Alma de Color

At the hand of the Dictator many souls died, And the poor noble Spaniards started losing their pride. So their children were kidnapped to an island offshore, Brainwashed to a fascist legend and lore. A few citizens fled to the hills to resist; For their efforts the soldiers refused to desist. The brave rebels attempted guerilla warfare, Often beaten by the forces found there. The same General was seen to be hero or damned, Depending on blessings or beatings men had. All Republicans ran and they fled for their lives, Had to burn all their papers and send off their wives. At the end of his reign, the country was torn, Ravaged by years of the ache it had borne. Countless War Children with no hope of home, And a country divided, the marrow from bone.

Silken streams of words insinuate Meaning through lines of limerick, loathing, or love, Sending senses whirling, swirling, Suddenly, all senses are soaked in sound. And now, scripted scents ascend upward, Inodorous without description of smell, No cinnamon, saffron, or sage gracing literary nostrils, Without a scribe to script them. Ebony sable of animal or Landscaped brick layers illuminating Sensile stirrings, sensuous symbols Soaring so seductively over essays. Irresistible lexical appetizers indulge The luscious lemon-lime longings, leaving Savory sensations simmering Slowly on the tongue of sensorium. Effervescent auras of amber Luster sparkle, illuminating lengthy Scores of scaled salmon swimming Upstream in their journey to spawn. Audible essence ambles along the avenue of inner ear, Lilting laughter jostling in lively lines like Sweet images of summer summonings Of shade, and of sun, and of sound. Rushing stre...

Haiku Her form is lovely Unknowing of her beauty Weeping starvation Placid waters sleep Ancient rainbows, not of gold, Feed on drops of sky Sky blood red at night The air is thick and choking Someone tossed a butt

Southwest Montana has an ol’ Small bar near railroad tracks. It has a lot of spunk and soul, Near full of Jills and Jacks. He searched for love in places strange; And strolled through two glass doors To see her running, making change For people drinking Coors. He looked at her, she looked at him, Across the noisy room. He flashed a toothsome grin at her, Was hoping love would bloom. The night was young, and he was not, But not aware of it. The girl had served shot after shot, And craved to rest a bit. He sidled up to order beer, He asked for one or two, And waited for what seemed a year To tell her his "love" true. He flew at any chance to talk, She found his chatter void. And wished he’d leave and take a walk, To leave her less annoyed. He asked if he could take her out, Get to know her better, She told him that she’d do without His spoken love letter. Attempted one more gambit move, Emboldened b...