Poems on Federica Garcia Lorca Seeking Honest Critique

(sonnet)

In evening air, I hear the lime trees weep,
As blossoms’ fall in waves on shadowed sands.
My lips still taste of love’s forgotten sleep,
Of passing faith, of want’s austere commands.

The skin, the scent of oranges’ wavered sting,
The grace of flowing dancers’ contra steps,
The touch, the summer night’s soft offering,
The loss, like passion kept in heart’s regrets.

Her hidden eyes from shoulder’s backward lean,
Her smile contained in every catching breath,
Her favor gleaned in moonlit hills unseen, ...

Obtruse angles fall the slanted eyes
Tears like lemons castrated from the tree
Franco's crow of broken strings
Guernica is that post mortem
Bull rings echo's with the last Ole - Ole - Ole

Squeezed Pigment tube, no top
Loves lost, frames fractured insanity
That awash turned to the wall
Encased past ducks and drakes

Sunset groom departs
Caricatures of black doves
Origami folds so sharp
Palette with its drying worms
Hangings in the Mausoleum
Remembered vivid images of being

reflections on...

Many things shall be said
once I'm deceased—  
maybe what I actually wish:

one hundred year-old elms
  grow blueprints in dust and ash—  
boney ringlets annually; listen
  then understand.  

Damaged grass bleeds
  green leaf volatiles, golden
copper across dry air—
a distress signal:
  self-preservation, SOS
  against inflicted injury.

Death breeds Truth
  despite how unwelcome its fingernail
picks your secret’s lock,  
  hidden down the chimney’s throat.

Accept his...