Michael Coy Poet Rhyme

Saeta of the Procession

(a saeta is a brief, improvised
gypsy song, associated with
the high emotion of the
Holy Week processions)

Once a year 
O Santiago 
we gather here 
for this farrago. 

Our sandals wear 
the same old track - 
once round the square, 
then shuffle back. 

With sinners' cones 
on every head 
we gaze on bones 
of saints long dead 

we hum and strum 
and ring and sing 
but don't accomplish 
anything. 

This stop and go, 
it's all in vain - 
the static flow, 
the Dance of Spain.

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Anne-Marie Coreggia March 13, 2017 at 9:28 AM I really like this poem. There always seem to be some age old traditions that have some power over us even though, as soon as the music stops, you feel a disconnect. Michael Coy March 13, 2017 at 10:29 AM Thank you so much, Anne-Marie! Your remarks are very perceptive.

Darren White March 13, 2017 at 7:34 AM Semana Santa.... That strange complete feeling of elation and being joined together by... yes, by what really. I've always felt the sense of belonging enormous then, and the music! Michael Coy March 13, 2017 at 7:37 AM You have a unique way of hitting the exact spot, and you do it in only a few words. That is Semana Santa, perfectly encapsulated!