#bossanova
bisli nazbi
.i je cisma ckaji
fa le cadzu be le klaji
vi lo nalterganzu jmaji
.i je jamfu sruri
fa re mapra sai tupcutci
.i le ni gleki kei cu dunli
le ni glare kufra ru'i
.i tolxendo catlu
fa lo drata vi le dargu
.i je ku'i xanka claxu
.i lo ka virnu cu ca calku
.i je cadzu ranji
.i na jundi ro le xladji
.i je sanga da noi ralci
gi'e pensi le se lacri
.i lo pendo .e lo prami
lo ka sidju kei cu traji
.i na nitcu lo nu lanli
lo se jinvi be lo xlali
.i je bisli nazbi
.i je cisma ckaji
fa le cadzu be le klaji
vi lo nalterganzu jmaji
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 12:11 AM UTC
Está frio o tempo
E está forte o vento
Mas o rosto está contento
Que não falta aquecimento
Porque na figura
No caminho pela rua
As botinhas são felpudas
Refletindo as doçuras
E maldosamente olha
As pessoas na recolha
Mas ela nunca está nervosa
E sempre porta-se garbosa
E a sua processão
Nessa grande multidão
Não precisa de permissão
E é doce a sua canção
Porque o amor e o amizade
Para ela são bastantes
E não há necessidade
Atentar ao desplante
E está frio o tempo
E está forte o vento
Mas o rosto está contento
Que não falta aquecimento
Dec 8, 2023
Dec 8, 2023 at 8:25 PM UTC
Toasty toes
And a frosty nose
And a smile that glows
As along her way she goes
Because on her feet
Are a warm and fuzzy treat
That are tapping down the street
In a lovely laid-back beat
And she sees the stares
And she feels the passing glares
But she hardly even cares
It's a challenge no-one dares
So she walks along
Weaving proudly through the throng
And she sings her carefree song
Just so happy to belong
As her lover and friends
Never judge her based on trends
There's no need to make amends
With a world that just contends
Toasty toes
And a frosty nose
And a smile that glows
As along her way she goes
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 9:53 PM UTC
gentle water
lapping the hull
bossa nova
clinking glasses
a tickle
of the piano's ivory keys
and you're lost
in giant strawberries
of a daiquiri
dribbling down your chin
onto your palm frond top
and shorts while you
swing and sway
poolside
tomorrow Ocho Rios Jamaica
but today sun and sea
tonight the crown stars
and a ruby juicy
fingernail moon
Whit Howland © 2019
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 4:54 AM UTC
After the 24th revolution of the longhand
on the clock, the radio plays bossa nova jazz
all night and me, I sit awake in an empty
studio replaying the day in my head as I
row alone across the lake of my notebook
as some now-deceased artist sings about
a 17-year old girl living on Montenegro St.
as beads of moonlight drip from the blade
of the paddle back into the lake as my arms
push and pull and push and pause mid-row
to catch the rhythm and blues of solitude.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.
Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.
Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.
The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.
This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.
These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.
What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.
Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.
The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....
The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.
Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.
To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Here we are again
At the same restaurant
Listening to the same bossa nova tune
Our feet are tapping
This setting is too familiar
"Let's leave this place"
And you agree, wholeheartedly
"Yes, darling. Let's make new adventures"
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC