Catalan Juan Miro Ferra
a surrealist of Barcelona
rather taciturn yet painted his dream
began to draw at just fourteen
She tucks hair behind her ears,
sheen gathers, raven is the light of her.
She lifts him over dark breakwaters,
eyes closed, she funnels him
into her purse seine.
Fingers fit watery gloves,
olive oil and rose water, flavors spill.
Catalan rain clouds weep their sweet moments.
A tarragon musk, a salty lamina folded through
anemone fingers. Gestures flex and unwind.
A topaz sun rides over evening waves,
dips for darting anchovies, sinks into memory.
It is hard to walk in the sand especially with boots and a heavy rifle.
Manuel and I would sit on a rock and watch the moon give birth to
a distant blue Africa.
Franco's Guardia Civil were not all thugs. A few were poets.
Manuel's father had worshiped the general and had blessed
the day Guernica 'that Marxist nest' had been flattened.
That was decades before he was born, yet Manuel still patrolled
the beach, weaving between sunbathing tourist seeking nonexistent saboteurs.
On his rounds the young conscript fell in love - often, but in winter
(when his sneering corporal was away), he would sit in the bar,
tongue curled like a snail shell, dedicating lurid hyperbole
to every female foreigner that had smiled at him, and to all
the Catalan girls that never did.
That night the moon seemed to translate for us.
He asked me earnestly:
if I thought Franco would ever lift the ban on bikini's?
"Never!" I replied, "The Pope and the Rightists are against it."
Manuel rose and shuffled sadly away, his rifle dragging on the sand.
That night the moon came close, to bask on Manuel’s beach,
and she without a stitch of cloud-cover over her matronly form.
She tucks long hair behind her ears,
lifts him over dark breakwaters,
their eyes closed, she funnels him
into her purse seine.
Fingers fit watery gloves,
olive oil and rose water,
flavors spill over
Catalan rain clouds,
a musky tarragon,
a salty lamina
folded through
anemone fingers.
Later they watch a topaz sun
ride over waves
as it dips for darting anchovies.
Abstracted eyes study plasmid menus.
A rattle of gleams
stirs coffee in a Montmartre café.
A Cairo belly dancer glistens
in her cocoon of sequined waves,
wine glasses tinkle, while eyes speak.
An old Catalan hotel,
meals shared with a guitar playing moon.
Starry Singapore ferry rides;
we have packed
rice and shrimp in banana leaves.
The clock tonight strikes the length
of bygone lusters,
its hands calibrated to intervals
of suppers and savors.
Moonlight scrapes across roof tiles.
If anyone were here
they might think of a ghostly kitchen
and a shadowy figure,
but it is only I
searching for pabulum,
upon a midnight table
set with long burnt out candles.
A-n
I-mpressive
M-essage
E-xpresses
E-xcellent
C-onnotation
A-bout
T-he
A-crostic
L-ine
A-nd
N-ame
Topic: Birthday of Aimee C. Catalan (May 08)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Everybody is in a terrible condition and Yeshua is the only antigen, everyday.
Nobody that is in this Parable can avoid sins infection but realize now Yeshua destroyes sins pathogen. That makes the Lord the opposite of noday.
Somebody will learn that the Lord makes the unbearable, bearable. Sin has one affection and that will always be insurrection. Yeshua taught the true Catalan, through that we know we are his cabochon. Take heart because Yeshua will use his Javelin, someday.
Anybody can embody the words of the Lord. The Lord plants all seeds, that makes you wearable, tell me what is comparable when you hear something that is beyond incredible. He gives us our Direction, he takes away the disconnection. With the Lord's correction and disinfection by his resurrection the lord gave us every protection. Yeshua equals submission forgiveness and love it's not about being masculine the Lord makes us examine and reexamine every ademption. When you contemplate on the beginning you will understand, Yeshua created the laminin. Remember Yeshua is your protector anyday.
A calabus loved a calaboose
Went to Calamis to catch a moose
But in a great hurry
Vision's kinda blurry
Cooked in Calais a Catalan goose.
Pep Guardiola
they will wreathe a garland of Catalan cut gladiola
for that pretentious Olympian brow
but that horrid tie and collar - that's just not Arsenal somehow.
Does
the course
of true love
make stars in our
eyes
Joan Miro the Catalan was fascinated by motifs in his painting right upt and including
his last work,he has 'stars' in his eyes.
http://www.abcgallery.com/M/miro/miro49.html
Catalan moderniste
Or Art Nouveau catalyst
Extravagent and ornate-
Fantastic,eclectic & surreal
Sculpture,gardens & cathedral
Antoni Gaudi (1853-1926)Spanish archtect-neo baroque