Corrida de Toros - Serenaded Slaughter

Bloodlust

Corrida de Toros - Serenaded Slaughter

by Leggolas

Roused in Andalusia,
remnant rid of Rome.
Revered goading relic,
remains, embraced by home.

“Come centre lust,
COMMENCE THE GORE!”

and thus appeared ‘The Matador’,
flanked by those aspiring to enact the biased deed.
Banderilleros,
Picadors,
succession, born of Spanish lores,
joyous, fêted [SLAUGHTER!
A butcher’s thrust for meed].

With regal gait, performed parade,
skirted
flashed fanfaronade,
fervent adoration followed
engrossed in display.
Vivid
showers cavalcade,
to spur on nostalgic crusade,
each apathetic as to part in protracting the slay.

Officially ‘The Key’ is flung,
removed from hook it has long hung,
a symbol of authority,
the bar to bear the beast.
Tension teases Toril Door
to rivet audience with awe,
the flapping tongues fall silent,
shuffle’s bustle ceased.


Cocooned within shadow,
an isolated eye,
reflected an inquisitive glint toward he who would vie.
Calculation bridled,
assessment induced urge,
indignant snort,
gouged dusty plumes preceded bursting surge.
Thundering robust rapier
hurtled toward core,
crimson swirls malign momentum,
haranguing minions implore
seducing acts of weakness,
keen glean for scrutiny,
deflected glint then glistened with determined lunging spree.

Bugles fan the feverish bay,
Picadors join interplay,
the hounding pack’s relentless,
each act inspires

“Olé”.

“Oh noble bold Iberian beast, why do they taunt you so?
Why do their spears of wickedness impale you as a foe?
Why do these vulture voyeurs drool for moment of demise?
Why is your riddled carcass sought as solitary prize?”

Across pulsating girdle,
abandoned rivals stood.
Bewildered bovine sought survival,
his hostile haughty hurdle, BLOOD!
and thus it’s steady trickle dripped beneath perspiring sun,
fresh curdle caressed centuries, their torture became one,
enduring taint,
defiant stain,
ingrained for all to see,
contaminating fester,
a blot beneath humanity.

Silence.
Segregated
a provoke prompted stride,
[excited roar] horns dipped to gore,
'The Master' remained dignified
to plummet serge Muleta
draw down slashing invades,
to stab gleaming Estoque
betwixt exposed shoulder blades.

Step forth the Puntillero, [as ‘The Matador’ hails acclaim]
he executes a clinical course to where the condemned lingers lame.
A pause draws adoration from those fevered, who applaud
a final stoop
a final slash
which severs spinal chord.

“Olé”.

[Ephemeral lust for pleasure ~ when will this sickening slaughter cease?]

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

i was always more a 'ferdenand the bull' sort of guy

[Awdures]

Very dark, and rather dark humoured but a great poem none the less. I commend the fact that youi have written all in rhyming couplets. Life should have a rhyme shouldn't it! Nice work Legolas. Will be back later on to do more rooting and reading :)