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Best Poems Written by Daniel De Culla

Below are the all-time best Daniel De Culla poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

Memory of Nothing

MEMORY OF NOTHING

Listen:
Drag branches comeback
Across the forest floor:
Knowledge of the rough¡

At water’s edge
I gather some things up:
“Happy Ending Story”.

We’ve the time to give the Babel Tower
A close reading.
Awful good, Tú
As Roy A. Rappaport’s
Ritual... as Communication and as State.
Our preferences might be
Toward more emphasis 
On species places:
Smooth textures of dead wood
Knowledge of our hands on arms
The body-art of bullshit
Drinking cocoa
And tend to the faith
With a Vampire’s short stick
That smells of infinite urine
As Madonna.

History reveals itself to us
In this way:
Poetry, Tales, Essays are pamphlets
Of impossible interest
Multiplying voices-human, voices-animal
Voices-plant
Voice-life of Earth
As Dan O’Neill’s
Holiday for Cynics.



Look, little one
Courtney Love
We live this close to disaster
There is no turning back
From the tops of the trees
Which are so dense
Almost no sky is visible
Only the odor dilates the nostril
And quickens the heart
On a marijuana  tortilla.
The buddhists have been tellig us
That the Self (Ego)
As we conceive of it
Is an illusion.
A good tip
Thinking about Gurney Norman’s
Jack and His Ego.

Is it?
It is that we are of a Time-Sexual
Wherein all species has been joined
To the Wo/Man
Of Homo Sapiens
And Life is a single exercise of Cannibals
In constantly elevating towers
Of Bureaucracy.
Nothing in Somethingg
Something in our Nothingness.

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

No More Love Poem

NO MORE LOVE POEM

“”..... Ander her picture when she cut her wrists and so the kid saw the picture and his prick went Whoop Whoop Whoop,,,”
- Trantino. The Great Blafigria Is.

“ … For I dream I know not how¡
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.”
-The Bridal Ballad. Edgar Allan Poe

Please Stop.
I don’t want falling in Love
& being pretty smart 
O mamma mia. 
When the Train is Gone
 I thrower in motion:
I don’t hit the nail on the head¡ 

 I’m going wild against the Wall
Slap-up meal. 
My brain’s been ****ed
When yr love is come 
Toot toot 
Damn ***** ate my dog.

 Then haemin’s yr Ass: 
Love is a silly thing
 Fancying that
All over the place 
And to die 
Of a broken Heart, ja, ja ja.

 Hey captain¡ Hey captain¡
 My arm chaplain is incapable.
Hey Captain¡ Hey Captain¡
 I think we’re gonna cum
In the twinkling of an eye:
 The end of the love
Lies inside you¡

 Do you know Do you see:
All lovers are Rapier pigs
 bastard Gentlemen of rape
Looking out at all rissoles
In the churches’ streets 
& saying:
” let me darkle
Or let me daze”.

 With Langston Huges’ motto
As we live and learn:
“Dig and be dug
In return”

No more Love Poem
Darkly Vampire.
Carry me to Yr Black Ritual
Of bloody Love
 Leaning lip-poised.
 We tremble to receive
The darkly ****ing Eucharistic 
To touch Perceive
Touch Explore
 And yet with utmost Sinful care
 Slide Melt
Devour.

The *****Cock 
And Chicken 
In the head of lustful night
Carry me.

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

Crickets In Head

CRICKETS IN HEAD
I’m a NeoPagan
From the Church of All Worlds
Dedicated to the celebration of Life.
I’m set on a land in the long run
Looking for crackets.
The brooms come higher that I expected
And the hole throws up and has to open its songs.
I have ears to hear them
And eyes to see  a deep chair In a green dress.
I find myself between
Sabbat or Pagan festival
Smiling its ok. Look:
Here’ coming Oimelc, Ostara, Beltane
Ltha, Lugnasad, Mabon, Samhain and Yule
Wanting to touch my face.
Probably they rattling
Brushing me out of its night.
And there are others:
Cernunnos and Diana saying it to me:
“Those who have ears to hear
Let them hear
The crickets’ cri cri in head”
Ok ok as I say.
Me and We are programated holler, squeaky

Dreaming the green mats
Of a hit confusión of body and mind
While crickets have a narrow squeak.
Do You know, do You see:
In the new days the celebration is
As in the old days: Crimes, rapes,  wars.
The Solstice and Equinox
Walk on bloody air.
From the Zenit to the Nadir
Wo/men pass their artificial time
Living by one’s wits.
Earth relates the Universe as we perceive it:
The Solstices and Equinoxes
Are tired of our criminal freak
And Dane Rudyar’s 
“The Astrology of Personality” is broken
Founding fur in our dreams
In our stew.
Word, our Word now
Is tired and rap
Robert Heinlein’ s “Stranger in a Strange Land”.
Crackets sing Neo-Paganism
In its black wings
As in the Cauldron of Cerridwen and in the Holy Grail
The day of equal dark and equal light
Beginning anew.

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

Snow Dancer

SNOW DANCER

I am amazed at switch the goods
Before so apostolic
And now so different
To one’s mind.
Are you, my milk tooth
A passion-flower nun
Or an old maid
Married with god
With might & main?
Are you making use of decoy
“Snow Dancer”
As an appropriated graphic
Without  mincing words
As other persons do?
Show Dancer
You’re a Sweet Nothing
A Cold Nothing
As the Mildewed Show
But pretty  when the Earth
Is in White¡
I remember that when snowing
It was to the liking
of You Girlfriend & Me
To piss on the Snow
And to do cartoons, ha, ha.
You draped with my Dick
And me with Your Tongue-lips.
And we together singing
laughing
Dancing, singing
All around:
“Snow Dancer
Is the same to say
“Peace is a Piss””.
Do you know
Do You see:
I like Women too much, Mimosa
More than another Cheeky-Monkey
Of our Specie.
Yr wasp’ nest
Make me  to take flowers
And have one’s  fling.
I taste Your female orgasm
Melting into snowing tears.
To kiss the Angel’ s Lips
Is my Eucharistic
Made to measure.

But now, oh¡ oh dear¡ poor me¡
My touched-balls
Doctor Uric
Says that for the blame of age
I have to do 
An operation for prostate
And just in due curse
I’ll don’t be able
To bring to light
My brilliant point
Measured one’s length:
It will break
The liquorice root
The sweet breads.
But yet, still
Being so ****ed
I’ll see how well
You dance in the snow
My Snow Dancer.

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

Song To the Ruins of America

SONG TO THE RUINS OF AMERICA
With the Glyn Ford’ eyes:
"Fascist Europe-The Rise of Racism and Xenophobia"
I see with horror how from an american country to another
Racism and Xenophobia are cultivated in ist fields
Inspecting the growth of fascism and its relationship
With the capitalist families’ domain
As Daniel Guerin  saw in his “Fascism and Big Busines”
When Fascism was flourishing in Germany and Italy
For nothing.
Cities and fields returns to watering  the river Biederitz
Feeder of the river Elba
That brings the Hitler and Eve’s cremated and crushed remains
Together with others of theirs on the studio couch
Where they were found suicided
Perhaps the same couch of love where Neville Chamberlain
the British Prime Minister was sat.
River that joins and, at the end, matchs to the river Potomac
In Chesapeake Bay, Atlantic Ocean
Rested in backwater of the White House’ pool
Built in its foundations and frames
by slaves and Irish and Italian workers without papers
that tomorrow will come to call "Trumpbunker".
He’ll walk in the middle of the garden
Arrogant his figure as a God with joke eyes, body to much he-man
And penisly classic figure
whose Te Deum will be of the Asses and the Marquis of Sade.
Heil¡ He’s the  “Uro of Heck" big, robust, with long horns
a brown copper hair, with skin of a certain form
with fierce behaviour.
Heil¡ He’s the new Thartac, God of the Hivites with Ass-headed
well known and loved by priests and parish priest.
Nor the snow neither the wind will lash, that they believe
The angry figure of this God-man who loves life
As a desolated tyrant with dizziness of sex just nasty
running towards the void of a great National and Global Zoo
upon which will erect a statue to the Ass
to which will come the souls of the Eve’s terrier breed scottish dogs
and  the Hitler’ German Shepherd Dog with her cubs
to piss lifting up its leg.
And Fabius will sing near the doors of the White House
The new "Trumpbunker"
the Rodrigo Caro’s paraphrased song to the Ruins of Italica:
"These, Trump, poor me¡ that you see now
Lonely fields, gloomy hill
Were a time great America”.
Because the crime, the evil, the cruel and bloody
Assembly of wars against another peoples and nations
Ever returns, sooner or later, against one and another.

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

Tagore

TAGORE ON 

I just happened reading Rabindranath Tagore’ s poem called “The Gardener.” 

The Gardener XL: An Unbelieving Smile

					“……the dark rim of your eyes.
						Then smile as archly as you like
						when I come again.”

I am a Wheel, my blood flows inward
Of its spokes.
I am a Star,
My blood dissolves
In its Middle.
The Middle is without Time.
Here is where I am born.
Here the Poet letting Go:
Pollen, Sac, Belly
To more giving
Yes—
The weeks go on
And I contemplate the Gardener
Basing on cumulative
Bending, drawing in
Giving Magnificence
Back to the Universe
Stranded between Reason and Awe.
Tagore brings the World
In as Word/song.
With  Black and white
His work became tight
As the freest gift
In specially the Light.

-Daniel de Cullá

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

The King of the House

THE KING OF THE HOUSE
In Vallelado, Segovia, to  a woman from quarter
God gaves his grace: she just  had seven daughters
And she was about to give birth
Without knowing if it would be son or daughter.
The day of nativity play revealed the difference
And the village people said "that impossible"
They could not believe it
After being born so much females
That they should come and see him.
They came to meet him and see if he was a boy.
They congratulated the father and mother
Worshiping the child as a king.
Little girls, when they saw him, said smiling:
"The Little sailor stand out
And his two ships loaded with gold and silver”.
They say that pigeons peeked out their window
And the bells of the parish church
Played with joy alone
And Sacristan said: "Not for less."
The medieval clergyman
Who came with his concubine
Exclaimed: "A good combine harvester
For the Village."

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

Lovers Ecstasy

This place, this time, this way
Oh, that place
It’s just where one feed the wind.
Walking to the river
The lover girl with eyes and heart in center
Her body with smoke and desire
Goes to find one place where she
And her lover friend stopped on the banks.
The Sun has its tide home going
Flashing the light thru the bush
Over the stream.
Love is on the same line of the river
And their Love is like a wheel.
She dreams with the only man to snore
A comfortable life.
Probably not?
She laughs at first looking for lover friend
Suddenly realizing his freedom only
Thinking to fall in Love
Toy with divertice
Even if he did blow over just being able
To pick up and come.
-Man, presence/absence
Is what makes this place so tolerable?
With my man I wll not be lonely
I will sense no mistake.
She feels her lover friend behind her
With a smile wider than his bronzed face
Saying:
-Pretty, do You want to dance with me?
The Lovers pretty much
On their own into the shrubs:
The space of Love here¡
Translucency privileged to see
The union of sky and earth
Because they lived at the edge of Love:
Boy traveling her openness
In his girl venture now
She saying to plant a flower in her patio
And he saying then throw that check away
Lady “because I want to seal yr urn”.
-Love me, sir¡ she exclaimed.
Love exploded with them
Saying She:
Our bodies producing two flowers
And only together do we form a whole
He:
We feel in Love with these pieces
Of sky and earth
Let us hear the pure light
Shining steady thru the Vulva
Opened for FireFlower
And be content.
She:
Love has gotten us
Into this Ecstasy.

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

I'M a Magician

I’M A MAGICIAN
I’m a Magician married with my bridesmaid
I’m a wizard loosing mine’s touch
I’m a Rajah looking after number one
I’m a seer uncovering cards
Now looking himself at the glassball.
Look at me 
Saying Relic, Passageway and Kiss
And asking to the Ball
“What is the future?”
And the Ball saying thhrough myself:
“As a predictor, there’s no future
Because as do You see
There’s  a set of fundamentalism
Toward which people will again and again
Make hates and wars.
Responses to the present and future situations
Arte ever the same:
The old Zodiac meditating to Death
Full of great encounters and great silences
As responses to all situations”.
Meanwhile
The smile of constellations
Wet one’s  face into existence
Where we are taken care of a paradox cat
Stirring by a thought, but of what?

Details | Daniel De Culla Poem

The Candle In the Wind

THE CANDLE IN THE WIND
 This is the story
Of a light
Back when there were few
Men on Earth
Light and electricity industry
And Wo/Men
Took great care of their candles.
 
Using in their defense
To face the mysteries of the night
To place by the day
At the foot of prints and imagery
To help them
Carrying their heavy load
Of daily life.
 
It happened, one day
that a certain Zaguan
He was a farmhand
And worked by the herd
For a gentleman from Requena de Campos
In the Palencia’s province
 
He came to a covered place
On a street or square
Built on pillars
Bringing a candle in his hand
To walk or to get rid
Of the Moon of the shadows
 
When, suddenly, from somewhere
An air came to him in movement
 
Even if
It was at rest
That brought smelling as a trace
Leaving the hunting pieces
Or the bullet's gap
 
In the bore of the firearm
It turned off the candle
And it turned it off again
 
When he tried to light it
And that suddenly touching his nape
As it usually does
In the bone that dogs have
Between the ears
Said inside his mind:
- To whomever goes out at night and watches the wind:
Nothing is revealed
At night all cats are brown
And what is done at night
In the morning seems
Only a thought.