Poet in Spain

Poet in Spain
                by John Clare

I have spent a long time living both in Spain and Portugal. The first of these poems were written in Spanish when I was still at school, but living during the holidays in Barcelona
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Written in a road-side tavern somewhere in Andalusia after Spain's economy had spectacularly crashed.

The tourist
sits on a bench staring at the moon
the dark sea
so many dreams

The builder
leans against the bar
gulps a beer
counts his last few coins
wonders where his dreams have gone

* * * * *

Visitors in the Night

Oh no!
Someone's yanked the bell.
It's dark
it's late
It's so late indeed it's early

I roll out of bed
shuffle to the door
and there
eating flowers by my window
are two brown cows

bells jangling at their throats

Night in the Orange Grove

it is evening

and the moon
a sickle in the sky
lights up the
lemon lantern
from a branch
above me
as if to light your breasts
for me to kiss

so many nights
we sleep
beneath the
orange lanterns
glowing in the moonlight
and wake

to find

a coverlet of pale sweet petals
your hair
a mass of blossom

and I picked
and peeled
your breakfast
then painted a pattern in leaves and blossom from your hair

down to your feet

Competition in the Night

I watch the sneaky moon
creep up the branch
and peer at you

I smile
and wait in shadow

the moon
with brazen confidence
moves from the tree
lays a silver hand
upon your hair
and kisses you

the lemons hide
deep in shadow

I watch the parties
play their deep intrigue

the moon
has deserted you
for lemons
and now they shine
a splendid smile

you are in the shadow
mine once more