Best Spain Poems
Iberia, you took my breath away
with fiery gypsy spirit and romance;
with ancient Moorish history and grace;
with everything there is of you to see;
to hear and smell; to feel inside my soul.
Diversity lives splendidly in you!
The ancient cultures beckoned me to you
when, like the Romans, lured from far away,
I came to you and gave to you my soul,
partaking of your passion and romance.
I’d read of you in school and had to see!
How glad I was to come and know your grace.
A mosque in Cordoba reveals your grace,
but I would learn there is much more of you. . .
Cathedrals dressed in gold I was to see.
From palace walls, in awe I’d walk away
to find nearby - in gypsy caves - romance
in music. . . as Flamenco filled my soul!
With passion’s beat resounding in my soul,
I toured Seville, where ladies rode with grace
on horses with their toreadors! Romance
is in the air at Spanish fairs. And you
can make it hard for one to turn away
from all the magic offered there to see.
In northern parts of you, I was to see
The Pyrenees, whose beauty touched my soul,
quaint villages with mountain goats! Away
I went southeast then, greeted by more grace.
Along your coast, I saw a side of you
I grew to love, Valencia’s romance!
And in Madrid, I found my own romance,
a handsome Spaniard. Never would I see
his face again because, in leaving you,
I left him and a small part of my soul.
So much I’d not yet seen of all your grace,
but destiny was calling me away. . .
I yearn to feel romance inside my soul;
breathe history and see again your grace.
Enchanted land, you are so far away!
May 4, 2010 Now used for Thvia Shetley's Foreign Travel Contest
Isn’t it ironic?
That the plague called the bubonic
Killed the man but not the rat
And did not even kill the cat
That caught and killed the guilty rat
Isn’t it ironic?
That in this age of the electronic
Ebola is running unabated
It’s deathly thirst left quite unslated
Just like the plague as earlier stated
Isn’t it ironic?
That in this age of progress so terrific
A plague is not spread by a rat
Nor by bat and not by cat
But by technology - imagine that!
Look how they fall like angels to the earth!
But no soft landing down amongst those rocks.
Those devils on the bridge with gleeful mirth
Terrorised the townsfolk as wolves do flocks
Of sheep at lambing time. For all their worth,
They searched shuttered houses and smashed the locks
Of any door, they could not open wide,
Dragged out the frightened men hiding inside
Battered them senseless to the dusty ground
In gutters, awash with their comrades’ blood
Each in their own vomit and bile half-drowned.
They lay gasping like fish stranded on mud.
The narrow streets echoing with the sound
Of their screaming and each rifle-butt’s thud.
My God, who are these beasts in human form
Whose hearts the desert sun could never warm?
They are Francisco Franco’s native troops,
Moroccan Regulares, so I’m told.
Free to rape and kill, they are the first groups
Into attack. Completely uncontrolled,
Each Regulare picks his prey and swoops
Raping, maiming, and killing young or old.
Just the threat of unleashing these fierce hawks
Compels Comrade Republicans to talks.
The rain in Spain has nothing on us
Seems our annual rainfall, their records we'll bust
A charming thought
We'll need a yacht
To get the market for some salami and stuff
© Jack Ellison 2015
They stood in the bright Andalucian sunlight
The noble sunflowers with stance upright
Massed yellow ranks portray solidarity
Faces and heights display uniformity
Unquestioning loyalty to the hot sun
First the seeds are sown and their hearts are won
Swaying in the breeze their gaze never falters
As their master’s arc continually alters
Brown, yellow or purple faces can be
And a bright yellow halo surrounds all three
Broad coarse-toothed leaves on spiral stems lie
These giant plants stand fifteen feet high
Beneath their beauty lies valuable treasure
Leaves, seeds and oil to be used at our pleasure
Dried seeds are eaten or ground to make bread
Oilcake to stock and poultry are fed
As blazing sun sets on hot, summer days
Sunflowers bow their heads through lack of sun rays
But with summer over they wither and die
Ready for use as food supply
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Published in Ensalada Mixta: Observations and Inspirations
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"Little can compare with the dazzling yellow of fields of sunflowers in the Spanish sunshine. However, it is a short-lived spectacle and soon decay takes hold. It is a story about nature’s way. It is also a story which can happen to the people of a country – hope, oppression and destruction. The difference is that there is no choice in nature but there is a choice for people."
2nd place in Have You Published. Sponsored by Line Gauthier November 2020
The Rain In Spain falls gently on the Plain
In NYC it backs up sewers once again
Creating puddles that take two weeks to drain
Oil slicks abound the terrain
Causing motorcyclists lots of pain
Cursing and Swearing is what sustains
In the Abundance of Late-Running Trains
Oscar Levant, American Author, Comedian, Music Composer and more,
Was born in the early 20th Century and died in the 1970’s
Each decade, or era has their comedians – below is one of Mr Levant’s quotes,
TWO BY TWO EQUALS FOUR
A young couple Clorrita and Dwaine,
Decided to spend a holiday in Spain,
Both vegans, enjoyed a good radish,
But either neither nor, spoke Spanish.
They carried masks, heard of an Epidemic,
The Spanish Flu could become Pandemic,
They lived in Europe on inland terrain,
So decided they would travel by train.
They asked for a sleeper for four,
The ticket officer asked, “Why Senor”,
“Well, there is me and I, and she,
And my wife, so four we are you see”.
They had never thought or planned,
People could not understand,
When they went out to dine,
“A table for four please, will be fine”.
Eventually returned home, all so relieved,
Even Clorrita and Dwaine heaved,
A sigh, people don’t do simple maths anymore,
Schizophrenics are two by two equals four!
“ROSES ARE RED VIOLETS ARE BLUE, I’M SCHIZOPHRENIC AND SO AM I”
Fortunately, medicine has advanced incredibly since the 1970’s.
There once was a pretty girl from Maine
That her beauty spread to Spain
She didn't want to marry
Because the man's name was Larry
So the people thought her insane
NOTE: I'm having a ball finding all my old poetry. I wrote this when I was 11! So much fun reading my old things. :D
We stroll the barrios of sweet Madrid
A world of ill concern thus wafting by
Reflections of the day alight your eye
Still here we are alone amidst a crowd
The only two attentive souls on earth
A wistful world of introspective worth
You nip a glass of absinthe patiently
The drops upon your lips to tantalize
I kiss it off and taste with open eyes
To flit your tender lashes with my own
A deep and secret pleasure I obscure
I watch you as I kiss, lids so demure
I muse to what you ponder, lids so tight
Whene'er our mouths meet, is it fantasy?
Oh, do your dreams rest on exactly me?
The market spins about us, silly fools
To sew its charm romantic, once again
Two rascals mad in love ... in sunny Spain.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "As Easy As A-B-B" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Standard Contest 160 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Discover a country by bus and train
Listen to the sound and look at the sight
Buildings may crumble but people remain
Santander port welcomes with loud refrain
Old station front, new inside, mix just right
Discover a country by bus and train
Valladolid's masonry masters reign
Once seen just leave on high speed vista-byte
Buildings may crumble but people remain
Almagro calls with its thespian vein
Crafts museum a hidden gem so bright
Discover a country by bus and train
Ciudad Real outsized for train and plane
Hotel welcome is more than just polite
Buildings may crumble but people remain
Peoples, cultures and tongues all wax and wane
Spain a wonderful place there to delight
Discover a country by bus and train
Buildings may crumble but people remain
Massed crowds of all creeds jostle to enter
Inside cool air and dim light calms the soul
Eyes gaze around this spiritual centre
Built form and faith symbols create a whole
In the greatest mosque squats the Christian place
Two toned stacked arches on columns in line
Iconic forms give an opulent face
Geometric shapes in a complex design
Religion with social is the Muslims’ way
Sahn, zullah and mihrab lead one to prayer
And then Christian gospel no social say
High alter dominance makes one aware
Caliphate, Gothic and Baroque do converge
Yet these two faiths so close will never merge
Limerick : Once this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain – 2
Once this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain
Found refuge in Napoleonic Domain
Antics at home found out
In new home given clout
All criminal codes waived to let her reign !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Limerick : Once this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain – 6
This Wily Woman went on the rampage
New Year’s Day Seventy-Six* start of new age :
Marriage beds soiled with verve
This woman first to serve
Free-Maisons’ Afro-Asians free of charge !
• Adultery was a criminal offence punishable under the French Penal Code before January 1, 1976
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Walking about las ramblas at night you can see the desperation with a constant feeling of trepidation
People that never got much of an education not one qualification
Prostitutes selling their body to feed a habit and pay for their accommodation as Dealers sell to addicts who want that pleasurable sensation to forget about their life situation
You can buy heroin or crack or if you want a combination while the police and big gangsters are actually in communication giving them money so they don't launch a single criminal investigation so they can smoothly run their operation and there is no threat to their illegal money making organisation
You can even see people sleeping on the ground that had left their home nation in search of a better life but only found poverty and social devastation
Limerick : Then this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain – 3
Then this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain
Got the old suction pump jerking again
She pumped herself so hard
They said she set record
Till sewers now run through her to the Seine.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013