Children's Library
In all this
abundance of books
Children go
looking for Dinosaurs
And, among them
Those who fight
in the most terrible and fierce way
Like such
powerful athletes
Who employed so
much ardor and effort
That the fate of
their lives
Made them all
Dead and
extinct.
What doesn't
happen with wars
Of men and
priests
Who, because
they are hypocritical criminals
Obscene
genocidaires
Know well how to
deceive and delude
The people
Who, when they
survive these events
Lick their
fingers
Seeing so many
dead corpses
Waiting,
trusting
For the
genocidaire on his way to their temples
Under a canopy
Who, speaking
quickly
Will deliver a
speech like a bray
Burning out:
-Oh citizens! At
last we have defeated
Our opponents
Sending them to
Hell or Silence
Under the shadow
of our laurels
While our dead
reach Heaven
From the
ecclesiastical calendar of saints
Without
foundation
Certain of the
happy reunion
With their
priests transformed into donkeys.
Goat Hermitage
A goatherd was
composing these verses
Next to a
nameless and bellless hermitage:
“The pot is
boiling, and the onion is cooking
I'll tell you
about the night of my cock
Mounting
Margarita, my donkey
Who doubted my
wisdom in putting her in
Letting me pin
her to the ground
She screamed
As if I were
really screwing her.”
I saw that the
goats
Had entered the
hermitage
The door closing
by itself.
A man deranged
by marijuana and alcohol
From the Feast
of San Pedro
Went by there
We, without
knowing where he came from
Talking and
walking
Heard him
saying:
-These goats
want to be free
And that the
sins the hermitage holds
Go to others
Beginning to
bang on the door
Trying to open
it.
He managed to open it
And when the
goats disappeared
He said to the
goatherd who had remained inside
And who had hit
him:
"Good
heavens! Big eyes!
Didn't you see
me?
Then he turned
to the goatherd and said:
-It's dark in
here
And it smells
like a mystical fart.
Then he left
Speaking to a
used condom
Exclaiming
himself:
-Who have you
been with, damn it!
To the women he
saw
As he passed
them
Showing them the
condom, he said:
-Look at my
courier's condom.
The women were
Stranged and
scared
Because a voice
came out of the condom saying:
-Help me,
neighbors!
-Help me,
neighbors!
DANIEL DE CULLA
DANIEL DE CULLA: 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 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, Allien Buddha Zine, The Poet Magazine,
Uppagus, ReSite, GloMag, Fleas on the Dog, LAROLA, RAL'M, Misery Tourism,
Leavings, The Creative Zine, Terror House Press; and other national ones: Pluma
y Tintero, Letras de Parnaso, Revista Azahar, Cultura de Veracruz;
Vericuetos, Sol Cultural Center, etc.
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