Conchita Cintron: Rejoneadora

Conchita! the cry, echoes from the walls
Conchita! the crowds acclaim
Conchita! their darling, rides
In the parade of the Matadors
Through cheering crowds

On her last fight she rides, Rejoneadora
As tradition requires, then turns
For permission to the Presidente
Denied, she dismounts
Confronting the bull, Matadora

Sword and cape raised to the bull’s charge
She lowers her sword to the sand, feigning
The final blow with her fingers
she offers a gentle caress
Between the massive, muscled shoulders

So different from those first abbatoir kills
When she practiced her skills
A Tango with the doomed bulls
Who danced to their bragging song until
She learned the tender spot behind the horns

On this one day in Franco’s Spain
The svelte Rejoneadora confronts tradition and history
A feminine icon drawn in the blood and sand of the bullring
With calm composure facing twelve hundred
Pounds of enraged bull, she seduced the crowds

Conchita! Her name echoes from the walls
Conchita! the audience roars
Brag sweet tenor bull
Conchita! The Sweet Matadora;
Leaves the arena crushing blood red
Carnations with each soft tread
The Peacocks Tears

In the bomb makers workshop on the dusty floor
Of an anonymous bungalow In Kabul
Bleach and fertilizer mix with dung and the dust

Here at night the peacocks roost in the high branches
By the edge of a moonlight bright stream

Pipes roughly sawn to size, spill steel filings to the floor
Detritus fizzing with spilt bleach
Coils of fishing wire and Flowers of Sulphur

Peahens gather beneath the trees in the waning moon
They conceive in the moments before a rising sun

The prize for this handiwork, a place amongst the martyrs of faith
Time spent with the virgins waiting in paradise, but first
The treacherous bombs have to be planted

I have seen a peacocks’ tears glisten beneath his eyes
Heard the delicate sound of the pea hen sipping tears from his cheeks

They wait for the approaching
Patrol, the young soldiers’ naïve, intent on survival
Queen and Country, treading cautiously

The only sound the pullulating of the eggs and, later still
The young birds tap, tapping on the hard shell

A boot snags the fishing line, triggered
The bomb blast dazzles and blinds
Scorching the dry Afghan earth

A Peacocks cry echoes across the cracked air.


She texted his phone
Secretly from her meeting
Visas were issued

Soon waiting in line
He watched his fellow travellers
Strangers on the flight

Low cloud meant delay
Past midnight the flight was called
The travellers rush

Flying cross the pond
Seven forty seven out
On a blind date

They arranged to meet
In London by the river
Red eye from New York

They met so brightly
Their kiss, signal cognition
Pleasure in greeting

He rose to her scent
The perfume of a woman
Stiffened his resolve

But she closed to him
Signalled access denied
Her independence




A wrong word spoken
Without thought he contrived
To break the silence

Sitting in the pub
Ordering bitter silence
Tears on the menu

Take five syllable
Keep talking avoid silence
The point is soon lost

Language divides
Love speaks eloquence is mute
He surrenders

Forfeits the moment
She disappears from view
Blind date, blind fury

All that remains
Echoes of her sharp footsteps
Clatter down Em b a n k ……

Lost words hang in air
Accusatory verbs
Men just want one thing

He takes the Express
Heathrow on to Kennedy
Flight uneventful

Back in his apart -
ment, music, open windows, Jazz
Street syncopation

Beneath his window
Haiku poets speak of love
He draws the blinds, sleeps.
Over breakfast conversation is no longer necessary

The spoon stirs the soft flakes
Of oat into the bowl, reflectively
i read the news, of snowflakes
Settling on the towns around
Leaving only the absence of sound

At the table I pour the tea
Into the days first cup and think
Ahead to what that lies before me
As in the stillness of this gentle start
I hear the soft ticking of times heart

The library clock above the bookshelves
Whispers the minutes one by one
Lost in the crossword I count the clues
And imagine I hear your tongue as you sip
Lick soft crumbs from your upper lip

These quiet days time passes slow
No hurrying to beat the rush hour
No fierce winding of the engine
To start the car and roar noisily away
Now I settle slowly to enjoy the day




















Kindness

The ease with which
We spend our time
Together in the company
Of those we call our friends
Is shaped by the learning
At our mothers breast
Where we discover
The best of each other
And ourselves
So kindness
Becomes the currency
Through which our lives
Are expanded
And human virtue
And it’s many values
Defended



























Building a cathedral as a defence against entropy

All around the sound
Of falling light
Soon it will enclose
The trees and animals
Of the wilderness there

And then when darkness
Has enclosed everything
And nothing disturbs
The stillness that lies
Far beyond sound

Then the gods will be sensed
As dwelling amongst us
Discerning the truth
Of the worlds anguish
And human defiance

And over time the dark
Will be pierced by starlight
The moon ringed by refracted light
And a cathedral
Built in the forest canopy
To defend us from what lies
Beyond knowing


















The penitent

In the church of the Holy Sepulchre
The sinner settles softly to his task
The balance sheet of life his repertoire
For all I have done wrong, good lord, I ask
Penitent he seeks to remake his soul
To settle the account that he has made
Restore his broken life, to make it whole
Ensuring his cumulate debts are paid
His posture one of simple penitence
His confessor echoes his quiet word
Barely able to speak but one sentence
A mumbled rosary remained unheard
Clerestory light falls through dust specked air
The penitent remains lost in prayer