Ronda’s a town,
but this rondelet rankles still:
Ronda’s a town
(a placename is a Proper Noun).
Between Malaga and Seville,
you’ll hear the very sparrows trill,
Ronda’s a town.
Ronda exists,
But does ‘rondelet’ rhyme with ‘hay’?
(Ronda exists:
I’ve wandered in its morning mists!)
Or does it, maybe, rhyme with ‘debt’?
It makes a poem hard to set!
Ronda exists.
Ronda’s my home.
Unlike phantom poetic forms,
Ronda’s my home.
Enough of frothy wordy foam!
I’ll stick to things that I can touch.
And I love Ronda very much.
Ronda’s my home.
Categories:
malaga, places,
Form: Rhyme
Captain cook
I built a ship in a vale of stones and thorny bushes
It took 24 years and more to set sail on a dream
boat to China
I met her on the blue sea of Malaga, sailed on her
til she was 71, sought refuge in coastal waters
anchorage in the town of Mandalay
Deep sea ships have limited sails from port to port
are not allowed to stray from the chart, set by the man
in charge; every ship looks the same, is practical and sleepless.
Not. once did they let me be in charge; go back to your galley, you mad cook, they bellowed, you will only collide with the Dogger bank.
I built my ship, four decks, and a bridge
too far from shore to be of annoyance to anyone
The locals called me Captain Brave Heart, the man who
cleared the dale of snakes.
I'm tired, it took so long to be a slayer of words
ankle-deep in sad rejections.
I'm the master of my literary refusals, words
to feed the flame of elimination
Categories:
malaga, absence, allah, april,
Form: Blank verse
R-ight
A-crostic
Y-ields
M-eaningful
A-nd
R-ightful
T-opic's
M-essage
A-bout
L-ife
A-nd
G-reat
A-chievement
Topic: Birthday of Raymart A. Malaga (January 05)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Categories:
malaga, birthday,
Form: Acrostic
R-eader
A-ppreciates
Y-early
M-essage
A-bout
R-egards
T-o
M-emorize
A-s
L-itterateur
A-uthors
G-reeter's
A-crostic
Topic: Birthday of Raymart A. Malaga (January 05)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Categories:
malaga, birthday,
Form: Acrostic
The Fuente
Those little birds (he'd never known their name)
went skittering over ground, to hide in brambles.
How nimble Nature is! The swallows screamed
and wheeled above, descanting their Te Deum.
Gonzalo moved on up towards the Fuente.
The Fountainhead. What if it ever failed?
By force of will, he put that from his mind.
It was a thing to never think about,
a farm without its water. On he pressed.
Ah, hear it now! The chuckling of the spring,
where it came gushing from the living rock,
so cold and clean. That archaeologist
from Malaga once told him of this water,
and how it fell as rain and pooled inside
the mountain, percolating, sifting down
for centuries. He came up to the source,
and splashed the icy jet around his face.
"This water's older than America," he mused,
"and yet it feels so fresh. Just like my crops!"
Tomatoes, apricots - all ancient fruits,
but rising year on year, and each time new.
How wonderful, this life! "All thanks to you!"
Gonzalo blessed his Fuente, glittering in the sun.
Categories:
malaga, inspiration,
Form: Blank verse
Captain Cook.
I built a ship in a vale of stones and thorny bushes
it took 24 years and a bit more .
from here I set sail on the dream boat to China.
I met her in the blue sea off of Malaga, sailed
on her to she was 71 and sought refuge in coastal
water and anchorage in the bay of Mandal.
Deep sea ship are so limited, they only sail from
port to port and are not allowed to stray from
the chart set by the man in charge; and every ship
looks the same, practical and sleepless.
Not once did they let me be in charge go back to
your galley you mad cook, they bellowed, you´ll
only collide with Dogger Bank, so I built my own
ship, four decks and a bridge too far from shore
to be of annoyance to no one and the locals call
me captain brave heart, the man who cleared
the dale of snakes.
Categories:
malaga, career, courage, drink,
Form: Ballad
In a riot of colours using brushes with valour,
Many movements he started devoid of pallor.
From a town called Malaga,far off in spain,
Pouring his heart out,unloading his pain.
What a journey he started from conformity parted,
To paint till the last,until he departed.
Many have aspired and wanted to be,
Including your's truly,I say why not me?
From erotic nudism to new found cubism,
His loss to the world left a wide open chasm.
How God made him great,I never could fathom?
But thats the way I guess God wanted to make him.
Although the years rolled and went passing by,
Another painters yet to reach for the sky.
I'm telling the truth and not telling a lie,
I'll love only Pablo until that day when I die.
I know he had friends,some straight and some gay,
But all I want to say today is....Happy Birthday.
PS.It was Pablo Picasso's B'day on 25/10/09 and I dedicate this poem to this
mentor and inspiration of mine.
---Princefreakasso
(Artist and Poet)
Categories:
malaga, dedicationgod, god,
Form: Free verse