Chapter three-The Poet’s love

The Poet’s love-Paloma fight

A Chapter by Coyote Poetry


New chapter.


                                  The Poet’s love-Paloma

At the late Summer festival in Trujillo. Four friends found their reserved seats. Doctor Lawrence was treated with great respect and kindness. Most of the people of Trujillo had been treated by him throughout his 40 years as the coastal doctor. Lawrence told his old friends. It is the year 2016 and I’m glad we are all together for the seventh time in 30 years. I’m thankful we have kept our friendship alive and well. You have been my dear friends since Leo and Paloma joined us in 1986. Me and John were alone and needed some good company. We have lived a wild life and now John came back to die in the city of Trujillo. But John will learn. The ancient Trujillo medicine and herbs will keep him alive and steady. Central American is blessed by the gift of nature. Us foolish men believe we need man-made drugs when the simple coconut, the rosemary and free tropical herbal plants can stop the cancer.

Paloma told Lawrence. You can’t stop death. When death comes for you. You must go willingly. Lawrence smiled and he laughed. He told her. Leo support to be dead and gone. The tropical wisdom is simple. Make the mind believe and allow the plants to change the blood. Cancer, like all things can be changed by diet. Some clinics in Mexico packed the cancer patient with garlic and the desert plants. Don’t cure the cancer. Stopped the cancer from expanding.

Paloma smiled and she kisses Lawrence hands. She told him. I love you dear Lawrence. I love you my dear nagual of all things. We owe you everything. I remember the first day I met you. Leo brought me to you. Broken and wounded. You and dear Liliam treated me like a child. You knew I was beaten and weak. I remember dear Liliam singing me soft lullabies to me when I relaxed in the bathtub. She knew I needed quiet and time to think. On the second day. You came to my bedside and felt my forehead and you told me. Dear Paloma. More demons than angels. You are a brave and courageous woman. You were a kind angel to many. You stood for strangers and you learned. The devil seems to always win. But beautiful Paloma, you did not lose. Your words are being screamed-out in Mexico and people are paying attention to the women of the Mexican border. The Spain government had demanded to know where you are. I believe better for you to laid silence till you can fight with 100% strength. Don’t allow the Mexican terrorist to win. When you show your face again. Be the fearless Paloma, not the beaten. I remember I begin to cry. You caressed my forehead and you sang a lullaby for me.

Don’t cry my baby girl.
Don’t you cry no-more.
Please allow the tears to fade to anger.
The anger to strong heart and mind.
Make the world see a woman.
Who won’t cry no-more.

He introduced Johnnie to me this day. You made me laugh when I saw him. A high and tight military hair cut and a soldier. I asked him. A soldier nurse? More men who want to kill and destroy all things that are beautiful. You told me. Johnnie is a re-formed soldier. Only killed for a pretty Spanish Poet and the Honduras rum. Johnnie sat with me and he spoke a few words.  Please take this journal and please write dear Paloma. He gave me a new journal with art on the cover. I hold this journal more precious today. The artwork of the doves can still be seen. Johnnie never left my side. He sat with me in the day and he slept near me in the night. Honduras was very hot. Johnnie would hourly wipe my face, shoulders and legs with cold water. He served my medicine and he wrote holding silence. On the third day. I asked him. What are you writing. He smiled and he answered. Just story and poetry. I asked him to read to me and he did.

Dear Trujillo
Lovely land blessed and wild still.
One locked-up people have known true freedom for 500 years.

Dark skin beauties and strong men will steal your heart and soul.
The old soulful ways still held tightly and lovingly.

The old medicine, the old ways still are honored.
The kind and gentle people willing to share their smiles and their beautiful city.

Dear Trujillo, sweet paradise by the sea.
I’m thankful for you.

The Spanish beauty
Silence lady fighting a fight she couldn’t win.
She wrote a 100,000 words for the helpless women of the Mexican border who couldn’t fight no-more.

She learn the devils seem to always win.
The brave poet will understand.
Martyr are many and heroes are few.

The Spanish beauty stood her ground and she learn.
Love is life and life is love.
Every life had value and
sometimes we must give-up everything to learn.

We must never give-in or give-up.
A strong and righteous voice will be heard even when surrounded by hateful men.

Today the words of the Spanish poet are being sung by the people who understand.

Every life had value.

She told him. Now you and Lawrence said I did something. Johnnie told her with sadness in his voice. How can you stop a hurricane? How do you stop a thunderstorm? You can’t. The men who control the Mexican borders. Cold, heartless and don’t value life. I wish I know the cure. My grandfather told me. Making men change, like spitting into the wind. The spits will return. Maybe words are the same. Maybe we are doing nothing or maybe we can save one life? He asked her. Did you write? She smiled and she whispered. You showed me your words and I will show you my words.


More dead on the dead.
Babies forced to be whores.

Sin city, a bloody hell.
The hell expanded to the deadly borders.

Young girls, used, abused and tortured.
Just profit for sick men.

Who is crying for the little girls?
Locked-up, screwed and killed.

Silence and dead.
Leave no witness.

Blind police officers.
Protect profitable business.
leaving poor parent with questions and bad answers to be learned.

Please God. Where are you?
Do you see what they are doing to the babies?

Maria and Adel

A tearful mother came to me.
She begged me to help her find her daughter.

Her 14-year-old and 15-year-old daughters kidnapped from their private school.

I found them.
Bounded and chained to some beds.
They were nude and barely conscious.

I talked to them.
Poor girls were drugged and they could barely talk.

I offered all the money I had to free them.
Ugly Mexican man with a death tattoo on his face told me.
The girls are money makers.
Still wanted and young.

The police told me.
Can’t do a damn thing.
Five months later.

Police found Maria and Adel nude and dead behind an empty building.
I and the mother cried a thousand tears for her babies.

They were dead and I was defeated.


You stripped me.
You beat me.
You took away my pride.
I didn’t die.

You made me stand nude for hours
threatening beatings and rape.
You told me often.
I would die and be forgotten.

After seven days.
I prayed for death.
You wouldn’t allow me to die.

I remember your dirty hands on my skin.
I remember you looking at me like a piece of meat.
I was saved because of my citizenship.

A brave man risked everything for me.
He risked his life and he gave everything away for my selfish life.
I didn’t die.

Today I remember everything.
I have forgotten nothing.

Once a great Poet Dryden said.
“Don’t be a martyr for some cause. Dead writers cannot save the world.”

I believe Dryden was wrong.
Blind people with no concern for the children.
Uncaring eyes who allowed abuse, rape and murder.
They become part of the problem.

A thousand girls missing on the Mexican border.
A thousand girls missing on the Mexican border.

Do you care?
John had tears in his eyes and he held silence when she finished reading. She looked at him with falling tears. She asked him.  If the world is so cold and worthless. Why do we try? Why do we live?  He took my hands. He kissed each finger and he wrapped his arms around her and he told her. You have seen and known beauty and the ugliness of this world. We must forget the ugliness and the good days last longer and forget the bad days. The bad days are just education for us to be wiser and stronger. Please Paloma, rest and gain strength. You are safe here in Trujillo. You touched my face, shoulders and bare legs with some cold water on some damp cloths. She watched him and she wondered why this young man was sitting with her. He slept on the floor and he awoke when she was alert. He ensured she was safe. I was happy knowing there were men like Lawrence, Leo and Johnnie. I knew I would be okay.

Johnnie kissed her and he told her. Enough sad talk and memories. I only remember I loved you from the first second I saw you. I loved your face and your long legs. Your face already filled with life and story. You were a natural beauty who wouldn’t give-up or give-in. Now it is time for the rum and the song. We will save the world tomorrow. Four people rose up and followed the sound of the song.

John Castellenas/Coyote

© 2017 Coyote Poetry