Spaniard Poems | Examples

God Answers

God answers
a Spaniard, a Moor
men who seek Him in prayers 
the Bible makes it clear, in many layers 

he father of the original bearer 
O friar, O my brother 
the son of Anai 

God answers
its Basque origins, 
it was a medieval Basque 
Catalunya with Arabic elements

Myth of Hadrian the Dark Haired Emperor

there are some people
I do know
they speak of places
I can't go
ooh then some
if God is real
might should I ask
the chores of one
done by two
Makes easy the task?

Hadian speak to the Romans.


Yes God is Real
He's real in our Souls
Yes God is real
that We have washed
and made us whole
Gods love for us
is what we should know
yes God is real
cause we can feel him
in our souls!

Answered by the Romans


This was spoken when Hadrian wished
to build the Temple of Venus and Rome.
While in Rome a woman asked
if she could kiss the
dark haired Spaniard. The fella answering her questions
laughed and told her she was referring to Caesar she
humbled herself and said she thought
Caesar was a legend and a myth.
until she saw his face she didn't believe. The jews
around her told her that he wasn't the savior god
but he ( Caesar) wished them to worship
him as god, something
these men refused to do. She smiled 
at them and said Hail Caesar might I feed my
people. Several woman than throw tomatoes at her
and called her a whore. She rose stained and shame
 ""Si, Dio e reale!" " Si, Dio es real!"

Clerihew Gris

Spaniard Juan Gris
with an early death his cubism ceased
Many faceted a bit like Picasso
'Possibilities of Painting' his credo

Clerihew Tapies

Spaniard Antoio Tapies
taught himself with great ease
He mixed materials so very coarse
useful for expressing ideas with such force

Clerihew Dali

Spaniard Salvador Dali
a surrealist he came to be
With  ego & flamboyancy he did persist
this moustachiod self-publicist

curvaceous

my fingertips
touch ...
tender, but with melodic intent
you tremble
just SO ...
and sigh sweetly
the delightful answer
to my questioning hands
a gentle press ...
your supple curves against me
fitting me like dovetail
your quivers ...
soft-thrumming my flesh
matching your moans
the hushing pulse of your body
urges me on ...
your swan-like neck
satin beneath my hot palm
as it moves lower
pressing ...
deft digits dancing across you
like a wild Spaniard
we are ... one
our purpose, the same
oh, sing to me now
let my passion be your cry
let our lullabies of love and desire
move souls ...
and ache hearts
my beloved ...
guitar.

A Spaniard and Hispanics

A Spaniard always panics
while he's among Hispanics.

Volodymyr Knyr
2017

Onward Ever Onward

Onward ever onward down the awesome lanes of time,
Coming going, dying reborn, another life inclined,
One time in Tasmania the Pommy hunters killed us out,
A prisoner in irons, cat of nine tails cut about,
Ever suffering for my crime,
What is it all, this doubt?

Ironic is the suffering feel, 
in Ireland I was starved,
Potatoes stole, caught and flogged, 
Escaped and was at large,

Informer talked and I was caught,
Transported on the Belle,
Bonded servant, flogged, yes sport,
In the cotton fields of hell,
But I lived awhile orright.

Cannon roared, hot lead, aboard,
The yard was crashing down,
Over the side, a Spaniard to board,
Cutlass slashing blood n gore,
death there to seek me out.

In the dark, in a tribe away out west,
Speared a bullock for the tribe to eat,
The Squatter shot us with his friends,
The Troopers not so sweet,
The Crows would not be denied,
Another death I tried? 
My bones are incomplete...
Don Johnson

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vAvcSTzsYs

Essence of Seville In Spring

A 
picture
I’ve saved shows
a suave Spaniard
on a horse. Dressed in
a matador’s jacket,
he’s turned to the crowd, smiling.
Behind him, sitting sideways is
a woman, dark hair pulled back, earrings
dangling, wearing a long pink ruffled dress.

She gazes happily at the man with 
fondness. Quietly stunning, the pair
seems used to attention. They pose
as I capture with my small
camera. . .the essence
of Seville’s spring fair:
its beauty, its
charm, and love
in full
bloom.

July 23, 2016 For the Two Stanzas Contest of Broken Wings
I used two etheree, one with reversed order of syllable count one to ten.
*years after i took this picture, I learned something fascinating about it. Please read in my notes above.

Chattering Spaniard

There was a young man from Majorca,
   Who was an annoying incessant talker,
 His friends found a pool and threw him in
 But sadly for them they just couldn't win,
Wouldn't you know he could talk under water.

Limerick: Once Right Spaniard Looking For a Job

Limerick: Once right Spaniard looking for a job

Once right Spaniard looking for a job
Found nothing in his country to rob:
He crossed the Pyrenées
Left he turned on his knees:
They made him King sans his shedding a sob!

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014

Five Lines Or Less

compelled to take

a photo of a Spaniard

and his lovely bride. . . 

    decades later learning of

           their fame and sad demise

1937

Madrid it is a hot and sad place.
Filled once with music and pretty women
now filled with bombs blasting on street corners
and old women hovering over their dead husbands.
Madrid was once a place of love and culture.
Love was full through every hotel lobby
to every small cafe, love was all around.
Now, nothing but abandoded buildings
inhabited by rats and broken dreams.
The hotel lobbies once home to rich folk in tuxedos
drinking expensive champagne and dancing,
now filled with young boys bleeding from bullet wounds
and burn't to the bone.
Madrid once a home to life
now a home to death and war.
Fellow Spaniard fighting fellow Spaniard
in a Civil War between life and greed.
Life was all good and well
till 1937 came around.

Onward

Onward ever onward down the awesome lanes of time,
Coming going, dying reborn, another life inclined,
One time in Tasmania the Pommy hunters killed us out,
A prisoner in irons, cat of nine tails cut about,
Ever suffering for my crime,
What is it all, this doubt?

Ironic is the suffering feel, 
in Ireland I was starved,
Potatoes stole, caught and flogged, 
Escaped and was at large,

Informer talked and I was caught,
Transported on the Belle,
Bonded servant, flogged, yes sport,
In the cotton fields of hell,
But I lived awhile orright.

Cannon roared, hot lead, aboard,
The yard was crashing down,
Over the side, a Spaniard to board,
Cutlass slashing blood n gore,
death there to seek me out.

In the dark, in a tribe away out west,
Speared a bullock for the tribe to eat,
The Squatter shot us with his friends,
The Troopers not so sweet,
The Crows would not be denied,
Another death I tried? 
My bones are incomplete…Don Johnson

She

she is a sparkling jewel 

all can see her shimmer 

she is a throb of daffodils

and lilies in the garden shore

she is a captivating police

and arrest my Spaniard eyes

she is a word spectalamo!

and that is still unheard of

she has got strength in her smile

and it spreads to everyone around her

yet she is for me...

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