No Mas Amor

Love can be sweet, love be damned.

No mas amor

The drunkest man at the Trujillo beach bar had learned to love the silence.

Now he enjoyed the Honduras rum and the empty sea.

Once he was the bravest man, Hemingway whiskey and too much sorrow had taught him.

Love can live and love can die. Men love war over kindness and we will get old. We cannot stop time.

The prettiest gal in Trujillo held his hands and she sang songs of love to him.

"No mas amor,

Aqui.

We are just like the sea,

rowing and dancing for the sun and the clouds.

Love can be sweet,

love can be so heavy,

we must become like the sand,

allow the waves to caress us,

make us feel alive.

We must breathe in the sea,

be brave, wild, loco and free."

The poet asked the beautiful girl,

you are young, so wise and you make me smile.

Why do you waste time with a old man?

She laughed at his words and she told him,

"Poet are ageless, they know rhyme and song.

They bleed words to paper,

making us woman endless beauties and never forgotten.

Woman are great storms to them. Maybe I am your greatest dance in the storm?"

The poet laughed at her words and he whispered to her.

"She gave me a hint of a smile,

she gave me a hint of a kiss.

Her skin of lavender made my mind wander to the sweetest nights,

where lovers intertwine wishes and needs.

I asked her name and she told me.

My name is April,

names for rebirth and everlasting hope.

I told her,

if we taste the sea,

the salt taste  is bitterness and sorrow.

No mas amor for a sinking ship man my pretty lady."

She brought his face into her breasts,

held him tightly and she sang to him.

"We need to caress the sand with our feet and

we must pray to the nightly moon for one more day

to love and to dance.

We may know the ending before the beginning,

we may learn, once strangers can save each other.

You and I,

we have the Trijillo bay, good drink and no place to be.

Maybe the last grasp at a miracle,

maybe love or close enough.

I am here and you cannot escape my embrace."

The poet listen to her heat beat and he whispered.

Thank you kind lady.

 Dancing Coyote

Author's Note

New words.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Even tho this is a powerfully-told love story, it's also symbolic of "acceptance" becuz of the way a young person embraces an old person for reasons that come across as the old one's natural beauty, which blots out any preconceived notions about age or looks or whatever. I find that young people are often open to old people for these reasons & I find it endearing (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Margie. It is nice when someone accept us as-is.

[Laura Kate]

He found what he was looking for, after all. Comfort in her, it seems. She recognises him for who he is inside - a poet. A man of rhyme and song, rather than seeing him in the same way he sees himself. Old men are wise, and not all young women long for young, carefree men.
You have a wonderful way of telling stories and painting pictures with your words.
Laura.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Laura. Sometimes take great journey to find happiness.

[Robert Trakofler]

This was a great story Coyote I love her answer to the old poet about the immortality of words:) a very special movement and place you penned in this:) I want to go to Trijillo Bay now:/

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Robert. I appreciate the comment.

[light and ashes]

Another beautiful story of almost love.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Allie. I appreciate the kind words my friend.

[light and ashes]

You're welcome Coyote. :)

[Chris Shaw]

Age is no barrier to love. There is great beauty and wisdom as we age. Your April saw it and recognised there was still time and she was more than happy to go with the flow. Always good to read you Coyote.

Chris

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Chris for reading and the comment. I do appreciate.

[Neville]

I agree entirely with barleygirl .. this is indeed a powerful love story and is told perfectly .. the way only Dancing Coyote can ..

Neville

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Neville. I appreciate the kind words.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

poets definitely listen to heartbeats...the texture of them.
"april, come she will, when streams are ripe and swelled with rain"
(Simon and Garfunkel)
beautiful work here, Coyote...

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Jacob. We will always have April. Hope for the sleeping mind and heart.