DANIEL DE CULLA - POEMS

Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, and photographer. He’s member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He participated in many Festivals of Poetry, and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Genève .He has exposed in many galleries from Madrid, Burgos, London, and Amsterdam. He is moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos; e-mail: gallotricolor@yahoo.com

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RODE INTO SHOWTIME
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Songs and Maps and Jottings
From the foetal Mind:
An entry of journeys correspondences
Stars machine
carton presidents
Real quotes sand wave lengts
Backtracking the circle of the possible:
Rape, Murders, Guns
People on the trains
Fantasizing about the perfect couple
Patriots sleeping
Dancing with the opposite sex
Off the hard top.
Word is bond¡
Series, Movies, Sports
Documentaries, Comedy
Getting full Access
To the Oscar dreams
Below the but of all sports
And the trade never available
For Free.
What do you see? Tragedy ¡
Showing time Stars Machine
Realities flawed and horrible
From your favourite Restaurant
Surrounding you and me
A grunt never abailable for free:
Some small exclamation of the tongue
The birth of language¡
Is that all?
Showtime generates
A Planet Space-Scape
For Humans
Nearing greater tragedy
A Map and Key:
Drawing, Outline, Impulses
And a Taste:
“There was a rabbit who, once said
There is no way in
And no way out.
Try Me now for Free
I’ll stream Your Showtime.
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SHANGRILA
​

-Where are you going, James Hilton?
Where are you going, sad about you?
-I'm looking for my Lost Horizons
On the great bluish mountain of the Karakal
In Baskul, Afghanistan.
-If Tomás Moro is already dead
In his Utopia, I saw him
Hidden in a Shamballa
Beyond the snowy mountains
From the Himalayas range.
His body was guarded by the British consul
Hufg Conway, his assistant Charles Mallinson
Christian missionary Roberta Brinklow
And the American merchant
Henry D. Barnard.
There was also King Kong
Who died for our sins
Guardian of Shangrila
That to the bridal couples that are coming
He don’t let in, only between week
And to the lusty gentleman, who faces him
Because he wants to get inside
He kick up a great fuss:
-You, not. The beautiful lady, first¡
He answering:
-But if you are my father
And I am Your son, Viejo¡
As Charles Darwin says.
​

DREAMING WITH CLEOPATRA
​

Being naked to bed
From the bedside table
Where my father kept condoms
And historical naked stars
Dreaming with them
I took a big postcard
That I thought was a chicken
In a yard: It was Cleopatra!
Naked as Pharaoh Ptolemy
Brought her to the World, who
In addition to marrying her brother
By Ptolemaic Rule
She loved in Greek, Hebrew
Sirius and Aramaic
That seduced Plutarco
Who made him catch
Pencil club
And lamp to illuminate their texts.
Turning and twisting
To the beautiful photo
I found my little bishop
Like a picanton chicken
In a yard of lovers
Starting to haunt
This Cleopatra ‘s image
Of which I am captive.
I thought: Look if she's beautiful
See if she’s pretty
That even my father
Is falling in love with her!
Kissing it
 I asked her to help me
To get better note
In my studies of literature
Mathematics and music
That blowes with a stick
Will cost me
Teacher and my parents puting
My ribs
Like nuts in a sack.
Notice that to stay alone
With Cleopatra
I gave out from the yard
The eunuchus Potinus
General dictator Aquilas
And the charlatan Teodotus
Dragging them as I could
From the tail, and so to have
Some enemies less.
As when I was youngster
They accustomed me to hits
And the cane of the doctrine
To worship the dwarf Caesar
Under the pallium
I asked Julius Caesar, late republican:
-Fast me blessed Julius Caesar
If do you can protect me
Go fuck yourself
And let me to enjoy with Cleopatra.
Do not cut my head
Like Pharaoh Ptolemy did to Pompey
Your friend and rival.
I was restless
And I wanted that Cleopatra
Like Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love
Movbed me
And so I implored her:
- Open Your door,  my heaven
Open Your door to me, my star
And send your husband to war.
Being like this
In my own loving war
More as hostage than sovereign
Some damn bells
Playing at mass
Woke me up
Seeing my little bishop of love died
For having eaten rice with milk
In Cleopatra's yard
Dreamed in this tournament night
Whose picture was too wrinkled
And my Little bishop
Thta just now  was
From her son, his son Caesarion
Soothed calmly
As if nothing had happened
This night of captive love
Crying for joys
Because my father could not
Enjoy Cleopatra
Another day.
​

FROM BEGINNING TO END
​

​From beginning to end
is explained absolutely everything worth knowing
about absolutely nothing.
Why not’?
We felt that the Beginning is a true leaf
of the inmortal literature
as a side of bacon changing the pig
discovering the best way to keep its legend alive
encouraging mytology
and the controversy about it:
Sun wil have its tide spreading over our maps
Moon remembering us we were gone
and we still sing everything waiting
for birth, death
inside this den of us.
Spring, Summer, Autum, Winter
coming with feelings of love, radiance
quiet and delight
As ever.