.

The memories of my past Revisit me at this hour...

2012-02-15T16:08:00.001-08:00

(Narrow alley, Córdoba, Spain)

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

GROUND ZERO + 2

The memories of my past

Revisit me at this hour.

Like ghosts.

They come

Knocking on my door.

Long awaited.

The hands of my watch

Revisit every second

Of every hour.

Painfully.

Anticlockwise.

A waterfall of tears

Floods

Every inch of the ground,

Satiating all the ache

That has been

There, embedded

Through the years.

Leaving behind

An impeccable void.

My very own

Ground Zero.

Suddenly

The clouds break,

Letting the sun shine.

In tiny,

Little whispers.

The scent of fresh, new grass

Dawning in front of mine eyes.

Like a lullaby.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

Like a bee Drawn to flowers...

2012-02-14T11:02:00.000-08:00

(Cherry blossom, Notting Hill)

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

Like a bee

Drawn to flowers,

Like a midnight desire.

I, I, I, need you.

Like the rain

When there’s fire

Like the prayer

For things dire.

I, I, I, need you.

Like a town

Needs a Crier

Or a prison barbed-wire.

I, I, I, need you.

Like a boy

Sweets require

Or the Phoenix, a fire.

I, I, I, I need you.

Like the paint

On a canvas,

Like the voice of a choir.

I, I, I need you.

Like the church

Needs a Friar

Or Robin Hood needs a Marian.

I, I, I, I need you.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

The undecisive to and fro Of the Big Blue...

2012-01-28T14:08:00.000-08:00

(Tulum, Yucatan, Mexico)

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

The undecisive to and fro

Of the Big Blue,

Rocks me.

Moves me.

A gang of youths,

Boxing the waves away.

The golden Phoenix,

Raising from the glitter

Of the wavy ashes,

Never promising

For a long stay.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

I speak the language of tolerance...

2012-01-25T14:03:00.000-08:00

Great Mosque, Cordoba, Andalusia, Spain.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

I speak the language of tolerance

For tolerance is in my blood.

Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or Jew,

To me, one, they are all.

Matter

What.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

I am who I am...

2011-12-05T15:38:00.001-08:00

Great Windsor Park

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

GROUND ZERO + 68

I am who I am,

Just the way

Life intended.

I am who I am,

With the faults

And the velvet.

I am who I am,

No more lies,

No more escaping.

I am who I am,

You can leave it

Or take it.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

THE ALBINO TWINS OF ANDOVER... boo hoo!

2011-10-18T12:21:00.000-07:00

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

THE ALBINO TWINS

OF ANDOVER...

boo hoo!

********

On Baker Street,

As if locked in their tower,

A couple gave birth

To the Albino Twins of Andover.

From society,

The boys they hid.

Their pale, canary skin,

Moonlit.

In the dark.

Glowing.

Townsfolk suspicion,

Growing.

Growing

And grow, they did.

Them Albino Twins of Andover.

Exposed in their teens

Without power.

And so, they were thrown

In the waters

Of Lake Cochichewick,

With stones

Tied to their feet.

Thus, the boys drowned.

Their parents,

Burn alive, did.

Whilst Andover town yelled:

WITCH!

And so, down Albino Road

One must walk with great care.

Or dare I say,

This time of the year,

Really,

One mustn’t dare

To look one’s shoulder

Over...

For one might catch the glow

Of the Albino Twins of Andover.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

Leaves, high and low...

2011-10-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

Leaves, high and low...

****

The leaves fall,

In a flow

Of incessant moments of happiness.

They fly,

High and low.

In a dance of explosive wonder.

They fix

The body, mind and soul

Of those,

Who like me,

Like to wander.

****

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

The vibrant jolt of the city...

2011-09-15T09:27:00.000-07:00

Photo (Trafalgar square) & poem © Jesús Montero

My life is all wrapped up

In the vibrant jolt of the city.

Tourists crowd squares and parks,

Like a heart beats

To the tune

Of one and a thousand feelings.

My life is all caught up

In the vibrant joy of the city.

Her arteries teeming with buses at large,

Pumping Londoners

Into the daily routine of the city.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

Diana, Queen of Tides...

2011-08-08T10:01:00.000-07:00

poem © Jesús Montero

Photo courtesy of http://diananyad.com/

Diana, Queen of Tides...

You’re a source of inspiration.

Fearless

Without trepidation.

Like the Queen of Tides, Diana.

You’re a cause for celebration.

Boundless

Without limitations.

Like the Queen of Tides, Diana.

You’re the face of determination.

Focused

Beyond imagination.

You ARE the Queen of Tides, Diana.

poem © Jesús Montero

A very plum plum...

2011-08-04T03:24:00.000-07:00

painting & poem © Jesús Montero

And on the death

Of not two,

But one summer’s day,

A very plum plum

I plucked from the plum tree.

My lips touched.

Like a honey-suckle

Doomed bee.

On the death

Of not two,

But one summer’s day.

Until good Gets better...

2011-07-28T14:20:00.000-07:00

Notting Hill bloom

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

GROUND ZERO + 15

It’s worth it

To stick around

Until good

Gets better.

For good fruit

Must always ripe

Before good

Makes it much better.

Winding roads

Can lead to paths

Where good ends

Turn into better.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

Just a beginner with untenable dreams...

2011-06-22T11:02:00.000-07:00

photos & poem © Jesús Montero

Royal Academy of Arts'

Summer Exhibition rejects

****

One of those days... I am sure every artist must feel a bit like this each time

one hits that cruel cul-de-sac that is rejection

Am I an artist?

Or just a beginner with untenable dreams?

Am I a dreamer?

Living his visions down life’s stream?

Am I the Ocean?

Or the river that feeds a minor sea?

Am I the sum of all my virtues?

Or the imperfections that divide my being?

Am I the sun?

Am I a star?

Am I the calm after the storm?

Or the song of doom in the lips of threatening skies?

Am I the war?

Am I the truce?

photos & poem © Jesús Montero
Royal Academy of Arts'
Summer Exhibition rejects

R.I.P. Adrian Warren

2011-06-12T02:26:00.000-07:00

R.I.P.

Adrian Warren

The Last Refuge

You will be missed...

*******

You stick to the back of my mind

Like a good song.

Like the chant of the cicada

On a glorious summer’s day

Or the memory of good days

That knock misery right on the head.

You stick to the back of my mind

Like a good song.

***

poem © Jesús Montero

‘Law? there’s not such a thing in Uganda”...

2011-05-08T06:48:00.000-07:00

text and photo © Jesús Montero

From my travels...

21st May 1996. Kampala, Uganda.

It’s my second day living in the house and almost five days since I first arrived in Kampala. The house is large, bright but still so empty. No beds, no furniture; so it’s kind of taking a while to get rid of the echo and build up the right atmosphere.

We live in Bugalovi, one of the areas for the ‘upper crust’ of Ugandan society. Mzungus mostly. There’s a reasonably large back and front garden which is looked after by Eloisus, a young lad who cleans the house, does the washing, ironing and all types of house chores for about $90 a month.

He is a very kind Ugandan. He told me yesterday that he comes from a little village far from Kampala. He has some plans for the future. He wants to buy a bicycle to deliver bread door to door. He also asked me if I ate insects, and that although it is not the season, he will try to get me some at the market. I can barely wait...

Last night I met a Dutch lady who left Holland some years ago to settle down in Africa. She lives in her dream home which she designed herself; her personal touch all through every corner of the compound. She has a swimming pool at the back and a little hut-cottage which she rents out to friends for some $500 a month. A lawyer, she has managed to secure the best possible contacts in Uganda. She owns two companies. She runs a travel agency, specializing in luxury safaris and also owns a legal & marketing business. She reminds me of Isak Dinesen.

Museveni, the President, a personal friend, once asked her: “Why don’t you work as a lawyer?” She replied: ‘Law? there’s not such a thing in Uganda”.

She’s throwing her birthday party on Friday and she very warmly invited us over. I very much look forward to it.

It’s early in the morning and it hasn’t stopped raining since 4.30. It’s the end of the rainy season, and when it rains here, it pours.

text and photo © Jesús Montero

Don Blackbird and Robin Beckham...

2011-05-04T12:12:00.000-07:00

Don Blackbird and Robin Beckham...

This week-end and post the Royal wedding of the decade, I helped my dear friend Jilly to tidy up her garden in south London.

A lot of weeding and pruning. That kind of thing. All under the scrutiny of a blackbird and a robin who looked at me as if I was about to invade their home.

In a way, I did but only for the better.

I was amazed at how close the two birds got to me and how carelessly habituated they seemed to be to my presence, having a nice little gossip.

Once our mission was completed and once we had cleared the garden of all the unnecessary green debris, the robin grew instantly fond of a football that we had rescued from under some bushes.

The robin perched himself on the ball, time and time again. The perfect look out. He was robin no more. He became Robin Beckham.

********************

Don Blackbird and Robin Beckham

Looked puzzled,

Quelle horreur...

For Jilly, in the garden,

Was causing great havoc.

What’s gotten into her?

Don Blackbird shouted!

What could possibly be the CAUSE?

That’s what one’s got to suffer!

Said Robin Beckham

When you let Jesús through the door...

text and photo © Jesús Montero

On my way to nowhere...

2011-04-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Palm Trees Through Window (painted on my iPhone)

poem and painting © Jesús Montero

GROUND ZERO + 73

********

I find

That I’m, at times,

On my way to nowhere.

It’s something

That doesn’t last,

Though while it does,

I wonder, what then?

I find

That I’m, at times,

On my way to nowhere.

I know,

That it will pass,

What brings me back

To getting somewhere.

********

poem and painting © Jesús Montero

Rite of Spring...

2011-03-20T09:12:00.000-07:00

poem and photo © Jesús Montero

Rite of Spring...

WHAT’S ALL THIS HULLABALOO?

No matter which corner I turn,

Snow drops upstaged by crocuses,

Daffodils by Magnolia bloom!

WHAT’S ALL THIS HULLABALOO?

No more scarfs but neckerchiefs,

No more gloom but light!

WHAT’S ALL THIS HULLABALOO?

Gone are the days to feel sombre,

The Rite of Spring has begun!

poem and photo © Jesús Montero

What is poetry?

2011-03-08T05:41:00.000-08:00

poem © Jesús Montero

GROUND ZERO + 11

*****************

What is poetry?

The solution to my puzzles?

A fast track into my heart?

Is it an outlet for my emotions?

Code breaker of my subconscious?

A theurapeutic arrangement of the alphabet?

Is it the expression of my soul?

An unrepeatable moment,

Put into words?

Or is it a cocky monologue

That stabs me in my back?

And escapes.

Running.

To seek comfort

In the ears and lips of others?

poem © Jesús Montero

Tequila night at Wahaca Soho

2011-02-23T15:24:00.000-08:00

text © Jesús Montero

The Spaniards saw its potential when, in XVI century Mexico, they made first contact with Maguey wine, which they described as a fortified wine, stronger than beer.

They marvelled at the vast expanses of land that the Mexicans devoted to the production of this strong wine.

“…a land fruitful in maize and other vegetables, and much Chilli pepper, and the land is full of Magueys from which they make their wine”.

Legend has it that a lightning storm struck a field of maguey plants in ancient times in Mexico. A bolt of lightning burnt one of the plants to its core and its ‘toffeed’ heart - as if sacrificed by the lightning gods - exposed the Mexicans to what was to become one their favourite drinks, maguey wine.

The introduction of distilling techniques from Europe – unknown to the Mexicans at the time - would eventually turn Maguey wine into what we today know as Tequila.

Flash forward to Soho, London. February the 23^rd 2011.

I was privileged enough to take part in a Tequila tasting evening hosted by Mexican restaurant @wahaca Soho. They were looking for an ‘exclusive’ panel of 5 tequila experts and asked applicants to explain in no more than 100 words the reason why they felt qualified to help them select their next top tequilas; tequilas that would then feature on their new bar list.

I decided to apply and, just like that lucky maguey plant was struck by lightning, I was struck by a coup of inspiration, with a hint of luck, and secured myself a place on the panel. Yes, I must have mentioned that being a Spaniard (I’m also a very proud Brit), it was perhaps only fair that a Spaniard was to be part of the panel, for without the distilling techniques brought to Mexico by the Europeans, we wouldn’t have had any Tequila to judge.

I first visited Tequila town whilst making a documentary for National Geographic in Mexico and what a beautiful town it is. In a way, this beautiful town reminded me of the Spanish town of Jerez, bodegas galore, at each corner you turn.

Tonight’s tequila experience, which took place in the basement Tequila Bar of Wahaca – Soho was a very joyous event.

Thanks indeed to Thomasina Miers, Rosie, Oli, Mark, Nat and specially Henry, our tequila expert, who started the evening with a roller coaster of a descriptive intro into the behind the scenes of tequila production. Very useful indeed.

During the course of the evening we tried ten tequilas and like in any other tasting event, there were winners, crowd pleasers but also quite a few disappointments.

For me, there was a clear winner in the category of the tequila blancos. There is something unique, perfumed, earthy, about Don Cosme blanco and, bearing in mind its very small price tag, this will be, in my opinion, a total crowd pleaser.

In the middle weight category of the reposados, there were major disappointments but, were I forced to chose one, I'd settle for Oredain Ollitas which I found apt and subtle to the palate but nothing to write home about.

In this category, for example, La Tarea Reposado of the San Juanito Escobedo area, showed some promise – initially - but the aroma and promise were followed, rather sadly, by disappointment in the palate.

Then, another tequila showed up, like an understudy, at the last minute in this category of the reposados and this one, in my opinion, stole the show in the group: El Tesoro (treasure) de Don Felipe; and we know what happens with treasures: they're normally kept under locks. So, I am very grateful that Mark decided to share it with us at the last minute, perhaps to make up for the earlier disappointments amongst the reposados.

Cue the añejos and extra añejos: well, that's a different story. Three out of the three that we tasted have my vote, but one of them, for a different reason.

Should I need to grill a lobster with garlic, parsley and lime, I would definitely marry the flavour with a good slosh of Pueblo Viejo. The slight sophistication of this añejo would propel that seafood queen that is the lobster into a new kingdom.

My second choice goes to Extra Añejo Campo Azul. This is a rather floral, sophisticated extra añejo; there are traces of cardamon, allspice and jasmine in it, a taste almost nocturnal. In my opinion this would be a hit amongst the ladies.

Then, for afters, I'd sit down and enjoy a glass of Fortaleza Los Abuelos, an añejo with the aroma of Granny Smith apples, blue cheese and tobacco. A total wonder.

Last but not least, it was an excellent and impeccable mezcal - Vida Del Maguey - that showed up to curtain-call the evening. There is something that I always find so very comforting in a mezcal; like the warm embrace of a log fire during a cold night.

As I say, a jolly good night indeed.

Having said all of the above and, should I be ‘technically’ picky, in my opinion, we had the wrong choice of glassware to taste the tequilas.

Not that I would expect that scientific wonder that is ‘la copa Riedel’ when it comes to tequila tasting, but the rather thick and opaque glass of choice for the tasting, prevented me - almost blindfolded me - from satisfying one of my senses: sight.

I need/want to see my tequila, I find delight in it, as much as I like to smell and taste it. I enjoy seeing the golden colour of the nectar, or seeing ‘las piernas’ (legs) of good quality tequila running, slowly, down the side of the glass as you swirl the liquid inside it.

After all, you wouldn’t be able to judge haute couture under a rain coat.

Wahaca Soho (click on link to read Wahaca's blog post on the tasting)

80 Wardour Street

Soho

 London

W1F OTF

T: +44 (0) 207 734 0195

Opening times 

Mon-Sat: 12pm – 11pm 

Sun: 12pm - 10.30pm

text © Jesús Montero

EGYPT: THE CHARIOTS OF THE NEW AGE…

2011-02-13T03:46:00.000-08:00

photo and text © Jesús Montero

EGYPT: THE CHARIOTS OF THE NEW AGE…

Finally, the good Maat has been restored in Egypt. Not by the ruler, like in old ancient Egypt but by the good people of Egypt, pyramid builders of this new dawn.

I know I won’t be alone when I say how deeply touched I have been by the peaceful, dignified way in which the Egyptians have faced their Goliath.

I remember talking, a while ago, to professor Michael Hasel of the Southern Adventist University (Collegedale, Tennessee) for a programme I worked on for National Geographic (“ENGINEERING EGYPT”).

One of the questions I put to professor Hasel was, what did the ancient Hyksos have, that the ancient Egyptians lacked.

“Chariots”, he said. Chariots really revolutionized ancient Egypt’s warfare. The Egyptians learned this lesson well in fighting with the Hyksos. Chariots meant speed and maneuverability. Incorporating them into their war strategy, led the ancient Egyptians to future victories and dominance.

Looking back at what’s just happened in present day Egypt, looking at the photographs and information of the 2011 Revolution that I have had access to, uploaded by bloggers like @RamyRaoof on twitter, I come to think that just like the chariots led the ancient Egyptians to victory, the world of the internet with its speed and maneuverability and the world of satellite dishes have been the new weapons that wheeled the Egyptians into victory.

The Egyptians have taught us many, many lessons in their long, brilliant past but they have now taught us one of the most important lessons there is. Never underestimate the good hearts and great will of the Egyptian people. They have taught the whole world yet another lesson.

photo and text © Jesús Montero

London song...

2011-01-07T11:36:00.000-08:00

photo and song lyrics © Jesús Montero

Written

on the quiet coach of an Edinburgh bound East Coast train,

one cold december morning.

COACH B - seat 21A

*******

BECAUSE

No matter how many times I leave the city,

a return is always certain.

********

London Song...

It was love at first sight.

Saw you twinkle in the night.

Out the window of my plane.

And then, from a lazy midnight train.

In my tummy, butterflies.

In my pockets, just enough.

All past memories, in my case.

All my future, down the lane.

London, London...

You’re my addiction, London, London...

No matterwhat takes me away from you,

I know you’ll always draw me back in...

Like a tide, teased by moonlight,

Was not the first, won’t be the last,

You drew me in, like a siren,

Shoulder upon which to drown my sorrow...

London, London...

No more affliction, London, London...

No matterwhat takes me away from you,

I know you’ll always draw me back in...

London, London...

You’re my addiction, London, London...
No matterwhat takes me away from you,
I know you’ll always draw me back in...

photo and song lyrics © Jesús Montero

In airs of laughter, clove scented candles and orange peel...

2010-12-15T11:04:00.000-08:00

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

XMAS TREE

The very essence of your presence,
Brings closure to our year.
Your roots,
Reminding us
Of where we belong.
The bark around your trunk,
Binding past memories together,
In a honeyed bundle of love.
Your needles,
Punctuating your life
With hairs of green, luminous beauty.
The very tip at your top,
Swaying,
Calmly,
In airs of laughter,
Of clove scented candles
And orange peel,
Proclaiming,
Proudly,
That the journey to any top,
Always begins
At the very bottom.

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

Mirrors remind me Of the time I’ve wasted...

2010-12-06T11:22:00.000-08:00

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

GROUND ZERO + 108

Mirrors remind me

Of the time I’ve wasted.

Mirrors teach me

The present I must confront.

For mirrors tell me

That seeping through the edges,

There’s absolutely a much bigger world.

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

Three buses away from happiness...

2010-11-16T09:40:00.000-08:00

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

There I was,

Somewhere between

Clarity and hope,

Reasoning and belonging.

Three buses away from happiness.

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

Life revisited...

2010-11-07T09:53:00.000-08:00

Portobello Road

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

The brief fix of an early coffee.

A short walk down ol’ Portobello.

The immaculate fragrant bloom of rockroses.

The sight of many familiar faces.

Life revisited.

On a morning of gloom

And diluted sorrow.

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

Incessant moments of happiness...

2010-10-07T08:40:00.000-07:00

7th October 2010

Happy National Poetry Day - U.K.

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

********

Incessant moments of happiness

Tread the boards of our lifetimes.

They appear,

Reappear.

Breaking through grey clouds

With sunshine.

Incessant moments of happiness

Make the world’s verses

Shift,

Fit.

Rearranging the words

With true rhyme.

Incessant moments of happiness

Are like lullabies

Are to cherubim

Come bedtime.

Incessant moments of happiness

Feel like the scent

Of one

And a thousand pine forests.

Fresh,

Soothing.

Like the pulp

Of the sweetest melon.

********

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

London, My beloved London...

2010-09-29T10:31:00.000-07:00

Trafalgar Square photo and poem © Jesús Montero

Union Jack photo © Dan

On my first day as a British citizen,

it seems most appropriate to publish

a celebratory poem.

To this city, this country that

I love so much.

GROUND ZERO + 36

London,

My beloved London.

You greet me

With a bundle of sunshine.

London,

My beloved London.

You put your magic on display.

Now Big Ben and then Trafalgar.

London,

My beloved London.

Framing happily my heart,

Putting words into this stanza.

The morning sun hits me on my back...

2010-09-18T12:25:00.000-07:00

GROUND ZERO + 9

The morning sun

Hits me on my back.

Pushing me

Towards my shadow.

The morning sun

Guides me.

East to west.

Helping me retrace my steps.

In one golden embrace of fire.

The Fall of Mexico almost 500 years ago today.

2010-08-13T09:12:00.000-07:00

489 years today.

The fall of Mexico

- 13th. August 1521 -

The fall of the Mexica (Aztec) empire and the mass genocide caused by it, can certainly not be illustrated by a bronze statue of a Spanish conquistador covered in red paint.

An article published by Spanish newspaper El Mundo grabbed my attention just a few days ago.

Or to be quite frank, it was the photograph (see below) published to illustrate the article what first caught my attention.

Courtesy of El Mundo

The photograph showed a bronze statue of Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés that according to the newspaper had been vandalized by a group called ‘Ciudadanos Anónimos’ (anonimous citizens).

The bronze statue had, in the hands of the protesters, been covered in bright red paint as an illustration of the mass genocide that, in the opinion of the protesters, had been inflicted on the Mexican people by Cortés in XVI century Mexico.

Today, 13th of August and now almost 500 years ago – 489 years to be precise – the city of Tenochtitlan did, in fact, fall into the hands of Cortés.

I am not sure if the proximity of this date fueled the protesters' actions but whether the link between the fall of Mexico and their act of ‘vandalism’ was deliberate or not, it proves that the legacy of the wounds inflicted by Cortés and his party still runs deep; that the fall of the Mexica (Aztec) empire into the hands of the Spaniards is still - almost half a millennium later – controversial. The mass genocide of the Mexicans ‘by the Spaniards’.

The thing is Cortés did not act alone. Not that this justifies any type of genocide. But how could an empire fall into the hands of just a few hundred? This doesn’t just happen. Does it?

Setting aside the military superiority of European weaponry or even the strategic superiority of Cortés’ mind, it is a fact that the Mexica empire fell into the hands of the Spaniard with the help of an intricate and very complex web of political and military alliances between the Spaniards and the Mexicans themselves.

Yes, Mexicans. Hundreds of thousands of them. Unhappy Mexicans who – if I’m allowed to draw a parallel with contemporary history – looked at the tyranny of the Mexican central administration run by Moctezuma with the same terror than Iraqis felt about Saddam Hussein. Were the hundreds of thousands of Mexicans who were sacrificed by the central administration of the Mexica led by Moctezuma simply victims of sacrifice? Wasn’t this also mass-genocide? By the Mexicans themselves.

It is difficult to get into the mindset of someone like Cortés. Someone who lived in the XVI century.

Had Cortés arrived in Mexico and witness what in his über Catholic eyes was truly mass-genocide: ‘sacrifice’ and seen that everyone in Mexico was fine about this type of death, that sacrifice was ‘always’ looked upon by Mexicans as a rite, part of their culture, something that ‘all’ Mexicans’ were fine about, Cortés would probably have accepted it as such. Something acceptable to what for him was, truly, an alien culture.

But the truth is that many, hundreds of thousands, hundreds of Mexican subgroups that were taxed and lived under the yoke of the central administration of the Mexica, were in fact not happy at all. They were in fact terrified. Terrified to see their own folk captured and brought to a certain death on the sacrificial stone.

For the last few years I have been reading extensively about the fall of Mexico. Eyewitness accounts written by those who, like front-line reporters, lived to tell the tale.

Of course there was mass genocide. History, rather sadly, knows this word so well. But the genocide that occurred during the fall of Mexico was not only inflicted by the Spaniards.

It wasn’t simply genocide of Mexicans by Spaniards. It was also the sacrificial genocide of ‘Mexicans by Mexicans’ and it was also the genocide of Mexicans who died in the hands of hundreds of thousands of Mexicans. Mexicans who allied themselves with the Spaniards in order to liberate themselves from the tyranny of the central administration.

The fall of the Mexica empire and the mass genocide caused by it, can certainly not be illustrated by a bronze statue of a Spanish conquistador covered in red paint.

Macaroons on the beach...

2010-07-31T09:51:00.000-07:00

Macaroon vendor, La Barrosa beach near Cadiz, Spain

Life is blooming
Life, so sweet
A million sunsets
Worthwhile living
Feel like eating
Macaroons on the beach
Their vendor, jolly
Just like out of
The Old Man And The Sea
Carrying proudly his wicker basket
His face parched with wrinkles
By the scorching sun
And the caress of the sea
Life is blooming
Life, so sweet
A million sunsets
Worthwhile living
Feel like eating
Macaroons on the beach

photo and poem © Jesús Montero

And we drank from your vineyards...

2010-06-19T08:20:00.000-07:00

Photo (Zahara de los Atunes beach, Cadiz, Spain)

On bus 155, written in 10 minutes.

And we drank from your vineyards

And we swam with your fish.

We bottomed our glasses,

We laughed to then weep.

And we chatted and chatted

Till we fell to our sleep.

And we played to then quarrel,

Then we walked on the beach.

Then we bid our farewells

And realized what we did.

To have met at the crossroads

With new promise to meet.

What makes Men...

2010-06-02T05:50:00.000-07:00

The Guardian

What makes Men turn

A white flag into a blindfold?

And take

Rice for vice

A flotilla for an Armada

Pomegranates for hand grenades

Aid for raid?

Or turn the waters

Of our beloved Mare Nostrum

Into a Red Sea?

Life Is not all Balloons and rainbows...

2010-05-30T07:51:00.000-07:00

Carnaby Street London

GROUND ZERO + 14

Life

Is not all

Balloons and rainbows

Life

is also made

Of blues and raindrops

Days

Followed by nights

And the sun

Followed by stars

Ever wondered

That life

Is not all

Balloons and rainbows

Listen

Be the maker of your dreams

Be your hero, take the lead

Be the captain of your ship

Because

Life

Is not all

Balloons and rainbows

Life

Life’s not all

Balloons and rainbows

On a bus...

2010-05-19T07:04:00.000-07:00

Commuter on a London bus

GROUND ZERO + 13

On a bus,

I caress the city

With my eyes.

Up and down,

Left and right.

Every inch

Of every yard.

On a bus

A thousand histories

Whiz past by.

A thousand faces,

A thousand lives.

Like puffy clouds On a green sky...

2010-05-15T09:34:00.000-07:00

GROUND ZERO + 5

The white remnants

Of fickle moments

Of happiness

Melt away

On the grass of the Common.

Like puffy clouds

On a green sky.

Córdoba in early May....

2010-04-11T07:19:00.000-07:00

Are you perhaps planning a short break in early May?

The patio festival in Córdoba, Andalucia - Spain will not disappoint !

Here’s a taster of what Córdoba has in store for you

between

5^th and 16^th of May 2010

******

when the 2010 Patio Festival takes place this year.

******

Let’s walk
into the sanctum
of hidden beauties.

Fertile oasis,
hidden beyond
the thresholds of many
of my fellow citizens.

For they will open the hearts
of their homes
to many a traveler
from distant places;
who under the spell
of such beauty,

will come to realize,
that May, in Córdoba, is,
quite simply…:
(whisper)
…’magic’.

******
poem and all photos © Jesús Montero

poem and all photos © Jesús Montero

For FOOD, you must visit the culinary heaven that is BODEGAS CAMPOS
where you must try the local star dish: SALMOREJO

You must also try the 'berenjenas con miel de caña'
a kind of aubergine (eggplant) tempura, drizzled over with sugar cane honey.
This is one of my favourite Córdoba dishes!

If properly made it's food heaven!

Trust me, in early May, Córdoba is one of the best destinations
in Europe for a short break!

R.I.P. Corin Redgrave

2010-04-06T04:56:00.001-07:00

Photo (detail, The Burghers of Calais, by Rodin)

How many lives did you live?

How many deaths did you die?

The rehearsal, now over

Like Genesius, you convert

With a sudden change of heart

Death

Not life

I have sometimes wondered...

2010-03-29T14:49:00.000-07:00

(Market Coffee House, Spitalfields, London)

GROUND ZERO + 10

I have sometimes

Wondered,

Can a word

Grasp another’s meaning?

Can, for example,

‘Love’

Bring new meaning

To the word ‘pain’

Or ‘sorrow’?

Or can the word ‘exposure’

Bring one’s world

To ‘closure’?

Can a ‘sunny’ day

Be dull?

Can a ‘dull’ day

Be sunny?

The morning brings...

2010-03-21T07:18:00.001-07:00

The morning brings

A tide of change.

The air,

Fresh, like a lemon sorbet.

The morning brings,

A break in silence.

Sudden,

Peaceful,

Inviting.

The morning brings,

A tidal wave.

Invading,

Premonitory,

Cleansing.

What is Life?...

2010-03-19T11:49:00.001-07:00

poem and photo

What is Life?

But a game

Of multiple choices.

The needle

That feeds a thread

Of daily routine

Into our lifelong tapestry.

A constant roll of dice,

Punctuating

Each and every turn

Of our emotional crossroads.

What is Life?

But a most varied

Type of a journey.

A constant flow

Of cul-de-sacs,

Traffic jams and,

At times,

Smooth highways.

What is Life?

One wonders...

The sands of Kuruman...

2010-03-18T03:01:00.000-07:00

The sands of Kuruman

Take shelter

On my shoulders.

Invasive,

Under the burning sun.