International Flights: poetry

Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Coimbra

Coimbra do Choupal,

Ainda és capital

Do amor em Portugal,

Ainda.

Coimbra, onde uma vez,

Com lágrimas se fez

A história dessa Inês

Tão linda!

Coimbra das canções,

Tão meiga que nos pões

Os nossos corações

A nu.

Coimbra dos doutores,

P'ra nós os seus cantores

A fonte dos amores

És tu.

Coimbra é uma lição

De sonho e tradição

O lente é uma canção

E a lua a faculdade.

O livro é uma mulher

Só passa quem souber

E aprende-se a dizer

Saudade.

As Portas Que Abril Abriu

(...)

"E então por vinhas sobredos

vales socalcos searas

serras atalhos veredas

lezírias e praias claras

desceram homens sem medo

marujos soldados «páras»

que não queriam o degredo

dum povo que se separa.

E chegaram à cidade

onde os monstros se acoitavam

era a hora da verdade

para as hienas que mandavam

a hora da claridade

para os sóis que despontavam

e a hora da vontade

para os homens que lutavam."

(...)

Ary dos Santos

Aquele papagaio no céu...

...amarrado com um cordel
voa mais alto que o teu
e tem asas de papel.

"Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it.

Once on a piece of paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left the butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen."

by Osoanon Nimuss

in "The Perks of being a Wallflower", Stephen Chbosky

The Windy City

To the east were moving waters, as far as eye could follow.

To the west a sea of grass as far as wind might reach.

...

By nights when the yellow salamanders of the EL bend all one way

and the cold rain runs with the red-lit rain.

By the way the city's million wires are burdened only by lightest snow;

When chairs are stacked and glasses are turned and arc-lamps all are dimmed.

By days when the wind bangs alley gates ajar and the sun goes by on the wind.

By nights when the moon is an only child above the measured thunder of the cars,

you may know Chicago's heart at last.

Nelson Algren

"Chicago: City on the Make"

Festa dos Tabuleiros

Bread, flowers and a crown

marching through the town

girls carry it on their head

who will eat all those trays of bread?

by me
(i am feeling very poetic today)

Rio Nabão

Harriet's binary haiku

Aww... It seems that our poor old server has been feeling lonely and ignored now that everyone in the lab is using jesus, so he's decided to seek for some attention. Now, every time we log on to harriet he shows us this funny encoded message.