In the Gardens Of Spain


Take my eyes,

these open wounds,

these schisms of desire.

They are not all they appear to be.

Take a scalpel to this mindset,

in this night and in this fog,

read my lips.

Climb inside

this common grave

into this open ditch,

into my gaping mouth.

Scream with me

in my nightmares.

The position of my hands

tells you whether I was alive or not,

when I was in the grave.

Everyone got the coup de grace of course;

a bullet in the back of the head.

I was young, the other old.

We were hugging each other

in the gardens of Spain

and our voices are not silenced yet.

copyrighted .This poem is taken from my second collection Siempre Siempre Siempre

Palores Publications March 2008 ISBN 978-0-9556682-5-8 £5.99

and also first appeared in Aesthetica Feb/March 2008 Issue 21.

1 comment:

Colin Matthews said...

Wow! what a good idea to put your poems on the BLOG, I wish I thought of that, if I had the right batteries I might come up with some bright
ideas, like you do.