Apr 2020
It bleeds into white
blobs, squiggles set into ceramic,
bouquets of colour yawning
to every corner.
Orange ovals
give way to petals of blue
or a static ship
on a swathe of sapphire,
clouds that cuddle
like a band of bruises.
Now the plink of guitar
as fado hopscotches
along the streets,
a crowd of terracotta roofs
and the sea, the great road
of the Atlantic,
where there is Amar Pelos Dois,
where saudade flows,
champagne-made sadness.
The sea strokes the horizon,
plays its teal melody,
the luscious tinge of Portuguese
on my lips as the sun
presents the city a warm kiss.
blobs, squiggles set into ceramic,
bouquets of colour yawning
to every corner.
Orange ovals
give way to petals of blue
or a static ship
on a swathe of sapphire,
clouds that cuddle
like a band of bruises.
Now the plink of guitar
as fado hopscotches
along the streets,
a crowd of terracotta roofs
and the sea, the great road
of the Atlantic,
where there is Amar Pelos Dois,
where saudade flows,
champagne-made sadness.
The sea strokes the horizon,
plays its teal melody,
the luscious tinge of Portuguese
on my lips as the sun
presents the city a warm kiss.
Written: 2018/19.
Explanation: A poem that was part of my MFA Creative Writing manuscript, in which I wrote poems about cities that have staged the Eurovision Song Contest, or taken the name of a song and written my own piece inspired by the title. I have received a mark for this body of work now, so am sharing the poems here.
Explanation: A poem that was part of my MFA Creative Writing manuscript, in which I wrote poems about cities that have staged the Eurovision Song Contest, or taken the name of a song and written my own piece inspired by the title. I have received a mark for this body of work now, so am sharing the poems here.
