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Gil Cardoso Feb 2019
Odeio ver o fim da estrada
Fixo apenas esse ponto
Não vejo nada
É ainda não estou pronto

Olho para a paisagem
Finjo-me distraído
Admiro das aves a plumagem
Dos grilos o ruído

Mas vivo no futuro
Sempre no futuro
Já sabe a podre
O fruto maduro

Sofro com o que ainda não aconteceu
E mesmo o que nunca acontecerá
Quando acontece já não é meu
E quando não, penso no que virá

Então aparece outra estrada
Mas a mesma dor em mim
Mudou a morada
Mas fixo o mesmo fim
Escrito: 28/05/2018
Gil Cardoso Feb 2019
Sol queima a minha pele
É agradavel
Depois, é dor

Como bolo doce que vou comer
Efeito da gulosia
Afoga o meu saber
Para mais tarde me aperceber
Que foi demasia
Aí puderei me arrepender

E então pergunto, qual é real?
Qual sigo nisto tudo
O presente ou o futuro?

Dizem-me “Carpe Diem!”
Então deixem-me comer bolo
Deixem-me queimar ao sol
Deixem-me viver a vida tolo

Depois dizem, “sê comedido”
“Tudo com moderação”
Então vivo o futuro agora
Não sigo prazer
Fujo à dor
Sempre a atrasar
A minha fatalidade

Eu sei lá

Mas enquanto escrevia isto
O sol fez o seu capricho
Tenho o poema terminado
E o meu braço queimado
Escrito: Maio 2018
Ezra Yelverton Sep 2018
Grab my hand and come close,
press your ear to my chest,
wrap your arm around my waist
and let your body fall into mine.

Rhythmic heart beats translate to movement in my feet,
my hips ride the tempo and my soul takes the lead.
We’re tangled in a Tango for lovers.
Your pelvis flush with mine
the heat of passion begins to rise.

You spin your body away in an effort to tease,
in that moment I see what I’ve always wanted;
your fair skin dancing in the moonlight.
Elegantly exposed under the stars.

We’re in tune with our element.
Fancy footwork brings us closer,
you’re wrapped in my arms again.

Sway with me,
let the music caress your spirit.
Exhale and be free. Explode with desire.
Touch your lips to mine
and fall in love with fire.
Maria Lamarque Jul 2018
Inspired by: Duke Ellington, John Coltrane “In a sentimental mood”

Romance is like a jazz melody;
A marriage of symphonies.
Passion dances in the air;

Two lovers provoking destiny.
Eyes wide with epiphany;
She looks away breathlessly.

The smooth beat of the drums, a soft piano joins in.
The whole club fills with hums.
Glasses with bourbon and gin.

Boldly and loudly, he speaks-
Melodic and demure, she winks.

The band senses the lust, their heated intensity.
A saxophone chimes in, quite rhythmic and velvety
The trumpet shrieks, like a woman wrapped in ecstasy.

Touching with flirty techniques;
He orders a round of drinks.
Magnetic pull and bedroom eyes;
Fruitless efforts to disguise.

Dancing close amid dangerous temptation.
He smells of sandalwood and *******.
She smells of jasmine and anticipation.

The band fades in the night, slowing their song and dance.
They float aimlessly into the moonlight under this trance.
Her red dress swaying to the tempo of romance.
Burst Jul 2018
Megan Casey
My liefste meisie

You make my heart...skip a beat
Skip a beat
Skip a beat
If you were a song, I'd play you on repeat

You are delicate and true
Luminous, through and through
My sunshine in the morning
My sky so blue

You're the rhythm to my happiness
The tempo, to my flow
Pulse to my heartbeat
And your melody is so.....
So, so sweet
You force my feet
To dance to your tune
In a trance so complete

Your voice is the harmony
I'm the listening ear
Without your frequencies
My hearing would disappear

I truly do
Really really
LOVE you.
Mortuus Stella May 2018
Someone once told me that I am a slow song starting to accelerate.  
At Larghissio, I have a calm demeanor.
Not the calm of a warm sunny day.
But a somber calm where I slowly slit a person's throat whilst listening to classical music.
Grave is where things gets mixed with feelings but where I refused to acknowledge it.
The trend today is dead inside.
But hey, the shade my mother threw at me about my grades during dinner is at the back of my head.
Largo is a little dangerous.
My father is trying to communicate to the four-year-old little girl that was swallowed down along with his drugs.
I am no longer dead inside when I acknowledge that it's wrong.
Adagietto is a fancy word.
So is dementia.  
Now, it's harder to stand in front of the grandfather who can't remember me.
Hurt is an emotion.
Andante means I am hurt.
With hurt, I think one loses rationale.
Moderato is for moderate.
But, at moderato, hurt has led me to my anxiety cabin.
Hereon, the walls I have created around me becomes a physical embodiment when all I do is stay in my room.
I want to slow down the pace.
But now, I am starting to hear more than one song.
Some of it, I am singing on my own.
All of it, at Allegro.
My blanket was my hero at Allegro.
I named it 'Depression' and I wore it all the time to cover my ears.
As for rationale, there being none, I found myself and all my songs at Vivace.
The most vivid was my mothers'.
She'd often peek through my walls.
Sing a heavy metal song about my disobedience of wearing depression.
When she got tired, she'd stop singing.
Now, I am left with my songs at Allegro and the distant voice of my grandfather who sings for himself at Larghissio.
The more I try to grasp the lullaby of my grandfather, the faster my songs rise to Vivace.
I am strong but not strong enough to sing multiple songs at Vivace.
Respectively, often these days, I fear that all of my songs would abruptly stop at Presto.
But, on most days, I think about falling back to the next song on your playlist, and it doesn't matter at what tempo.
keep dancing
to the rhythm of life
let your every step
be a beating fife

you'll feel well ensconced
in the groove
on partaking of its
tremendous move

never stop dancing
stay the round the clock tempo
don't break for a pause
cause the dance has a long way to go

tap dancing
is perfectly okay
and you can change it to
a waltzing sway
and you might like
to disco or jitterbug
on another day

the rhythm of life
is so good for the soul
and it's a dance
of peerless extol
Maria Etre Feb 2018
I found myself
in song
tip toeing
on notes
bridged by lines
of memories

I move with the eye
as it reads them
strums them
brings them to reality
and all I seem to be
doing to going

Sometimes stepping
on familiar notes
"that's the chorus"
my mind says
"you know these steps like the back
of your hand"

and others
I find myself catching up
with the new tempo
as I spread my arms
to find my
Listening to Blackbird: Beatles or Across the Universe version.
as day progresses
the wind's tempo has grown more
by eve she'll blow well
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