting for blood amongst the wine.
Now getting high means finding an anchor
to hold me down when gravity does not feel enough.
When all forces of G-d and Nature combined
Cannot rattle hard enough to force me to speak
in any half-filled room.
Sometimes I’m certain the noise in my chest
can be heard aloud
and everyone knows I am nothing.
I wonder why in all my dreams
Beauty follows in my footsteps.
I wonder why in all my dreams
I’m running away from something.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
In Malaga
at the base camp
you danced at some disco
and drank Bacardi
and coke and it was
well into the early hours
of the morning
when you left
with Mamie
tiptoeing between
tent ropes and the unlit
areas between
and she said
I can’t find
where my tent is
and you said
I’d let you share mine
but that young army guy
is in mine
and three in a bed
is a bit cramped
but where is mine?
she said
searching around
touching tent ropes
as she went by
you stood watching
trying to decide
where your tent was
what are we to do?
she asked
let’s go back
to the club
until it gets lighter
or we remember
where our tents are
you said
but I’m tired
she said
I want to go to bed
and sleep
you searched around
by the hedge of the field
and then said
wait
I know where
mine is now
and you led her
to the tent
and unzipped it
and there inside
was the army guy
fast asleep
you can come in here
if you like
you said
but she just stood there
in the semi dark
cussing into the night
come on in
and be quiet
you said
I want my tent
she said
I want my own ****** tent
ok go find it then
you said
and began to climb inside
wait
she said
in a hushed voice
and came over
to your tent
and looked in
what about him?
she asked
he’s asleep
you replied
what will he say
and finds me here?
you gazed
at the sleeping soldier boy
his mouth open
his eyes closed
a soft snore
filling the air
either come in
or go elsewhere
you whispered
I can’t
she said
not with him there
and so she turned
and wandered off
into the semi dark
another chance walking off
into the night
some things you hope for
you murmured
never come right.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
Are you in there?
Miryam said
through the canvas
of the tent
no
you replied
I'm out
you are there
she said
and unzipped the zip
and poked her head
in the gap
you were lying there
in your sleeping bag
gazing at her red
fuzzing hair
and large eyes
where's your friend?
she asked
gone for a shower
you said
she unzipped all down
and came in the tent
walking on her knees
like Toulouse Lautrec
in a wig
and lay down beside you
how long before he's back?
no idea
you said
have we time for ***
risky
you said
sometimes risky
is enjoyable
she said softly
running her hand
down the outline
of your leg
not when an ex-army guy
comes in
and see his sleeping partner
******* some red head
in his tent
you said
she pouted her lips
spoilsport
she said
in your ear
yes I guess so
you said
what we doing today?
she asked
we're moving
onto Malaga apparently
the coach leaves at 9.30
she looked
at her wrist watch
gives us an hour
she said
in a whispering voice
gives me an hour
to get showered
and dressed
and breakfasted
and such
you said
she lay back beside you
on the sleeping bag
isn't Malaga
where Picasso was born?
yes that's right
you said
do you like his work?
she asked
sure
it makes me
want to see it again
and again
it does?
she said
as if I had said
I like to wear
ladies's underwear
don't you find his work
kind of odd?
she said
that's what I like about it
it breaks out
of that prison
which people have put
around art
as if only
such and such
can be art
she put her lips
on your cheek
wet and warm
don't I tempt you at all?
not one little bit?
she walked her fingers
down your leg
and moved them
towards your groin
not about 6ins worth?
she said sexually
how did we get
from Picasso
to you finger walking
on my *****
all is art you said
she whispered
you've left the zip unzipped
the ex-army guy said
poking his head
in the gap
what's she doing in here?
he said
just popped in
to see how he is
Miryam said
looking at the guy
with his short
back and sides haircut
and smelling
of shampoo and soap
well now you've seen
you can go
he said
can't he and I
have *** first?
she said
in her imitation
Monroe voice
no you can't
he said
go elsewhere
if you must do
such things
and he sat back
on his haunches
and stared at her
his arms folded
Ok
she said
and kissed your cheek
and walked on her knees
out of the tent
and stood up
and looked in
before the ex-army guy
could zip back up
shame
she said
we could have had
a *********
go away
he said
before I slap your backside
promises promises
Miryam said
and walked off
towards her tent
across the camp base field
girls huh?
you said
but he didn't reply
he just began packing
his stuff into his suitcase
ready for the next move
and so you closed your eyes
and imagined her
there beside you again
listening
to the patter patter
of the Spanish rain.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
*My wild ambition loves to slide - ye all must understand
But fortune's ice prefers only the most virtuous of hand.
In Malaga I grew weary and wanton to possess
The most colorless canvas, one easy with a lazy happiness,
Disdained by golden fruit to the viewer be
As I passed the crowd to gently shake the tree.
Now manifest in paint, inward contrived and long since
I stood in bold defiance with the heart of a prince,
Held up on the square by one wanting to buy my latest cause.
Against the wind I held it up in spite of all the laws.
Do they wish to thicken my lot among all their other mistakes?
What circumstances find you this? -This is what my mind makes!
The buzzing of my emissaries fill my ears
With many solitary jealousies and fears,
Arbitrary thoughts brought forward into the light,
Contemplating existence, must it prove my vision right?
Weak are the arguments! Which the true artist knows full well,
Where weak minded people curse my renderings or are easy to rebel.
For am I not governed by the moon and by the far off stars?
Tread lightly on me and don’t put me behind your own bars.
And once in a shard of time let the Annunaki’s scribe record,
That my vision once rendered could somehow affect their lord.
The unrecognized Enki still wants to be a chief, yet none
He created was found as fit as barren Adam.
Not that he wished his greatness to create,
For leaders should wish not to be called great.
But he like I know our titles are not to be allowed.
For titles are useless and only dependent upon a crowd,
Those are kingly powers, thus ebbing us out, they might be
Drawn by the dregs of a falsely acclaimed democracy.
But in my paint I attempt, with studied arts to ease,
And shed the unholy venom with visions such as these.
On the other side of the canvas, not much escapes my eye –
But once in front of it – nothing escapes the me that I call I.*
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
Our freinds are that our family we love to have them stay
for food and entertainment its always meant that way
for laughs and lots of golfing and tons oh tons of chat
is great to see them yet again for loads of this and that
Our freinds that are our family are great to be around
making fires and washing pots thats what its all about
we hope so sure we'll see them soon in warmer climates bound
in sunny parts of Malaga a welcome home is found
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 2:48 AM UTC
Mamie met you
in the base camp bar
in Malaga
her curly red hair
damp from a recent shower
and said
Picasso was born here
In this bar?
you said
No
she moaned
In the city
in 1881
and she took the drink
you’d bought her
I like Picasso don’t you?
she asked
taking a sip
of the drink
and you noticed
the tight tee shirt
snugly holding
her firm *******
and her eyes bright
as sunlight’s breaking dawn
yes
you said
I like his later work
not the Blue
or Pink period or
that Cubist *****
and your eyes
slipped downwards
along her slender frame
the tight blue jeans
caressing her small
but plumpish ***
her fingers holding
the glass
and you thinking
of other things
far removed
from Picasso‘s art
though knowing he
would understand
where your mind
had wandered
and what the scene
your mind had set
like some dramatist
preparing for a play
she sipped more
of the drink
her head thrown back
the nice turn
of the neck
the chin
the nose
the ears protruding slight
between her red
and curly hair
and wondered deep
as you drank your own
if the other hair below
between her thighs
was as red and tight
as that above
and she said
breaking through
your thoughts
Was it lust or love
that moved his brush
Picasso I mean?
and oh you mused
taking on her words
and squeezing
the meaning
from each syllable
that was uttered
on her breath
to lay my head
upon her breast
not to sleep
but dreaming rest
and you turning to her
said High love or low lust
fed by his fond muse
moved his brush I trust.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
On the road
from Madrid to Malaga
you sat next to Miryam
in the coach
the scenery going by
the Spanish sun above
music from the radio
and she beside you
her head
against your shoulder
sleeping
her red hair
a mass of curls and waves
her eyes closed
her mouth slightly open
her hands crossed
in her lap
you sitting there
thinking of the base camp
in Madrid
the bar and *****
the music
in the small disco
and dancing
to the small hours
and she said
about her parents
and she being
for the first time
free to do
what she wanted
and she walked with you
back to her tent
and there she stood
and said
if I was alone
in this tent
I'd invite you in for ***
but I'm sharing
with another girl
and so did you share
with another guy
you said
wishing it otherwise
and so she kissed you
good night
and unzipped the tent
and went in
and off you walked
through the early morning dark
crossing the field of tents
trying to remember
where yours was
remembering it was by
the hedge with Bob's flag
on top waving silently
in the semi-dark
she stirred
against your shoulder
and readjusted her head
making that
I'm comfortable sound
and then she was off again
a Beatles's song
on the radio
someone sang along
you still sensing
that kiss of hers
her lips on yours
the night before
her hands
around your waist
her small ****
pressing against you
the smell of oranges
and ripe fruit
and her tongue invading
your mouth
touching yours
and your pecker stirring
from slumber
your hands on her ****
feeling the pockets
of her jeans
the smooth material
the studs
her near you
lips and tongues
and she stirred
and opened her eyes
and lifted her head
from your shoulder
and said
are we there yet?
no
you said
getting near
and she looked out
the window of the coach
and you studied
her profile
the blush of cheek
the nose
her neck
and the show
of naked shoulder
and she said
did I snore?
no
you said
good
she said
because sometimes
I tend to go off
into snoring land
and she smiled
and touched your thighs
and all you saw
was the blue world
of her cool blue eyes.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
Nuit noire mais belle de Malaga
Empoisonne-moi
De tes hamecons et de tes leurres
Envenime-moi
De tes vers luisants et polissons
Qui gigotent dans le vin du clair de lune
Instille-moi de tes piqûres, de tes ourlets
Des criquets qui chantent au fond de tes criques
Innocule-moi
Tes vaccins, tes rappels et tes antidotes
Cachés au creux des terriers
Des mangues et des câpres qui mûrissent
Sous tes obscènes caresses.
Obsède-moi
De la froidure romantique de tes rhums capiteux
Muselle-moi dans la cannelle de ta souricière
Bâillonne-moi de tes eaux de Styx
Engloutis
Capture
Relâche
Aspire-moi de tes yeux de khôl
Je ne suis qu'étincelle
Infime brindille incandescente d'amour
Dans l'attente fébrile du point du jour.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC
Miriam
begins her
**********
in a tent
at base camp
in down town
Malaga
2am
party done
boozing done
the music
for dancing
turned off now
and she says
she's not here
the fat dame's
not come back
to the tent
so what now?
Benny asks
shall I stay?
well I can't
have good ***
without you
she replies
are you sure?
Benny asks
sure I'm sure
she replies
enter in
and zip up
the **** tent
so Benny
zips it up
and begins
to unzip
and undress
watching her
shed her clothes
best he could
in half light
from moon's glow
and stars' shine
what if the
dame returns?
Benny asks
she can make
a *********
or **** off
Miriam
says to him
naked now
her soft ****
hanging there
inviting
him to stare
he listens
to the wind
blowing hard
against blue
stretched canvas
come on then
come on in
Miriam
says to him
so he did
his **** ****
rising up
and then down
capturing
the moon's glow
not too fast
she utters
keep a pace
keep it slow.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
We slept on the coach
from Madrid to Malaga
apart for getting out for meals
and to stretch our legs
Miriam sat next to me
sometimes laying
her head on my shoulder
other times looking out
at the passing Spanish scenes
that last meal was nice
she said
I could have eaten more
so that is why you
were nibbling my ear
back there?
I said
no that was
for different reasons
she said
if we were alone
on this coach
instead 30 odd of us
I'd have you
on the back seat
not sure the driver
we'd be pleased us
******** on his back seat
I said
when we get to Malaga
and in our tents
maybe *** can be
on the cards
she said
but you share
with that quiet girl
who wouldn't say
boo to a goose
not sure she'd
appreciate it
I said
she laughed
not with her
or with her there
Piccaso was born there
I said
my favourite artist
was he?
she said
yes and there's
a Roman theatre there too
I said
not too much culture please
she said
ok
I said
she unzipped my jeans
and her put hand inside
to investigate my pecker
her fingers
like a bird's beak
pecking at it
I held her hand
and removed it
you'll have to wait
until we hit camp
I said
she sighed
and put her hand back
in her lap
I placed my hand
on her thigh
and touched her skin
she smiled
but wouldn't
let me in.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
That base camp at Malaga
tents and bars
and a wash-house
and showers
and best of all
of course
(after the bogs
and showers)
was the bar
and Miriam said
there's a disco tonight
at this place
you coming?
of course
why not
as long as you're here
and there's *****
I said
so we went
and it was hot
and there was too
many bodies dancing
(or such as
it was called)
and you had to fight
your way to the bar
through tides of people
in all kinds of clothing
and body smells
and hair styles
and girls with too much ****
so it blocked your way
and then once you got
to the bar you had
to make the bar keeper
understand your language
and if he could hear
through the din
of disco music
you eventually
got your drinks
and Miriam was over
in a corner at a table
she hogged
from some French guys
and she said
some guy pinched my ****
did he bring it back?
I said
she snorted through her nose
bringing up the last
drop of coke
I'm seriously
she said
sorry about that
and gave her her drink
and sipped my
*** and coke
and looked around the place
to see who may
have pinched her ****
but there were
too many bodies
dancing away
and chugging about
so I sat and said
I guess you have
a cute ****
and someone needed
to touch it to see
if it was real
maybe so
she said
but it's
my **** still.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
I came to your hometown team
inserted in hallucinatory dreams
inspired sweaty with fused realms
Is it real that you stole Mona Lisa?
At the heart of Louvre in 1911
Is it true that you sneaked her?
was it for a muse or a lover to use?
She would have viewed you sideways
then make love to you at the coffee table
Her beauty enthralled yours in entirely
blending on easel with pencil onto a canvas
Her palate would have swooned your palette
Her very kiss would have paralyzed in ecstasy
abducting your perpendicular in angular zones
Then you framed it on Guillaume Appollinaire
The poet play wright whom face you just forgot
under the oath, in the sweet name of freeing art
from the prisons of extortionate museums fixtures
the same exhibitions holding your name and fame
charging fees for a walk around the rhythm of art
a melody not each an every artist will be granted
You made the goddesses and then reduced them to dust
Fernanda soothed the childhood nightmares to lust
Olga the ballerina whom you couldn't share the assets
Marie-Therese the 17year old who hang herself to death
Dora Maar who fought so hard to get your affection
Francoise who left law school for your immortalisation
Jacqueline your passion who you wooed with a dove
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
Where Are you re?
Please give me a sign
Something
Whats going on?
Are you Ok?
you got me in agony!
I'm waiting for your love letter
yes! That card postal from Malaga..
Please gimme a sign
Hit me baby One more time...
No no..
I mean
I want ya!
I miss you a lil
GIVE ME A ******* SIGN THAT YOU ARE
A L I VE !
love
M.
P.s: Do you Wanna Dance?
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Miriam
sips her cool
Martini
I drink beer
the disco
music's loud
people dance
we just stand
by the bar
both smoking
and drinking
Malaga
the place where
Picasso
was born in
and she says
how about
we drink more
then go back
to my tent
and have ***
what about
the plump dame
you share with
won't she mind?
I ask her
she's gone off
to Tangiers
by ferry
and will meet
us later
at the camp
Miriam
says to me
o that's good
I tell her
I didn't
fancy the
idea of
having ***
with the plump
dame as well
she titters
as she drinks
her red hair
of tight curls
is shaking
I watch her
standing there
her figure
scantly dressed
I thinking
of the time
in Paris
that first ***
on the coach
at the back
Beethoven's
music on
the coach
radio
all others
asleep or
occupied
by the sights
of Paris
going by
the windows
let's go then
Miriam
says to me
so we leave
the night club
and wander back
hand in hand
to her tent
but there by
the tent flap
the plump dame
changed my mind
she utters
drunkenly
stay the night
go with you
tomorrow
I gaze up
at the sky
of the night
and ask the
o big why?
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
The coach drew up
at the base camp
in Malaga.
Miriam and I
got off
and eyed the scene
the area of tents
and bars
and camp restaurant
and the club house
where they had discos
in the evening until late.
We followed our guide
who showed us
where our tents were.
I was with an ex-army guy
Miriam was with
some other dame.
See you later
at the bar
she said.
Will do
I replied.
The ex-army unzipped
the tent
we clambered in
with our bags
then he zipped up again.
Better than
the last camp
he said morosely.
I placed by bag
to one side
and got out
my sleeping bag
and lay on it
to rest
for a short while.
He unpacked
his sleeping bag
(better than mine
probably ex-army)
and lay down
staring at the roof
of the tent.
He talked about
his army days
and about his mother's
new boyfriend
and how he didn't
get on with him
and how he only left
the army because
of his nerves
and depression.
I listened
but in my mind's eye
it was Miriam
there **********
and I thinking
that a blessing.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC
Shiny streets like paved gold
Spreads miles before us
Cloth clouds hang loose upon us
Sheltering us from the sun
A soft sweet breeze whispers by us
We hold hands...kiss...
A soft lingering kiss....
Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 12:47 PM UTC