“Seeing those old pics and hearing Beth's name made me think of when I was housesitting their place, and a poem written there, yes thirty years ago. went scouring through the archives and found it. So different than the Point.” (janie Bell Burton)
From primo's place upriver
Awakening to sounds of a fiesta in a mountain pueblo
Ay..ay..ay no mistake- voices abounding in zest
a singing Latin love
zinging
men flinging dark senoritas round and round
sparking eyes as she tries to capture his gaze
rapture in the crowd, feet pounding ever-quickening time
Ay...Chingada and a throaty spit
I sit up in my bed,mind floating from the dancing square
Staring; in a trance- realising I’m at home
oo-oo the Spanish love songs
only on the radio of a passer-by
Only a passer-by?
walking on the path and bringing me other worlds
Now shrills and trills of child’s delight
And to recognize a laugh
no disguising that half-man’s voice,
rejoicing in the still morning
adorning the trail with joy.
A boy whistling,keeping pace with his mule
A woman boldly singing
I peep through the trees to see
but no face for this pure song; loud and proud
As she strides along,with a panting dog
Who won’t admit to last night’s cacaphony
As if daylight acquits him of his crime.
Who’s the next star vocalist?
With background harmonies from the Chicken Sisters
and their Crooning Rooster-
it’s grand to see this concert’s free
Wait.
Majesty