Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘In Miami as in Berlin’ and other poems

By: Daniel de Culla


In Miami, as in Berlin, people dress up
To attend charity events
Where everyone admires themselves
For the elegance of their suits
And how well these clothes look on them
Taken out of the closet to do charity.
What hypocrisy, oh my god ¡ seeing me at the “Diamond Ball”
Held at the Loews Miami Beach Hotel
At the Annual “Wild About Kids” Gala:
A Night in Motown – Boys & Girls Clubs of Miami-Dade
At the Loews Coral Gables Hotel
Or at the Choose Your Sound Halloween Ball
On Jungle Island
Or with the South Florida Youth Symphony
At Miami Shores Country Club
Making an Escape to Neverland
In benefit, after a great dinner
From the Nicklaus Children’s Hospital Foundation
Or from South Florida Music Students
Or at the Rendezvous at the Paris Opéra
– The Pink Diamond Affair Gala
At the Ritz Carlton Coconut Grove
Or at Campfires to Cocktails
With the Girl Scouts of Tropical Florida at Camp Mahachee
Or Make-A-Wish Southern Florida
At the InterContinental Miami
And other luxurious gatherings and festivals
Forgotten children, men, women and mothers
Who are massacred, tanked or shot
In Palestine right now, and every day
As in many other parts of the Globe
As before in Berlin that terrible beast
That made a fire of bones and skulls
Not Jews, because they were gassed
But yes of agnostics, atheists and anarchists
Vilely persecuted and murdered for their ideas
Having a great time in that luxurious brothel
Berlin’s Salon Kitty, spy center
From Nazi German Intelligence
Where the criminal and murderous Führer
Addressed, in these terms, foreign dignitaries
German businessmen and officers
After a beautiful German girl gives him a handjob
First class prostitute:
-Drink and toast with these skulls
It may be that one day not too far away
I drink from yours.
What happiness here far from wars
Tripping really well, and with a navel full of crumbs!
This is life, the rest is death.
Now I enjoy Make-A-Wish Southern Florida
At the InterContinental Miami
With the 18th Annual Claws for Kids Fundraising Luncheon.
I’m already trying to get laid at the Biscayne Bay Yacht Club
Lefting the door half open
From where I see the Coral Gables Museum.
My head is spinning like in a Caribbean film session
At the Pérez Art Museum Miami
Feeling like a warrior performer
At Thomson Plaza for the Arts.
I want to go to war to liberate Peace
On a Moonlight Kayak Tour at Deering Estate
And not like others who are going to eat chickpeas or beans.
I don’t know if I woke up
But I open my eyes and I see myself naked
In front of the Phillip and Patricia Frost Museum of Science.
Bombings, missiles, tanks and explosions
The destruction, the deaths, the ruin of the human being
These look like the Frost Symphony Orchestra to me
And the Vampires 101 Pop-up Exhibition together
Making my whole body shake.
I open one of the three eyes; I don’t know which one.
I’m looking like Polyphemus
A bearded giant with only one eye
In the middle of the forehead
And the pointy ears farting (the ears)
Like someone who sings a song in his sling.
I look happy because I am far from the Wars.
Lords of wars, murderous criminals
Death is your mother-in-law¡


Before, in towns, villages and little towns
To resolve the problems
Townspeople attack each other with stones.
Even those giant emperors
Or Popes arrived from Hell riding on mules
Did the same to seize governments
And plunder cities and empires
Rumbling belches
After eating dead opponents
Raising their cups of blood and flesh
Shouting into the air:
War! War! What a good digestion I have done!
Blessing from their dismayed subjects
The horrific crimes and massacres
That every Church applauds and cheers
Wiping their mouth and ass when they shit
With flags of honor, country, religion and life.
Of panic terror and fear
Library shelves are full
With superb hefty documents
Talking about great wars
Of great war feats that people rejoice
No one consulting today because it is not necessary
Since you open a newspaper, you turn on the TV
And you get fed up with news of people who kill
And people who throughout their country repeat:
What our boss, thug, criminal and murderer is worth
Blessed by the Church.
The fearsome echo of wars brings back memories
Of those Kings, Popes, Emperors
Führer, Duce, Dictators, Leaders
Very brave and bizarre, like murderers on donkeys
Going to battle and dismembering bodies
Unhinging the mountains and the hills
Making mass graves or bloody holes
Choosing the most exquisite corpses
To honor his table
Which is the only one that trembles.
Here a royal guard falls tripping over a skull.
There a secret police slips
Stepping on blood on the ground.
A waiter stumbles over here
With the General’s sword with a dead man’s skull
That he has fallen on the ground.
Over there, leaving the kitchen, the Chef falls rolling
With fifty heads and a hundred hands.
-It doesn’t matter, exclaims the Führer, Duce, Dictator, Leader
Unfastening the Belt that squeezes the stomach.
He’s already licking his lips. Oh what a moment¡
-Let neither trace nor relic remain of them
One another exclaims belching.
-Glory to you, glorious murderer, to whom we owe everything
The attendees, including the archbishop, exclaim.
So, this criminal hero and victorious killer
Will be excuse himself by going to the toilet
Knowing that, by the grace of God
For eating the dead in war
And for not leaving a puppet with a head
He will shit grateful soldiers
That will defend their tooth and nail
Raising him/ they to the sky of the canopy
That covers their head with tiles above
Thus highlighting their psychopathic talent.
-I don’t understand one jot about stars.
That’s why I wear these on my chest
Oneof they came saying after leaving the shitter
Surrounded by soldiers
That seemed like lead.


I already know that we Poets can’t do anything else
That look at ours when we pee and sing
Facing natural phenomena
And the monsters born from the mother’s womb.
But the least that the Consecrated Ones can do
And winners in national and international competitions
Is to dedicate their awards to those who suffer
The consequences of earthquakes and hurricanes
And the criminal wars
In which general assassins are very adept at
To those it don’t give a damn, it even turns them on:
Those deaths flying through the air
Those buildings crashing to the ground
And more beautiful if they are Hospitals.
The god Mitch, that Central American hurricane
Now he would piss himself laughing!
All that bunch of warlords
With its very optional and very expert weapons factories
Devotees of the cursed Gold that adorns the dollar
Yesterday was the Empire
Knowing very well that they are emulators
Of the American presidents there have been and to be
Like this genocide from now
And “chief facilitator”
Of Israel war crimes against Gaza
All colonizers that in evil no one wins over another
Making his own the saying that:
“The warlords
They give death to life for hope.”
An injured person at the Egyptian border crossing said:
-I was walking with the desire to reach the border
Before arriving I asked a soldier for alms
I don’t remember which side he was on.
For alms he shot me in the knee
Telling me sarcastically:
Accept then benevolently my offering.
Poets, why don’t you sing to young Venezuelan women
Dedicated to misery and prostitution
Because of the Kaffirs of their land?
Or to the Cubans who want to sing about their beautiful Island
And the American satrap government won’t let them?
Or the young girls murdered by the Iranian Moral Police?
It’s fair, very fair
That the Earth rage¡
Rage and explode in earthquakes and hurricanes
Seeing how the warlords
Commit crimes against humanity
For as many goods as they can obtain.
The dead don’t give a damn
They only care
If they can eat their heads at the bonfire or in the oven
That proud they believe they deserve them.
These are the Great murderers of our World
And our lands.
These do not enter the Crime Story books
Because they themselves are cruel History:
-Soldiers, when you have already killed everyone
Give the corpses to the poor of the place that remain
That I’m going to fuck my natural wife
The General said.
-Yes, my General! At your command, my General!

Poor Pigeon

Poor pigeon that
Because of that scream or clamor so resonant
Of murderous and criminal wars
That echo in the valleys and on the hills
Died of fear and horror
Without any God of any damn Religion
Has come to its aid
And has done, because they say that he is almighty
Once and for all
Than to these war criminals
It backfires on them and blows their faces off.
As always, all God is protector of tyrants
Inspiring journalists and writers
To praise the cruelest and most murderous generals
So that these can elevate them in secrets
And hug them on their asinine chest.
How beautifully they speak of these cruel tyrants
State Terrorists
And with what bad attitude
They speak of those baptized in terrorism
For these same
Whatever they say for some admired ones or others.
Deaths, crimes, wars
They serve God, the King or Caesar
Because the misfortunes and graces of victories and defeats
Are debtors of the blood shed.
Poor pigeon, no obscene and lying God
Wwill have it in his holy glory
Well, what it means to die is to die
Because of a missile, a bomb or a shot in the back of the head
Knowing, there is no doubt, that sometimes
From small wars big wars are born
And other battles and battles like that
For the good of the multinational arms companies
And of the warlords
That, with their navels full of crumbs
For those feasts and feasts that occur
They grunt like pigs, piglets, piglets
Hogs, sparrows, pigs
While watching on television
How their fellow citizens of the World kill each other.
Damn¡ that your criminal excellence
Pope of Rome likes him because of the growl he makes
Of joy and happiness seeing
To this his people, to our people
Dead or bled to death on the ground
Like this pigeon that was alive yesterday.
It is not enough for me to affirm it
It is enough to verify it with examples in situ.

Leave a Reply

Related Posts