GIBRALTAR

POEMS SUBMITTED.

Ragged Staff Gates

They loll, in control of Gibraltar and peer, with disdain, at Spain.

As the hole riddled Rock crumbles, grumbles and mumbles echo through bored tunnels.
Where Christ is King, regimental pews post orderly prayer cues on brass plaques.

Red roses march up and over the arch while tattered heraldry harkens majesty from 

the destiny of history's reverie to tarnished trumpet taps.

Queen V, by the Elliott hotel, shades her head in restless native palms. 
With world weary qualms, she shuns the sun and misses the 100 ton gun retorts at 

unfriendly consorts.

What a story of power and glory. To those who defy or deny that peace of pie in the sky 

I can only decry, as I try to honour truth stone-cast in the present and past.

Author's Note:
Written for my excellent guide of Gibraltar,
Penelope Allen, published poet Canada.
06/02/06

 Caleta Palace Alice-Villanelle

She wasn’t someone you’d see in Dallas and too contained to hail from Spain.

She looked much like a grown up Alice.

It was clear she wouldn’t fancy a phallus nor shyly swoon for a swaggering swain.

She wasn’t someone you’d see in Dallas.

Blonde bob with no tint of brash malice,eyelids shuttered from a maybe migraine.

She looked much like a grown up Alice.

Black patent shoes conjured up callus yet her clothes were well worn disdain.

She wasn’t someone you’d see in Dallas.

She clutched Evian™ but lacked a chalice, discussions with staff seemed in vain.

She looked much like a grown up Alice.

She shunned other patrons of the Palace who shared murmurs mundane and germane.

She wasn’t someone you’d see in Dallas.

She looked much like a grown up Alice.

Penelope Allen, Published poet Canadian

30/03/06 

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