Daniel de Culla’s Poems and bio
Writer, poet, painter and photographer. Member of the Collegiate Association of Spanish Writers, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, Friends of The Blake Society, Nietzsche Circle , The International Society of Assemblage & Collage Artists, Commonwealth Foundation, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review and Robespierre Review. He has participated in numerous Poetry and Theater Festivals, has collaborated and collaborates with various magazines and newspapers such as: Otoliths; The Stray Branch, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Famous Poet, Orfeu, Allien Buddha Zine, The Poet Magazine, Five Fleas (Itchy Poetry), Uppagus, Winning Writers, ReSite, GloMag, From the River to the Sea, The Erozine, Fleas on the Dog, LAROLA, RAL’M, Misery Tourism, Raven Cage Magazine, Leavings, Wilderness House Literary Review, Eye to to the Telescope, The Creative Zine, Terror House Press, CentarKukture, Ranger, The Tiger Moth Review, Literary Cocktail Magazine, Our Poetry Archive, Lambda Literary, Literary Yard, EgoPhobia; and other national ones: Pluma y Tintero, Letras de Parnaso, Revista Azahar, Cultura de Veracruz; Vericuetos, Gibralfaro, Sol Cultural Center, Multiart –Argentina, etc.
SAINT PE OF GUAPALUPE
Saint Pe is a devotee who became a saint
Climbing, on her knees, the slope of the mountain
To the hermitage of Saint Casilda
In Briviesca, Burgos.
Casilda, in Spanish “Poetry”
An Andalusian saint from Toledo
Was the daughter of a Muslim Emir
King or Monarch
Who, practicing charity
He brought food to the captive prisoners
Mainly Christians.
Discovered by her father: these foods
She hid them in her clothes
Below the Mount of Venus.
Thanks to her Christian faith and virtue
When her father lifted her skirts
These foods turned into roses!
She was martyred and, therefore
Escaping from the palace
Arriving to Briviesca
Living as a hermit, or she hermit
In a cave
Next to the sanctuary later elevated.
For May, the ninth of flowers
Saint Pe levitated by.
She had already cut a lot of hair
From her long ponytail
That she reached the ditch
To offer it to God
And place it on the cave wall
Today in the Saint’s votive offering chapel.
Before starting to climb the hill
Saint Pe washed her face
In the miraculous pool below
That, for her, was blessed and holy
As it was, in their time
For the venerated saint.
When she started to rise on her knees
She didn’t do it in a way
Nor by path
If yes between stones and cliffs
Arriving at the hermitage
With bloody and sore knees
But always singing
Without turning her head:
“When of Saint Casilda
I go to the hermitage
It’s going downhill for me
The uphill
And when I go down from the hermitage
It’s uphill for me
The downhill.
One afternoon in May
Some nuns came to visit the hermitage.
They met Santa Pe
They took her by the hand
And they tried to convince her
That she came to her convent.
She answered them:
-I don’t have to get involved with a nun.
I have already offered to Saint Casilda
My mop of hair
Because she who gives me
Reassurance and love.
TRACTORS
Tractors, big tractors
Go along roads, highwas
Streets and squares.
They have left the furrows of their land
To plow in the City.
They ask for rain and more money
To be able to till and sow.
Also, they ask their criminal god
Let lightning fall from the sky
To the President in Ferraz.
The pigeons don’t even flinch
They are always shitting
Even if the Cathedral bells ring.
Yes, it’s scary to see them pass by!
The municipal police
Opening the way
So that the city does not collapse
They honking their horns
And the flags fly.
They would like to sing
Face the bosses
Of Europe, the Nation and the City
But, since they bring cured hams
And plastic dolls to rub
To club
Slipping their hand under the armpit
Then, if necessary, fuck
Letting off steam with pleasure
Dancing some Amnesty rompers
Rag and without dignity.
Tractors are coming.
The big tractors
Are coming, mom!
Rolling the places are already working.
They don’t squeak
They do not recoil or retreat.
The little children in their cars
Are starting to cry.
THE CANTABRIAN SEA’S VOICE
I represent the beach
And you are my life, Sea.
Your waves come to me
Carfessing me
With foam kisses
And then they leave
Leaving jellyfish
Some plastic bottle
And some old man’s diapers
Or child’ s.
One early morning
I went to the beach
Started walking
Approaching a market
Of fish and seafood
Where they had taken
A lost seal
And dizzy in the sea.
I saw it vomiting a lot of water
Lots of algae
And an empty can of sardines
Who claimed to be
From Santoña.
IN THE GUISANDO’ S BULLS
In the morning, on a Sunday
As we always used to
On the Trembling Road
To Sotillo de la Adrada (Ávila)
At the foot of the Guisando’s Bulls
I beg my better half
That let me in
In her blind ass eye
That sees nothing
And may my divine grace, erect
Enlighten its understanding.
And I say
While I play her in Bajambar
Obscenely:
-Beloved soul, my life
Listen, that I have
To give you a message.
She’s thirsty and I tell her:
-Don’t ask for water, my life
Don’t ask for water, my gooddess
That the rivers flow down cloudy
And the streams too.
-Yes, I’ll leave you, my old man.
Well my ass is hungry
And now it ate
Whatever was needed.
For example: two eggs
With sausage
That I would like them very much.
And for dessert:
This, your rice pudding
That doesn’t stop falling
And that you spoil.
For your tongue, if you like
A little of my dull honey.
As prudent
I have taken her by the ass
Fucking her in three
Like a bird that enters
In sowing
Ruining everything.
In a rush, what a miracle!
The blind of her eye
Began to see
That we were both riding
On a donkey
From Ávila to Jerez (Cádiz).
From Guisando’s Bulls
We were greatly admired
Well, they were absent
Seeing that there were flying
Two love birds
With great support
From other birds
Of different color and fur.
-Daniel de Culla
CITY OF LIGHT AND LOVE
Paris, City of Light and Love
What a joke!
As the City of Light has little
Unless you go up the Seine River
Go to the Amusement Park
You get on the Ferris Wheel
And you see a heaven to see:
On one side, the Notre Dame Cathedral
On the other, the Eiffel Tower
For later, after the trip
You look like the Hunchback
When you walk.
If, in the middle of the road
You are thirsty
Do not order water or beer in a café bar
Well, they will cost you a lot
Don’t even drink the holy water
From the cathedral font.
Well it’s cloudy and tastes like feet
And, the sacristan who takes care of it
Is a blind man who sees nothing.
Like City of Love
It is nothing more than the Tale of the Stork:
The one that brings
Stuffed in a sack
The children conceived
Silly and crazy
So that female on duty
Recounts the miracle
That male worked in her womb
Saying with her rag tongue:
-Children come from Paris!
Now, I refer the counter miracle
What happened to me with some friends:
Like honest and prudent gentlemen
For our dear wives and parents
We wanted to look for a different half orange
One day
In the famous Pigalle neighborhood
At the foot of the Montmartre hill.
At the famous and iconic Moulin Rouge
On the Boulevard of Clichy
We asked to a diva
That she was sitting in an armchair
Madame “O” style
“If here there was sex for us.”
Charitable and our persecutor
She stood up with great rigor
Telling us:
-Me, and our dancers, today
Have a garden
Where the harvest of the erect fruit
Iis harvested everyday.
Today we have no French or Dutch
Only Galicians.
Maybe next Sunday
Some Romanians come to us.
What a disappointment we got!
We did not want Galicians
So we went to a sex shop
Where my friends had sex
Through the wall
And Me, no
Because who knows
Perhaps you stung sown
Or reinforced cement.
Furthermore
My father already warned me:
-That it is better to see females
Together in a room
And see the garden
Where you are going to enter
Lest there be strange little birds
Or trumpeter mosquitoes
Culex pipiens
That feed on blood.
-Daniel de Culla