You did not love the sceptred sunshine

You loved the summer’s undiluted sun

Which in the end took its bitter revenge

In depriving you of your saline serenity

Into the depths of crazed pivoted symphony.

Rest assured in your diverted quickened steps

That nobody loved the soul within your crest

The crazed straw hat topping your yellow hair

Your red beard drenched in the crowds, a fear

It was enough to drive the crazy sickened mob

For a revenge on your enflamed tortured throb.

Children will mock you

Citizen will lock you

Women will scorn you

People will disown you.

Dawning clouds and rustling winds

Broken strokes of the lemon rinds

Vermillioned lamps amid ochred yellows

Cobalt blues of the sulphured mellows

Embittered flowers in the wasted vase

Vibratory landscapes in twisted grass

Pavement cafes under the starry skies

Purpled deeds in hallucinatory nights.

With color and the light

And amid a creative start

An explosion within your soul

And a bullet in your heart.

The Spring

______________________________________

LA MANCHA.

Bereft of the poetry of his soul

The knight took refuge in the house of death

Into darkness he went with his mind crushed

Wandering lust gone and with his own trust.

The enchanter gone

And disenchantment entered

And the land of La Mancha

Slowly turned to dust & cinders.

Talisman of allurements or of feasts

Chimeras of windmills or of fabulous beasts

Golden liquors and the shining decanters

Tales of poets sorcerers and of wizards

Adieu to stillness and the romance

Tryst and other typographical stance.

His merry madness had to go

And sanguine sanity had to be constructed

Don Quixote had to be demolished

And Alfonso had to be resurrected.

Alas! there is no poetry left now

In the lands of the Al Toboso

And no veils of Dulcinea now accrues

Across the knight of the mournful rue.