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November 16, 2000
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Among the twisted lanes, Al-Andalus
Is home and rack for gypsies bred to fear
From years of heartless death and cruel abuse,
Their sorrows unappeased by loves that sear.
This wail and beat of passion without hope,
The stoic pain and dignity of songs
Vented to express a universal trope,
Defying the death that magnifies the wrongs.
A guitar whose silver frets ordain the pitch,
The shadows mass, the spruce and cypress weep.
He strops a razor on our nerves, with rich
Rough rasps, intense and brutal in their sweep.
A keening howl of shredded chords - this his
Pulsing cry - the blackened sounds - of that which IS.
Sonnet about the flamenco guitar playing of Diego del Gastor (Moron de la Frontera, Spain)
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:iconpinkpawprints:
PinkPawPrints Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2011
I really like this! Great job!
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:iconfpens:
fpens Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2011
Thank you!
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:iconjark:
jark Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2000
wicked words here!

--[ jark ]--
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:iconjankyphil:
jankyphil Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2000
I loved it. Too many "My world sucks" in poets today. Great subject matter. I can hear it right now although I've never heard it...
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:icontack:
tack Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2000
Very nice form. It's cool to see someone using classic techniques

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:iconskizip:
skizip Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2000
Incredible poem. You captured the moment, and put your readers amongst it. great job

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