Passion Me Weird

Huye luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.
~ Federico García Lorca

(an English translation, by moi)
Run away moon, moon, moon.
If the gypsies were to come,
they would make of your heart
white necklaces and rings.

.
In his eyes, uncertainty and old hurts fight to murder want. I touch him with words, let language lick the startled curve of his lower lip, taste sun and moon in grape juice made spirits by drum and dance… And I whisper, “Passion me weird. Relax in me.”

He runs, runs, runs from me, screaming of storms and heart rings… then returns (mind-spooked but smiling), extending a cautious fingertip towards the dark that feeds my pen, adding living red to my blackest ink. He takes our story in his mouth, and his thoughts spell, What about my storm and your weird, our pandemonium?

I guide his inked finger into my heart, ask him to write himself in me… And I whisper, “Without your storm, my strange is lost. Can’t you feel it? For you, (my love of loves, is) my imagination and dreams, my unseen desires and black lace, the Me only You read.”

wet petals,
wined in fantasies
of summer

.
the wee notes…
– Before I grew to love poetry, I had already fallen for Federico García Lorca’s writing. If you’ve never read Romancero gitano, La casa de Bernarda Alba, or Bodas de sangre (Gypsy Ballads, The House of Bernarda Alba, or Blood Weddings), I invite you to give them a go. You might fall, too… or, at least, stumble into a wondrous world of words.
– This poem swallowed five of my visual poem bits. See them on Instagram (here, here, here, here, here). I love crafting wholes out of pieces, writing things where they belong.
– Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry 368

51 thoughts on “Passion Me Weird

  1. Whew, this is a …. *sexy* poem! So sensual and alive with vibrant passion and tender touch. I usually read poems once quick and then once slower, but when I hit the first line here, I immediately slowed down and *saaaank* into your words. And then you go and end with “wet petals…” lol 😉

  2. This is so incredibly gorgeous, Magaly!❤️ Especially love; “I guide his inked finger into my heart, ask him to write himself in me… And I whisper, “Without your storm, my strange is lost” ….. *swooooon*❤️

  3. Your strange, your style is what stands out and is so beguiling. I think we all should (and many do) try to develop a uniqueness in our writing. How well you express your love affair with your muse, may he never leave you.

  4. I’ve read his “The House of Bernarda Alba”, (in Spanish while doing an evening programme of Spanish Studies ) and i so agree with you, Magaly he is a poet to fall in love with.

    My favourit stanza of your poem
    “I guide his inked finger into my heart, ask him to write himself in me… And I whisper, “Without your storm, my strange is lost. Can’t you feel it? For you, (my love of loves, is) my imagination and dreams, my unseen desires and black lace, the Me only You read.”

    much love…

    • I just started rereading The House of Bernarda Alba. I’m reading it slowly and aloud, discovering so many little things I missed before. It’s incredible what a few years of living can do to literary meaning.

  5. I, too, love Lorca, though I know only his drama and only in English–and also Carlos Saura’s dances. In your poem, this struck me: “then returns (mind-spooked but smiling), extending a cautious fingertip towards the dark that feeds my pen.” Gosh, to open our understanding of gypsy hearts so that theft is not the first thought! Romance, insight, passion …. and in that, a certain metaphor of stealing the moon.

  6. There’s nothing I love reading more than melty Spanish words — well, maybe your melty poetry.

    That opening is insanely good:

    “In his eyes, uncertainty and old hurts fight to murder want. I touch him with words, let language lick the startled curve of his lower lip, taste sun and moon in grape juice”

  7. This is so filled with passion… maybe you need that Latin touch to express it… I should really read Lorca too…

  8. A lovely poem with a lovely micropoem to end it. I truly liked: “I guide his inked finger into my heart, ask him to write himself in me”…such deep and beyond sensuality.

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