Five Poems
By Daniel de Culla
Church Lights
Ashes and sudden blazes
To the ring of bells:
There’s one place where Churches
Set on Fire.
“I always wanted to burn a Church,”
Sone says.
Looking up the burning
Evangelical church in Bistrita
Romania.
The space here, kids pretty much
on their own privileged to see
The union of Sky and Earth
For the love of self-respect
Profaning graves
Threatening with death to priests
Playing a band of black metal
Because they live
At the edge of Fire.
Transcendence! by the fireside
As Durruti
The most dedicated militant
Of the Spanish Anarcho Syndicalism
Says:
“La Iglesia que más Luce
Es la que Arde”
(The only church that light
Is the one which burns.)
Churches, churches falling in fire
All night hearing thrssthrss
Sounds of burning banks, pulpits
And confession boxes
Rotating nebulae thoughtlessly
Sacred incendiaries laughing at first too
Brushing down their hairy
Ready to star for a new faith
In witness of Pagan.
Then curse:
Fire clouds over churches
Perfect hot wisdom
As a highway of Gothic Theology
To the ring of bells
Aflame with smoky desire
Drum-rolling that Paganism is the first
And was destroyed
By the savage and cruel Christians
Flashing the no-God light
Through the Inquisition
Expectation to see what?
Cutting up no believers, witches and pagans
Burning them
Or putting them on the rack
Fire curses and the wind saying:
“All of you are Gods
No Satan, no Christ
Yes, Anton LaVey
Unzipping in morning blizzard
And the High Great Odin’ air.
“Cracking the spinal membrane of believers
And Priests,”
As Euronymous of Mayhen said
Via Inner Circle
Revealing Love and Life.
Repulse of Christianity and fundamentalism
Is in the middle of the sacred fire-line
Kids sleeping on a wheel
Burning up the Church
Down the fire
Already feeling hot love, asking
How many Churches have to be burnt
To snore a comfortable life?
So, many generations, Norwegian first
Gone by black music
Building a wiki up clumsy enough
To burn down churches
Suddenly realizing their freedom
Even if fire did blow over
Just being able
To destroy the false faith and fraud
Priests Satan’s heads
Funeral through fire puzzle
Bones turned to dust
And go
Being burning hot.
You’re getting warm!
With the torching of a Christian church
A fire back-stitch to joy.
***
How Many Dogs Does Angelina Have?
Angelina rides astride on horseback,
Common dogs following her
Gowned dogs, mitred
Crowned
With epaulets, stripes and bands
As host of common people
In front and behind
Flattering in all places
Where she direct her look
Seeing Asses with erect puzzles
Stocked with ass sparks
Born in a friars’ monastery.
Extreme is the She-Ass “Hee-Haw”
Looking at pucker
Excited in this way:
Machiavelli’s Ass, comedian
Is fucking Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Ass
Adventures in Wonderland
Celebrating a special online
Fucking in love on the green book
Of cunning and devious Renaissance.
Gee up! Get up!
It’s normal, she said to herself:
Spain, mother country of an Ass
Adores and venerates Asses.
It’s not strange
Because in all the world
Wo/men are.
Angelina sees Asses all over the sides:
Apollo’s Ass, Apuleius’
Aquino’s, Aristotle’s
Aristophanes’, Buddha’s
Buphon’s and Jesus’ She-Ass
Balam’s and Mohammed’s.
And there, in that wheat-field
From Brieva de Juarros, in Burgos,
A Monk Ass from Navarre
Is composing a flesh-tale
With a fattened lay-brother
To whom he gives love dog’s style, saying:
Come to the boil, and cook onion
I’ll tell you about the night of wedding
You’re like a cat on hot bricks!
Making it up, she continues saying:
Without Asses, there aren’t kings
No Religions
On the Earth, wo/men play apart as asses.
In the Sky, there isn’t another constellation
That the glutton Ass
Who works for creating nations
With its trail
And dogs cultivating people
Braying and barking
From door to door.
***
Hit Home
Going homeward, billowing home
At the home straight
Where all of us breathing mania
I thought:
“I’m privileged to see
The union of sky and earth
Because they lived
At the edge of silence
In front of the tower.”
But, ghost town, ghost company
Ghost of wo/man’ s presence/absence
Is what makes life so intolerable?
Exposure:
Prostitutes and uniformed bad men
Turned me to dust
Harness straps blades
Crusher’s bins and rations
All going back to earth.
Conversation and reclamation
Gives me wild stretching sand
Unmarked by wo/man
Sensing to be home
As aspiritual and honeyed homing pigeon
Did to me to recognize my nature
To clarify all my needs of a life
Constructed around our openness
And nakedness.
I wanted aloneness, space peace
And clarification of my needs
Just hearing the honk of gooses saying:
“We feel in Love
With these pieces of sky and earth”.
Do You Look:
They do the honor of the house
Putting the hoodoo on ideals and dreams
So we “emptied ourselves”.
There’s a Buddha in the garden
Where the honkytonk of hooligans
Dance around.
I began to root in home
Impatiently waiting
For Chochette’s entrance into the world
By hook or by crook
Where life and death fill all senses
All forms
All spaces.
Here’s your name
That contains me:
The Holy of Holies of Love
I say
Teaching us about our human hood.
***
Shattered
I’m shattered:
a bee circles my knee losing her queen.
I’m a trilled spit
trying to cup her in my palm
but she feigns a sting
picking and strolling my voice
between withered morning glories
with saliva
– balsam in the bite.
I’ve a bee in one’s bonnet:
To squash her
Fucking bee!
But birds in arbores are playing
a poignant song:
“Many rainless summers
are in bees
kicking with shattered pricks
footling away the sun.”
It’s only possible
to describe my courage
by recovering bees as pieces
rowing clay pigeon
dwelling haphazard woodpiles
dreaming…dreaming
a log of shattered hopes.
***
Bowie Me
O dynamite Angel
Let me sing Lazarus, Space Oddity…
Others with You
You, our High Reverence of the Star
Swimming in our ears
Omnibenevolent Lord of Virginity
Dedicated to the Prettiest One
In Music and Life
The uproar of your hand clapping
Guitars
Meaning behind Poetry.
Maybe you are just crazy
indeed!
But do not reject these teachings
As false
Because we are crazy!
King Love
Sit and dream
On the floor of my Rainbow
Love has gotten me into
All Your Channels. Ecstasy!
Everything I have waited for
Birth, death, The Next Day
Is right inside this den
Of mine.
Pic-credit: Daniel de Culla
Bio:
Daniel de Cullá (b. 1955) is a writer, poet, and photographer. He is also a member of the Spanish Writers’ Association, Earthly Writers’ International Caucus, Poets of the World and others. He is the Director of Gallo Tricolor Review and Robespierre Review. He has participated in Festivals of Poetry and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Geneve. He has exhibited his art at many galleries in Madrid, Burgos, London, and Amsterdam. He travels between North Hollywood, Madrid, and Burgos, Spain. His current address is in Burgos, Spain. He has more than 70 published books. Email: gallotricolor@yahoo.com
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One Response to “Five Poems”
Many thanks and Blessed Be¡