poetry : granada, spain



curled on the kitchen sofa 
in a cave of cool vegetables,
heat rises from our bedroom
warm on outstretched feet

too many coffees - why
too early, morning came
sudden, explicative
against the sleeping city

slowly place a love letter
to feel the ritual beating
within the endless lines
of newly woken pages


el campo

from country marked barren by eroded dune
granada glows as a candle lit dining table
set over bread that is the land

broken geometric shapes burn
into the living rooms of the hill
yet, one home stands alone

like cracked ceramic tile,
a frequent one-eyed cat
lying flat along the riverbed


el darro

blackbirds in quiet hoards
float like pieces of mind
through clear blue sky
marked by moving holes

in the walls of old buildings
riding firmly along the hill

a cool breeze off the fountain
stirs a man descending over
his guitar, scattering the voices
of women carrying the square

couples perched along stone
hardly take notice of the scene 
that was painted here, only to
rest when love grows still


the patio

voices stumble over stones, a vacuum
from the river of faces gathered slowly
as headless eyes turn to meet the sound
of an old language, left among the chairs



light re-birthed across the land
from ribbons over the foothills
dropping from giant spools
of sky, and seamlessly gone
as eyes retreat upwards

breath held aloft, caught in stillness
slipping down stairs of broken streets
beneath a crimson ridge, baked by sky
hastening home on hot smashed figs
the spoiled scents rise to meet me



city tightly wound round cathedrals
pinnacles of thought, eyes hiding
in stones, yet un-seized by the heat
running off the brows of white walls

from a small collection of poems i wrote and re-found from living in granada, spain 6 years ago. reminded me to write more poems because it brings back more memories of that time than any of the other writing i did, or even the photos.




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