Stunted cacti

Shrubs and broken tree stumps

Scarcely tall for a man to pee behind

 

And dry gullies for him to hide in

And die in

Criss cross Catalonia

 

Bomb shattered cliff top boulders

Cast razor fragments of flint

Onto dun grit sand beaches

Shredding feet.

 

The withering sun beats

Hot harsh hot

Unrelenting hot

Flies cluster at sweated bandanas

And bandages

 

Close to la Placa de l'Eglisia

Calella Catalonia

An arcing pattern

Of rich crimson blood spatters

An alleyway whitewashed wall         

 

And two words:

“No pasar…”

 

The slogan,

“No pasarán”

Unfinished

Thanks to a sniper's aim and fire.

 

Flies fight to feast on the corpse

Of the painter - deceased

 

A brush lies neglected     

In a dirt maroon puddle of paint

Leaked from the bullet holed can.

 

Fascist forces crushed “No pasarán”

But the dream lives on 

Kept etched fresh in

Still life memories.

 

As old men smoke in la Placa shade

Squawking hens scratch the sand

Dodging cockerels

Cats hunt rats

Pigeons tussle for crumbs

Stray dogs fight

And children play.

 

The scrubbed clean

Sun bleached, whitewashed

Blood spots remain sequestered in that

Cement rendered bullet pocked wall

Communing down decades

Sharing tales of Craven Park and Boulevard

And Hull Fair yarns

 

Growing up, Mam and our kid

In an end terrace, Bean Street, sham four

 

And dad away at sea.

0000000000000000000000000000000

Stunted cactus

Shrubs and

Broken tree stumps

Scarcely tall for a man to pee behind

 

And dry gullies for him to hide in

 

And die in

 

Criss cross Catalonia

 

Bomb shattered cliff top boulders

Cast razor fragments of flint

Onto dun grit sand beaches

Shredding feet.

 

Hot harsh

Hot

Unrelenting

Hot

Withering sun beats

Flies cluster bandanas

And feast at sweated bandages

 

Close to la Placa de l'Eglisia

Calella Catalonia

Rich crimson blood spatters

An arcing pattern

On an alleyway

Whitewashed wall         

 

And two words:

“No pasar…”

But the slogan's unfinished

And the painter deceased

Flies cluster the corpse.

 

A brush sprawls neglected     

In a dirt puddle of crimson

Leaked from the bullet holed can.

 

“No pasarán”

Unfinished

Thanks to sniper's fire.

 

After the blood letting

“No pasarán”

Crushed

Still lives

Kept etched fresh in

Still life memories

 

As old men smoke in la Placa shade

Squawking hens scratch the sand

Dodging cockerels

Cats hunt rats

Pigeons tussle for crumbs

Stray dogs fight

And children play.

 

The scrubbed clean

Sun bleached

Whitewashed

Blood spots

Remain

Sequestered in that

Cement rendered

Bullet pocked wall

Communing

Down decades

Sharing tales

Of Craven Park and Boulevard

And Hull Fair yarns

 

Growing up

Mam and our kid

In an end terrace

Bean Street

Sham four

 

And dad at sea.