In the House of 3 Angels

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In the House of 3 Angels

In the house
of 3 Angels,
The travellers arrive.
In sunset
and in daylight
the layers
of their hearts
are slowly set
aside
and suffering
is laid bare.
by laughter
and by story
by love of friend,
their journey will
continue
as word In the
Angel’s house
dissipates the fear.
The comfort
of the faithful friend
Is near .
In the house of
3 Angels
The bells toll in the distance
from cathedral spires
and as one angel gives
of self,
the others will receive.
In the house
of 3 Angels
time at sunset
will stand still
and the town
will spread its’ glory
on horizon
by the light
of heaven’s fire,
and friendship
once again
burns bright
in a deep and starry night
as Michael’s
Sword is
swung swiftly
flashing,
cleansing,
easing,
In the warmth
of this evening’s light.

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At El Tenampa

At El Tenampa

imageHemingway
Has a beer
on his own
in the corner.
White pants
white beard
white brows
Solemn and pensive
In a bucket hat
And an open
Thick plaid shirt ,
He stares up
at the beer cans
At the back of the bar
At the El  Tenampa .
He says a gruff
But somehow polite
“goodbye”
As he walks out
the cantina door.

San Miguel

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San Miguel

Crickets sing
In courtyards
To trickling water.
In the distance
bells of Cathedrals ring.

I think of a

Dark skinned boy

With olive eyes
Crouching
In an embryonic chair,
A one Legged
Old woman walking
With a cane
among the brightly
Coloured plates,
An old man
Singing playing
harmonica
With white pupils
And a cup.

Murmured
Songs from
Disconsolate
lips a haunting
blessing
From the wandering
priest.
On polished stone,
Walking your
bones are
Creaking in the
daylight
darkness
like a boat
as canonballs
are shot.

Emerald

Who could have known  Your face would  launch a thousand  ships , the forbidden taste of  blood red lips  Stolen,  How delicate  Your hand ,  And smooth   The curve of hip, Your form tender  As etherial dove, An embodied love, On wings  Set free  caressed by sun  And spread in open air  Across  The glistening waves  Of the emerald seas  That are your  eyes.

Who could have
known
Your face would
launch a thousand
ships ,
the forbidden taste of
blood red lips
Stolen,
How delicate
Your hand ,
And smooth
The curve of hip,
Your form tender
As etherial dove,
An embodied love,
On wings
Set free
caressed by sun
And spread in open air
Across
The glistening waves
Of the emerald seas
That
are
your
eyes.

Queen

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Queen

Egyptian queen,

half Greek,

with your piercing eyes

tender advances

and merciless attacks,

ravenous dominatrix

you humble powerful men

flat and

passive

submitting to

the towering succubus

above them.

You are dark

and olive skinned.

Sometimes you are blonde,

delicately painted pale.

At other times your hair is red

and your skin tinted with

Royal Egyptian blue.

Your scents and oils,

your weeping eyes and

eye brows

and subtle skills

are legend among men.

Arousing spices, whispers

and the light from candles

are your swords.

Your words are serpents

swallowing their tails,

never ending

constantly recreating

transforming,

and convincing.

Only old truly

ambitious men

succeed in not

falling prey

to your serpentine

charms ,

and the delicate sensations

of expiring

in your arms.

From “the Black and other Base Elements” by  PWChaltas