Jorge Sánchez López

Slight Difference

The smelt golden sky, whispering clouds, dreary
sand caressed by liquid lights, grey cloud shadows
kissing the sea, the submerged roaring cargo,
the growing fire, farewell of the bleary 
 
ship. Lying corpses on a blanket somewhere 
else, inexpresive tainted faces painted red, three
centuries shake hands. Eager birds up there spree
with dun skins, yellow peaks and silver despair.
 
A barn of bullets put into a large pile, 
each one inmortalized under initials, 
ready for the sacrificed, the officials,
 
the unnamed, the mortal and lots of tiles,
a large store of lifeless sacrificial
dead sweeped by the timeless wish for shires.

 
© 2013 Jorge Sánchez López

In Search of the Loot

I like to swim in the bright side of most stings,
dreaming of a smell of crowns beyond the tunnel
along the way picking up golden nuggets  
spat by a broken future to which we cling,
 
I lighten them with my loved living flashlight
around the wonder and the orb to wander, 
to extract the brash bright of a simple ponder,  
blow away the wonky wildness of the blight
 
and knock the clear door of the digs of delight 
deluding the demure delusion under
a fan of faith, the firm falcon fallacy. 
 
I request the ripple of right from the ripe rim
of the abyss wearing clogs, democracy 
is peeled from my pacemaker, geography
is just the appearence of a prior trim sheen.

 
© 2013 Jorge Sánchez López

BIO

A Little Poetry

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