This is a work in progress…and a very early poem. I wasn’t going to post this today, but it fits my black mood. (the weather is oppressive…)
Lady Nyo
THE RITES OF SPAIN
Canto 1
–
Sharp azure skies
Rusty brown earth,
Black of women’s shawls,
Goat dung flung by boys
At passing soldiers,
The Inquisition churns onward
Like the great mandala
Crushing bodies under its wheel
Burning witches in great pyres
Ignited by ignorance
Of the blessed padres.
–
Time of terror,
overtime superstition.
Of hidden manuscripts
under floor boards,
and investigations
Seeded by the envy of neighbors.
Goya colors flung on
the black of night,
Red of Blood
Death of White
Green of decay
Duller grays of corruption
Shiny blues of greed
Exchanging favors,
Cardinal to Cardinal–
Madrid to Rome.
–
These are the colors
Of the Inquisition.
Holy Terror of God in
Man’s hands
where nothing is safe,
Humanity defiled.
–
Soldiers force Rabbis
to spit on the Torah,
A diversion, for the net holds much room,
All ‘thought’ is open to this furor,
For terror reigns.
The banality of evil,
Which words belie the results
Fashions such existence.
–
Dark shawls drawn
Over frightened faces,
only the
Whites of eyes
gleam out like hooded lanterns,
faces cast downward
when the Cardinals pass.
No one wants to be noticed,
There is Death in the
Very air.
–
Gossip is gone
From the full rose lips
Of women.
They huddle
Together,
Though no safety
In numbers,
Wearing an early shroud
To cover their
Beauties,
A slight sway of
Curvaceous hips
Could draw the Holy Terror
Upon their innocence
Condemned by black lipped priests-
Whores worthy of fire.
Cruelty and censure is the mantra of the day.
–
Breathe in the
Moisture of the drowned
Catch the blood
Flayed from bodies
Hear the sharp screams from
Those tortured,
And the
Sharper silence to follow.
–
Hope is gone
From the heart
Of Spain.
.
Now fear is the mantra of the day.
The disdainful eye
Of the Church’s
Informers,
Circling the
Spanish masses,
Like herding goats
From a horse,
Whip held easy
In the hand,
Ready to strike,
And strikes when not.
How many died
That could give
Birth
To Enlightment?
How many aborted
By this
Scourge of Mankind?
Compassion forgotten
Humility distorted.
Lies the particular coin of the day.
–
The Inquisition
Rolled onward,
Tearing up
Soil watered by
Clotted blood.
Black tentacles
Of Power
Ripping
The heart
Of Spain
Asunder.
–
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2011