Monday, July 18, 2011

"el Brujo" "The Witch"

el Bujo
happy were nights when trees shadowed by moonlight
gave no residence to ghostly visitors

Joyous moments when passing from waking into
Orpheus's gentle embrace
a pestilence of ghosts
did not

Those moments were longed for...
yearned for...
not unlike an
addict searching
for their daily

Terrible were nights
when dead perched in skeletal trees
shrieking their derision
harpy scorn

These were the nights when
el Brujo  would have such long
As to make
parliamentarians weep

Their wants
cry's pitiful
for one more moment
of life's extension could not
would not suffice

Yet they would flock
seeking absolution for past sins.
angry at living souls for living
when they
could no

As nights would wind
coil relentlessly forward
they would
eventually drift
drift towards
some forgotten abattoir
to hide once more from living truth

el Brujo would hasten stumbling steps
with poems rare
and poets long mouldering in graves
full of magic powers
Of poems capturing moments
sating their desires 

No matter the eve's wearing presence
upon his brow
thought-worn lines would ease
as he read Cervantes  

To be a gallant
about a lady's honor
was a fine

In daily repose
regain strength
for another eve of
relentless bickering

el Brujo rested his soul in
Sancho Panza's care


DS Baker

*For Myrlindo. You inspired this piece.

DS Baker

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