Poem from Daniel De Culla

Dancing in Segovia: Patting Group from Bernardos in Navalmanzano, Segovia. Internet.

“El Bailaré” fue el padre de un buen amigo familiar mío.
En las fiestas principales de Navalmanzano, Segovia

Y sus romerías

No se atrevía a sacar a bailar a las zagalas
Temeroso de que todas le dieran calabazas.

-Ya vienen las segadoras
Ya vienen las amas de casa
Y las jóvenes venidas de Segovia y Madrid

Que han ido a Misa.
-Baila “Bailaré”.
-Yo no bailo.

A la romería he venido no por bailar
Sino por ver el baile del paloteo.
-Mira, esa chica que te gusta
Ha perdido la cinta del pelo.
-Si ha perdido la cinta del pelo, que la pierda

A mí no me va a entristecer.

Además ¿qué menos puede perder una mujer

En el baile?

-Bailaré tu temes enamorarte
Y que te diga una hembra que te quiere

Y a la postre olvidarte.
-Pues sí; temo subir con ella
La cuesta arriba, y bajar al llano
Para jugar con nuestros sexos
Bajo los avellanos.
-Pero, esa hembra que te gusta

Ya la puedes olvidar

Pues han pasado por ella el Secretario Melitón

El tonto del lugar
Y un forastero con don.
-¿Con don quién?
-Sí, ese señorito de Haro, la Rioja
Con el que tuvo un hijo
Parido en el campo.

-Pero, aunque a mí me gusta la alegría

De ese culo mal roto
No bailo; otro día, bailaré
A sabiendas de que amores y dolores

Quitan el sueño.
Yo, como no los tengo
Descanso y duermo.

“The I’ll Dance” was the father of a Mine’s good family friend.
In the main festivities of Navalmanzano, Segovia
And its pilgrimages
He did not dare to ask the girls to dance
Afraid that everyone would give him pumpkins.

-The mowers are coming
The housewives are coming
And the young women who came from Segovia and Madrid
They have gone to Mass.

-Dance “I’ll dance”.
-I don’t dance.
I have come to the pilgrimage not to dance
But to see the patting dance.

-Look, that girl you like
She has lost her headband.
-If she has lost the headband, let her lose it
It won't make me sad.

Besides, what less can a woman lose
In the dance?
I'll dance, you're afraid of falling in love
And let a female tell you that she loves you
And finally forget you.

-You are right; I fear climbing from her with her
She uphill, and down to the plain
To play with our sexes
Under the hazelnuts.

-But, that female you like
You can forget it now
Well, Secretary Melitón has passed through her
The local fool
And an outsider with a gift.

-With who?
-Yes, that gentleman from Haro, La Rioja
With whom she had a son
Born in the field.
-But, although I like happiness
Of that badly broken ass
I do not dance; another day i’ll dance

Knowing that loves and pains
Take away sleep
I, since I don't have these
I rest and sleep.

Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, painter and photographer. He’s member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, Friends of The Blake Society, Nietzsche Circle, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He participated in many Festivals of Poetry, and Theater, and has collaborated and collaborates with various magazines and magazines such as: Otoliths; The Stray Branch, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Alien Buddha Zine, The Creativity Webzine, The Poet Magazine, Uppagus, ReSite, GloMag, Fleas on the Dog, LAROLA, RAL’M, Misery Tourism, Leavings, The Creative Zine, Terror House Press, PS: It’s Still Poetry, Open Doors Review, Tigers Shark Magazine, Words Rhymes & Rhythm, and others.

E-mail: gallotricolor@yahoo.com.
Country of origin: Spain.
City: Burgos.

Older white man standing in an art gallery in a black coat and collared shirt holding a box over his head. Behind him is a painting that's in the style of a child's drawing.
Daniel De Culla

Poetry from Daniel DeCulla

Older white man with thinning hair, a light orange collared shirt and a large chubby belly, uncovered. Next to him is a young white woman, with a black top and black pants. She has also uncovered her pregnant belly and has a tattoo on her side of red roses and what looks like film reels.
Daniel De Culla and his daughter? or daughter in law?


There are two Lives

Two bellies, to which more.

The one, by Isabelle

Waiting for a new life:

Kylian’s, boy, who, now

In the beautiful Isabelle’s belly

Is sucking his finger, no doubt

And that his first cry birthing

Will be: “To drink, to drink!”

Like the Rabelais’ Gargantua

At birth.

The other, by Daniel

Whose good is based on eating well

And at an incovenient time

In the Rabelais’ Pantagruel style

Who calls his belly “Thelema”

And it is very similar to him

In the Gustave Doré’s illustration

As do You see.

Those two bellies

Of Duchess and Duke

Are two “O” that we can pronounce

Happy seeing them.

Two wonders of Creation

That produce good effect.

Compelling reasons

That the life exists.

It is true that a child will come

With pleasure and with care

Hearing him, with joy, cry

Learning what birth is

Since then,

As true as that Daniel’s belly

So slender

Is making a thousand progress

Without lying to Pantagruel

Eternal companion of eaters

And convincing dinners

Converted, today and now

In an oracle

Of the divine bottle

From Ribera’s  wine.

-Daniel de Culla

Mixed media from Daniel de Culla

Childlike drawing of blue fish swimming around a covered yellow dinner plate. On the plate are various unidentifiable objects of various colors. A three-tined fork floats off to the bottom left.



Between Borneo and the Celebs

And between Bali and Lombock

Between continental islands

& Oceanic islands

Volcanic islands

& motherporic islands

Corpulent mammals had gathered

With some groups of Amphibians

Freshwater Fish and Mollusks

To a single plate table

With plastic plankton

As tasty morsel

Surrounded by birds and insects

Who have flown by:

Insects, Reptiles and small mammals

Arrived on floating objects


They talked about those terrestrial beings

Pilgrims of Life

And for life

From inn, hotel, river or beach

Beings for most of them garbage.

-They eat their own shit

And believe themselves gods

Said some, and anothers:

–One live to smell and others to taste.

They are disgusting beings, obscene, filthy

And ugly as they alone.

They only know how to talk about

Christian battles against the Moors.

Their loves as their beliefs and faith

Are a hell of a time.

They love, kill and rape

Like pigs that they are

Not caring to put Love

Through any of the holes

Of the One or the Another.

-Their desire is to destroy, stain

And dirty everything

Comment another.

-They look behind a mirror

And to justify their filthiness

Say that they are created by a god

Called Porras

Saying that he forgive them all

When the plain truth

Is that their origin comes to them

Of the crossing

Between bats and rats

And so they are so liars and charming.

A mysticetus whale

That did not reach a complete development

And therefore functional activity

Categorically stated:

–See these human beings

Some earthly and other aliens

Walking along the seashore

Or lying in the sand of the beaches

We can assure

That the origin of all of them

Comes from symbiosis

Between actinias and a hermit

(Pagurus striatus)

Or among the crab Dromia vulgaris

And the Suberites domuncula sponge

That masks it.

How have the face have the ass

Similar to the ass of the cute

Or that of Termitoxenia heimi

Termitephile diptera of India.

A cirriped seated on the shield

Of a sea turtle, said:

-Well, now, happy diners

Do the digestion

Of cellulose and plastics.

 And every species for itself¡   

-Daniel de Culla

Mixed media from Daniel De Culla

Childlike drawing of a frog standing upright in a pond near fish and a bird and a woman and some plants.
Daniel De Culla’s Artwork



Because, since I was little

The kid was hunting

Of maidens and sparrows

His Fairy Godmother

Turned him into Amphibiam

Of land and water

As Alytes obstetricans

Male with eggs

Around the hind legs.

His hunting dogs

That they were from Anelidus

His grandfather

No longer followed him

Frightening birds and roe deer

So he wouldn’t hunt them.

His Fairy Godmother imposed

Two conditions

To be able to become, again

In a good looking man

A Sisenando of throne:

The first: to guess

What the bishop of Palencia

Wanted to say

When, sweety, he said

To his bulky housekeeper:

“Give to my Ass

That will come first. ”

The second: to write

On a pilgrim’s staff: baton

Or stick higher

That the height of a man

A pious litany.

If he met with a woman

Alone or penitent

From Malaga to Malagón

First, he should ask ker

If there was God

And if she answered him

That God is not

Me should read this litany

That, once read

She, smiling, would say:

-Come with me

To the sacred heights

To enjoy my sweet company.

Alytes obstreticans, with tears

On the baton wrote:

“Glorious Chestnut

That Your nymphs

Were seeds of  unity. “

“Divine Chubby

That with your big lips

And little lips

Call us endlessly:

Tell me, when I was a man:

Put Your’s in up to the end. ”

“Adored clam

That is really sown

Do that, in our days

Peace be firmer. ”

““ Rabbit of the Loren ”

That your two eyelets

Were a sun of darkness. ”

“Fervent cunt

Whit a boil of bitterness

That the voice “Pussy”

Encourage us

To take from side to side

The Truth of Loving

And if it stand in

To procreate like rabbits. ”

Alites obstetricans

Walked the roads

Stables and pens

From Malaga to Malagón

With every step he took

Less advanced

Not meeting

With the woman he craved

So he turned

Tiredness of sickness

To his town of Frómista

In Palencia

Returning, meek and humble

To possess the young girl

That he had left pregnant

To whom he called

My “Woodlouse”

But her name was Major

In memory of Queen Doña Major

Founder of the convent

Of Saint Martin

With its Romanesque church.

After reading

All the litany of the Baton

And she spoil him all

He became male

And like a Visigoth king

As an Ass felt in love with her

Still pregnant

Remaining his hunger and thirst

Fairly good

But not quite satiated

Leaving his eggs on the back

Of the maternal body

Looking Major

An American Pipe

Anurus or Batrachian

From damp sites

With embryos

In the dorsal bags.

-Daniel de Culla

Mixed media from Daniel de Culla


La banda de heavy metal Kiss

Con su “The Creatures of the Night”

En el tocadiscos se ha rayado.

Yo, Yo mismo y Yo, sólo Yo

Y todo lo que llega a la Vida

Como diría Janet Devlin

Nos cubrimos de noche y pasión

Mientras el eterno borracho

Sale del bar echado a patadas

Pues mirando a una camarera

Con ojos rojos y sangre fría

Le dijo mordiéndose la lengua:

-Si tú quieres, te amaré a besos

Y te daré muerte a mordiscos.

Como él, soy un gurú de la noche

Un santo cura de cementerio

Que caza almas inmortales

Con un claro cazamariposas.

Un santo y pecador amado soy

Que hace, en sus noches, un safari

Santificando el vino reluciente

Con los rayos de la Luna

Abrazado a mi hembra de Amor

Que desfallece en mis brazos

Como esa muñeca de plástico

Comprada en ese Sex-shop

De la Calle Dante llamado “Infierno”.

Escuchad conmigo, si estáis despiertos

El susurro de los amantes entre sábanas

Haciéndose memeces, caricias y Sexo.

Sentid el respirar de la muerte

Tronchando cabecitas de esas aves

Que posan en las ramas de los árboles:

El Cárabo común, de visión nocturna

El Búho real llamado Bubo Bubo

Cuya hembra pone seis huevos

El Autillo chillón, que impregna miedo

El Mochuelo común, aceitunero altivo

Pues le gustan mucho los olivos

La Lechuza común con su disco facial

En forma de corazón.

Más, quedaos en vela y temed mucho

A ese eterno borracho de la noche

Que camina por donde nadie le vea

Que hoy pasa de largo su casa

Marchando a casa de la suegra

Disfrazado de Sacamantecas

Pues piensa acostarse con  ella

Y beber el último trago de vino

En su preciosa calavera.

-Daniel de Culla


The heavy metal band Kiss

With his “The Creatures of the Night”

Has been scratched on the record player.

Me, Myself and Me, only Me

And everything that comes to Life

As Janet Devlin would say

Cover ourselves with night and passion

While the eternal drunk

kicked out of the bar

Because he looked on a waitress

With red eyes and cold blood

Saying her biting his tongue:

-If you want, I will love you with kisses

And I will bite you to death.

Like him I am a night guru

A holy cemetery priest

That hunts immortal souls

With a clear butterfly net.

A holy and sinful beloved I am

That does a safari on your nights

Sanctifying the sparkling wine

With the rays of the Moon

Embraced my female of Love

That fades in my arms

Like that plastic doll

Bought at that Sex-shop

From Dante Street called “Hell”.

Listen with me

If you are awake

The whisper of lovers between sheets

Doing shit, caresses and Sex.

Feel the breath of death

Cutting off heads of those birds

That pose on tree branches:

The Common Tawny Owl of night vision

The Eagle Owl named Bubo Bubo

Whose female lays six eggs

The screeching scops owl

That permeates fear

The Little Screech, haughty olive

Because it really likes olive trees

Barn Owl with its facial disc.

But Heart shaped

More, stay awake and fear much

To that eternal drunk of the night

Who walks where no one sees him

That his house passes by today

Marching to mother-in-law’s house

Disguised as Sacamantecas (Takelards)

Because he plans to sleep with her

And drink the last gulp of wine

In her precious skull.

-Daniel de Culla

Poetry from Daniel DeCulla

A woman, a man, and a boy standing outside in a field with grass hills outside a small country village near a donkey who's going to the bathroom.
Daniel De Culla’s original artwork


          We were kids and little girls, boys and girls, mischievous and unruly children, “chisgarabís” (pipsqueak), about 40, from four to six years old, the only ones we had in the town of Cañete, in the province of Cuenca, Spain, who, tired of teaching based on stick and tentetieso (tentety), and the reed of the catholic national doctrine, we created a “rock” in which we worshiped the Donkey’s dung, and its Hee-Haw.

          The Ass`Hee-Haw was our guide, and not that insipid, insubstantial and false Hee-Haw of the teachers, priests, doctors and mayors, the four important figures of the town, to whom we changed the name Cañete for Chiquiburra.

          We liked to tell ourselves that we were mulatto and black children or vice versa, or children of india and zambo or vice versa, because we felt longing for Cuba, since most of our grandparents had been in its war, and they told us good adventures and, rather, bad.

          When our heads hurt, our mothers would put slices of grease-smeared paper on our temples as a home remedy for pain.

          When we crossed paths with fellow countrymen or women from the town, and they asked us:

-Where are you going little ones (chiquitos)?

          We answered them:

-Mr. Mrs; Gentlemen, Ladies, “chiquitos” are the Indians of the southwestern region of Bolivia, and “chirapa” in Peru calls rain with sun.

          So much was our love for America discovered by Columbus!

          In lofts, corners or hiding places, or at the top and most hidden of a haystack, we looked at our bulba (chirimbolos)  and their flageolet(chirimías), objects that we did not understand that they were used for anything other than pissing. Thus, the boys called the girls: “Las ojetes”(The holes); and the girls to the boys: “Los pellejos” (The Skins). Although, for us these two were instruments for touching and kissing.

          When we heard a Hee-Haw, we listened attentively, trying to see where it came from and how its master was called in town, to see if he was a good or bad man.

          Once seen, we followed the Donkey wherever it was, calling it “ the Holy Father”, and also was called “You”, waiting with enthusiasm and passion, that come out from its arse hole, to which we saw opening and closing like a fig, throwing those half-spherical and warm, steamy dungs, taking them in our hands, and passing them from one to the other, sucking them as in a game of caresses. Someone passed their tongue to see what they tasted like.

          Some sparks or particles came to our eyes, blurring our sight.

          The owner of the Donkey was called “Uncle Chiriguán”, because he looked like an Indian from the interior of Cochabamba, in Bolivia, and he was also a beekeeper, because he had hives, and they also called him “Uncle Chisquete”, because, when speaking , spit was coming out of his mouth.

          This was in the afternoon, when we had already finished school, and our parents did their homework, and they went home confident that they would not have to put up with the kids.

While we passed the dungs from hand to hand, like the small change of money, we sang out of tune:

“Afternoon time

End of work.

Donkey’ Master

Don’t pay your jobs

Based on sticks.

When breaking the day

You beat it

So what it cares your garden

And your ferris wheel

At dawn in the afternoon.

On top of that you hit

It gives us free dungs.

Master, You are lucky

For a donkey’s wages

It does a great job for you

Without paular or maular

Without saying a word

Giving a lesson

To the world of work.

Your Ass is evening

The same as morning

Hours are of it

Although yours are

The orchard and the ferris wheel.

The Ass is your life

Take care of its dungs

That its light shines

All our paths and roads

For us to live

Always in its presence ”.

          Sometimes, in summer, the Ass made us very funny, because “Uncle Chisquete” put on a top hat. We looked like a herd of goats and goats behind him.

          At night, we took the dungs, which we had brought, to the goshawk that spent the night with the partridge that flew after a not too strong north wind, in the stable of “Uncle Chisquete”. Also, the chochas gallinaceous birds felt love and affection towards dungs, so much that they began to peck them as if they were bean or beans.

-Daniel de Culla

Mixed media from Daniel De Culla

Large light brown Medieval style castle with turrets and ramparts up on a hilltop with some trees below.
Segovia Fortress, picture from Daniel De Culla


It is in the Segovia Fortrees

Perched on top of a rocky spur

At the confluence of the Eresma

And Clamores rivers:

In the window of the Queen’s Toilet

Facing the rugged rocks

Is looking out, very pretty

With a little creature in her arms

Rosina, the royal maiden

From Violante de Aragón

Wife of King Alfonso X of Castilla

Waiting for to come close to her

Timoteo the sweeper of the Aqueduct

Who, like a juggler, sings to her

Every day at Angelus time

To see of conquering her.

From his house in Zamarramala

To the rocks of the Alcazar

He has put a board

So when Rosina hangs up

And walk with him by the hand

Do not stain their shoes.

But, in a sad moment

Rosina, so in love with him

Has looked out so much

That, in a slight oversight

When the sun hit her in face

The little creature was released.

So Rosina, brave and fearful

Because the king would have hung her

If the little creature  

would have been killed

From the window she has been thrown

That being a little chubby

To the rock, before the creature

Has arrived

Falling the Little creature in her arms

Saving her without harming her

While Rosina died crumbling

With a smile on the lips

Unable to finish telling Timoteo

Her aqueduct sweeper

Who, saddened, was crying with tears:

-I plan to marry you,  my love

When I turn twenty

In the church of the Vera Cruz.

-Daniel de Culla