DANIEL DE CULLA

 

 

She Is Bonifacia Chorrasebo

 

Up there, way up there

Up there in the village

Stands the pretty church

Sun of the darkness

Towards where on her knees

Bonifacia Chorrasebo advances

A whore of a village in Aranda de Duero

Seeking forgiveness for her sins.

Because she is so beautiful

The men throw her

Their used condoms

The women their Tampax-Pearls

Freshly stained

Shouting at her:

-Take a look at them.

Bonifacia raises her eyes to the sky

Leaving weariness battered

With each step she takes.

Drawing strength from weakness

She answers them blessedly:

-Always keep your cunt awake.

Love to the end!

When she reached the cobblestones of the entrance

She stood tall

Turning to those who followed her

Saying, taking advantage of the opportunity:

-The light of the Word

Calls us without ceasing.

When she entered the church

The village idiot "Peg Leg"

Who was an altar boy

Said mockingly

Reaching into his pocket

Pulling out a dagger:

-When you leave confession

You'll pay for this.

I'll cut off your head

Because, the other day, in the cellars

You didn't let me have sex with you.

Bonifacia confessed

Before the Christ of Saint Peter

Next to the altar:

-Lord, before blessed Saint Peter

I confess that I have sinned

For letting Uncle Flores die in my arms

Since he had a stroke

While he was fucking me

And I didn't call 112.

A voice was heard

Coming from the beautiful altarpiece:

-He who has not been

Of compassionate heart

Will not find compassion in the Lord.

But, by the grace of Saint Peter

Your sin is forgiven

Because, after all

You encourage young and old

To truly love

Raising your eyes to heaven

And your ass to the ground looking.

At the exit of the church

Since there were so many people

“Peg Leg” didn't dare

To murder the whore.

He said to himself:

-I'll leave it for another day.

How can I not kill her

If she didn't want to be my girlfriend?

-Daniel de Culla

 

She Is Tamar

 

Reading this interesting erotic novel by Delilah Cole:

“Brother Fucks Me & Mom

While The Storm Hits”

I remember Tamar, a fuck buddy of mine

Who I slept with (we slept with) one day

In St. Peter Port in Guernsey

Channel Island

When I worked as a night porter

At the Pandora Hotel

Located in a quiet part of town

Just a 5-minute walk from the Port

Where I arrived with a work contract

To practice my English.

The first day we were going to have sex

She confessed to me that she had a brother

Who was horny all the time

Who masturbated at dusk and dawn

And who always caught a cold

Calling himself off work.

One day, when he was sick in bed

Begging us to take care of him

My mother and I went to see him.

-My son, what's wrong?

-I have a terrible fever

That goes right through my heart and the top sheet.

-Would you like me to fry you some toast

With garlic and a fried egg

Just the way your father likes it?

-Yes, Mother; but first

You must cure this pain in my penis

And my sister, too.

As we sat at the foot of his bed

And uncovered the top sheet

We saw an enormous, imposing penis.

He instantly rose like a wild beast

Lifting our skirts

And tearing our panties.

-Son, brother, what are you going to do?

Remember, we are your mother and sister.

With a white handkerchief

Soaked in poppy liquid

He covered our mouths

And we fell half asleep on the bed

Without being able to do anything.

With force and violence he grabbed us and raped us.

He did what he liked best:

He filled both our arseholes with his sperm!

One day we were having dinner

When my father came back from fishing

Sea bass, gilthead seabream

Needlefish (or longnose needlefish)

Mackerel, pollock, wrasse

On the shores of the bailiwick

He looked at us confused and surprised.

-What are you looking at, husband and father?"

-My wife, my daughter

I see that, in the sweep of your dresses

From the front

And even more so from the back

You look like women who have just been fucked

For your buttocks have grown so much

Since the time I've been away fishing.

-Your son has fucked us!

My father grabbed a ham knife from the kitchen

Going after his son, my brother

With the idea of cutting off his head.

When he got to his room

His son had already jumped out the window.

They say:

That he was seen throwing himself into the sea

Naked, with a cobblestone tied around his neck

And, to this day, nothing has been heard of him.

-But don't you care

That my brother filled my mother's

And my arseholes with sperm?

-No, darling, he answered.

Even if he had defiled your vaginas

Which is the flower of your best place

I don't care at all

Because, as you well know:

When a vagina gets stained

It cleans itself and shines again

Just like arseholes.

-Daniel de Culla

 

Seductive She Angels

 

When the cotton-white clouds

Dressed in black, full of storm

And the lightning and thunder along with the rain

Gave the town to its knees

We saw angels of the female sex, naked

Leaving their colorful panties hanging

On the power lines of Moradillo, Burgos

Surrounding our heads with radiance

Unable to make out their vulvas

But we could see their Mount of Venus.

Then, with pity, we saw them leave

Through the mountains of Aldehorno, Segovia

Perhaps to hide where no one could see them.

There were seven of those she Angels

 With no pubic hair

Beautiful maidens and pretty festival-goers

Who, just by seeing them

Made our breasts throb strongly

Thanks to our lively hearts.

If the storm had discouraged us greatly

They, with their divine breath and lively gaze

Awakened our love for Life,

Which cried out to us: Go for it!

When we took shelter in Rita's pergola

I would have liked to be a horse

For these precious mares

Neighing along the road to San Frutos

In the Duratón River Gorge

Between the towns of Sepúlveda and Burgomillodo

Making them mate to procreate a foal

That would neigh through these lands

Committed to the same faith

In a task, a commitment to procreation.

I would have said "yes" to them

With the full clarity of lightnin

Blowing the thunder of Heaven once more.

I went back out into the street and shouted:

-Come back, tailless angels, divine Angelas

Come back for your fine linen panties

For it's a shame they're lost in the rain.

I looked under the roof of the neighboring house

And from a swallow's nest

Came a sound like a two-note chirp

The first note lower than the second

Saying at the end of a whistle:

-If they get lost, let them get lost.

 It doesn't matter.

We're not going back for them.

When we get to Heaven

The seamstresses will make us others

And if they don't make them

We'll do without them

Because it's much better to be naked.

--Daniel de Culla

 

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.