A Poet's Lament

[SmilingLez]

I have neglected my first love - free verse - for about 2 weeks. Not anymore.

I've decided that my free verse will center around all Latino / Spanish / South American / Hispanic culture instead of just pre Castro Cuba.

My outline:

1. Music
brass, strings, drums

2. Food
flavors, colors, smells

3. Texture / Touch / Physical Sensation
fabrics, colors, movement, patterns
rough, smooth, soft, stiff

4. Energy
joyful, upbeat, love, family, friends


Edit
Title - Fiesta de Alegría

 

[SmilingLez]

Fleshing out my skeleton

Music
Trumpets blaze, piercing the sun,
guitars strum fire, drums pulse heartbeat, maracas rattle like quicksilver, rhythm wraps everything, unstoppable, alive.

Food
Spices curl in the air - cinnamon, chili, lime, plantains fry, tortillas steam, chocolate thick, mangoes dripping gold, tamarind tangs sharp, aromas weaving through every corner, every street.

Colors
Fuchsia, turquoise, ochre, coral—walls, flags, cloth, ribbons twist and shimmer in warm sunlight, tiles catch the heat, flowers flare, vividness bleeding into every crack and shadow.

Joy
Laughter explodes, family, clinking glasses, invisible threads of delight, the pulse of celebration in every sound and scent, energy rises, unstoppable, relentless, a world singing, radiant, uncontained.

 

[SmilingLez]

Fleshing out my skeleton

Music
Trumpets blaze, piercing the sun,
guitars strum fire, drums pulse heartbeat, maracas rattle like quicksilver, rhythm wraps everything, unstoppable, alive.

Been working on the music aspect

Trumpets cut the heat -
bright, brassy flames,
drums slam ribs,
maracas rattle like lightning across bare shoulders,
guitars lick the sun off tiled rooftops.

 

[SmilingLez]

Been working on the music aspect

Trumpets cut the heat -
bright, brassy flames,
drums slam ribs,
maracas rattle like lightning across bare shoulders,
guitars lick the sun off tiled rooftops.

First machete chop:

trumpets - brassy flames, belly deep
drums - pulsing, slamming ribs,
maracas - lightning across bare shoulders,
guitars - licking the sun off tiled rooftops.

 

[SmilingLez]

Now for the food - first machete chop

Spices - cinnamon, chili, lime
dance on your tongue
weave through every corner,
every block,
every home

plantains fry,
tortillas steam,
chocolate thick,
mangoes dripping gold

 

[SmilingLez]

The colors

sangria jumps the rim,
red, cold, wild,
hands gripping the glass,
voices rising fast,
heat lifting with them.

sun slams the tiles,
white walls blazing back,
eyes narrowing, then breaking open,
laughter shooting down the block,
bright as the day itself.

music bursts from open windows,
brass bright as blue noon sky,
drums thumping joy into ribs,
hips catching the beat,
the block moving like one body.

green rises from the earth,
leaves pushing through cracks,
vines climbing stone,
nature insisting on itself,
alive in every corner of the block.

night settles hard,
cool breath on hot pavement,
shadows stretching long,
windows glowing in the dark,
the whole block humming low.

a look held,
bright, direct, electric,
the spark before the spark,
the breath before the break,
and then -
the whole block breaks open.

 

[SmilingLez]

Now for the food - first machete chop

Spices - cinnamon, chili, lime
dance on your tongue
weave through every corner,
every block,
every home

Second machete chop

Spices curl the air -
cinnamon,
chili,
lime

Dancing,
aroma weaving,
every corner,
every block,
every home

 

[SmilingLez]

Second machete chop

Spices curl the air -
cinnamon,
chili,
lime

Dancing,
aroma weaving,
every corner,
every block,
every home.

This is more show don't tell

I still don't know what to chop though. Perhaps I should veer off my normal course of stark staccato visceral shorties.

Cinnamon stings the tongue
Chili bites, lime bites back
Plantains hiss in hot oil, tortillas steam
Mango juice drips down wrists
Chocolate thick sweet, and sticky
The air tastes alive
Rich. Wet. Urgent.