Category Archives: Atlantico

cycle from a travel around Europe, especially Iberian peninsula, 2005

Atlantico – Freeverse cycle

Henry at the Edge of the World

Why Henry
Why Henry,
why did you leave the tranquility?

Navigating into nowhere
speculating on something
better than perfect
prince of confusion
or driven by pride
please tell me it wasn’t for greed, spices or pope
just to go
the cove protected heavy ships from plunders
the point at the edge of the all anyone knows at this moment

Why didn’t you turn right
dancing with galacian girls
or left into well enough

now it’s the ghost of you and cristobol
me and two earnest germans
watching everything heading into somewhere
no longer new.

the wind blows the same
sometimes we wait
in Aljeezer patching holes.
sometimes we make it nowhere
Navigate elsewhere henry maybe draw me a line
to divide something
and don’t compare hard

Napoleon Conversation

Hey Napoleon in your caskets
why did you hafta mess it up
it’s not that i’ve reason to care
here on top of your arch of triumpaht celebrating the farmers, dead bastards
buried cold, scattered families told to feel pride as your consolation prize
did you feel unloved or just condescended
you under willow tree squared up in st helena’s rocks
was it ever enough
when did you plan to stop?

perhaps in your next circuit
we have a baquette and talk about the good times, you know them all
listed in marble next to your heaving pompitude
over wine on the Siene
tell me when the fire started
when did you know?

just a couple answers for me because i’m greedy too
thirsty for life
questing for quiet and paints over battlefields and
coerced congratulations
did you not realize the power of restraint?
the art of deflection?
now on champs im’ not sure
your reflecting face
at odds with the deriliction
now where you are
do you room with caeser or the saints?

Beers in Bruges

Drinking beers from Bruges to Paris
ah you like good beer he says in halted words
punching ticket in boxy hat
winking, “i’ll be right back
six small cans of Stella Artois
They fell off a truck
not as good as Grimberger
but free

He said, i am french but i haven’t a plan
just a guy doing what i can
i’m not a hater, i’ve been to the forests and plains
and i like my wine and friends
i wonder what is like to be there
a little envious perhaps
but not ready to trade

Mona Atlantico

Si si si you’d say
and disappear through a door
me looking –
finding you alight
and aflitter
anxious to avoid your iodine stare
its not i that i try to please you – i just do
something always new

Interludes and anecdotes
from Florida or yesterdays’ shorelines.
you pull the blanket over
over your shoulder
in the aftermath
vanish into dreams of olives,
mountainsides &
Manzanita sunsets.

Yes indeed i’ve found you
and you are my Andalusian girl today,
Catalan girl tomorrow

Si si si you say
in another terrace cafe, another beer with another name
sure enough, you’ve met a new friend but are
always half of me

Tell me Mona
how did it make you feel?
That time in Esposende?
was it more than the night train ride into Coruna
all night blowing smoke from the only open window
from time to time
red wine with strangers

After sleepless days
and forgotten nights
sandy strolls, missed turns and just caught trains
April palms and cascading church bells,
crumbled castillos and fields of the cows

Inspired by your tenacity
stunned by the honesty
confused by the intensity,
Mostly thrilled by your smile from Malaga to Granada
through tunnels, over bridges
and crossing waterways from books

Portuguese Snapshots

Red roofs falling cliff high
into foaming waves

old man watches sheep
who don’t seem to mind
wondering where atlantico
turns into the inland sea

the signs say no tractors
or this way to ferries

brick stoves & clay ovens
widely shown
the man with the donkey wanders by

she’s happiest when moving fast
and straight
or eating small tasty thing with sauces

“you are saying these strange things to me but i don’t know why”

concrete poles
houses thick and white
red clay courtyards
wrapped in blue tiles
guarded by saints with forgotten names
protecting palms and blue fired tiles
melted bold yellow walls
churrascaria in empty yards
wood cut even, stacked in jumbles

posters of singers and toros
workmen piling into tipico
early lunch, dried cod
chicken blood, sardines,

waving she doesn’t watch
crossing shady lane with tiny cars
the dog with the shortest legs.

adieu Karol in color
Cerverjai dark, vino blanco
she opens it cold & hands it
sits down.

The swarthy one points us
Saint Virgilio of Figuero de Foz
who we call Jack for Joaquin
Patron of wanderers, spicy clams and cold sangria
eyes like grutas of secrets
grottos holding reflection of monoliths
and winters lasting into spring

If i recall from the haze of the sangria night
Virgillio of the soulful eyes,
the fatima awaits
maybe we’ll see it past the horizon clambered up the gates of treachery

like the nice boy told us
sue the Sud towards the 15th of April
i’m not sure they might be trees for figs or nuts
squat on fuzzy gnarled hills

I’m not really sure
just keep the ocean ot the right
i’ll watch for antelope or impalas
past the grutas with the piney amnesia smell

Santiago, April

Skin of bright olives, quizzical eyes
reflection flashing on a bike with bread
or books
cold on rocky step ledge
three spires fade into drizzly twilight
the bells ring again

Walking sticks clunking into a square
via sacred stairs
the bells ringing in dischord
and grief
as the galacian girls laugh down a impossible alley
twisted with greens and orange
where las templars hunkered
hiding three sets of bones through generations of darkness
now in a silver box of seashells.