#lisbon
The very mention of Portugal's Lisbon evokes an anticipation of enticement,
Replete with rich history and heritage, any visit is bound to be one of excitement,
Linked to the legendary Ulysses, it is the westernmost capital city in continental Europe,
It's historical prominence is due to it's beautiful natural harbor, that needs no lookup
Even for those who love city walking, the steep inclines of the streets could be a stretch,
A plethora of pleasing tiled architectural facades however, makes up for the arduous dretch,
The city is built in a succession of terraces up the slopes of a range of low rolling hills,
Elevation variations offer spectacular views of the river & cliffs, adding considerable frills
As a city built on seven hills, Lisbon's topography is a mix of enchanting contrasts,
Monumental buildings, elegant squares and broad avenues encompass large vasts,
Quick digression to hilly, narrow, winding, cramped streets is a common occurrence,
The ambience while strolling is pleasing & the transition in terrain is a nice experience
Lisbon's uniqueness is in it's hybridity of historical and modern cultures and lifestyles ,
Smart rooftop bars of hotels contrast to excellent inconspicuous restaurants in style,
The city boasts of an internationally acclaimed one-of-a-kind architectural singularity,
That can be seen in scores of buildings where spectacular tiled facades are a specialty
Building facade tiles are characteristically ornamented with figures in blue-toned colors,
As seen in homes, public buildings, cafes, train stations, shops, churches and many others,
Called "Azulejos" in Portuguese, these unique tiles also serve to remove building dampness,
Innovative iterations have made tiles more vibrant, rendering greater degree of brightness
One of Lisbon's trademarks is the famed, oldest Portuguese paving on most streets,
Made of limestone cubes, shaped and placed by skilled craftsmen, never missing a beat,
The designs are geometric, figurative or specific depending on the final location,
Special atmosphere is created as it reflects all light falling on it, that begs causation
Lisbon's distinctive colored tram cars are iconic and, for visitors a must-have ride experience,
Hop on board to the sound of squeaky brakes and shrill bells, that have little consequence,
Navigating the steep hills, narrow streets and sharp turns, the journey is fun-filled & exciting,
The ability to lean out and touch perilously close building walls in narrow streets, is most defining
Baixa is Lisbon's central business and shopping district that is always bustling with activity,
It houses the most emblematic squares and streets with neoclassical buildings in the vicinity,
This touristy part of town is flanked by fascinating historical sights that are iconic, quite frankly ,
Fusion of it's history, traditional Portuguese culture and modern tourism, is depicted very aptly
Overlooking River Tejo is Praca do Comercio, a magnificent plaza and Lisbon's grandest square,
The surrounding arcaded buildings, equestrian statue and Rua Augusta Arch all add to the flair,
Bustling Rossio Square with cafes is Baxia's principal square with it's wave-patterned pavement,
Adjacent Restauradores Square with much history has a standout obelisk - a landmark monument
Navigating around the hilly city is commonly by cab or metro as both are relatively inexpensive,
Other options include trams, funiculars, buses and ferries, that can be fun and equally effective,
When it comes to a tossup, Lisbon metro with four lines, is usually the fastest way to commute,
Providing a seamless experience for visitors, thanks to a system that is designed to be astute
A visit to Lisbon is never complete without a day trip to Sintra, perched atop a mountainous site,
Sintra's jewel in the crown is undoubtedly the famous Pena Palace - an UNESCO World Heritage Site,
The iconic twin conical chimneys and the lavish, whimsical interiors have an unique construction style,
The castle rooms with colorful, artistically painted emblematic ceilings are surely worthy of a besmile
Lisbon's charming tourist attractions and lifestyle are the prime reasons for it being a go-to location,
It has a welcoming and liberal allure with extensive history, that makes it a popular holiday destination,
One continues reminiscing the sloping streets, effusive warmth of locals and colorful architectural tiling,
At the end of it all, a visit to Lisbon always remains wistful, whilst at the same time, leaving one smiling!
Jan 7, 2024
Jan 7, 2024 at 12:55 PM UTC
I woke early
this morning in Lisbon
before the birds chirped
the traffic shattered
the silent room in the
Sao Bento Guesthouse
and the old tram
struggled, groaned up
the steep hill
She stirred beside me
even and measured breaths
I turned on the white light
and read Pessoa
and Florbella Espanca
poets of the past
of the hilled city
split poetic personalities
the one
she, the other,
a killer of
her self
"Abre os elhos e encara a vida!"*
advice not taken
today we'll walk those hills
ride those trams
and eat seafood along the Tagus
as we ignore
the passing
of our lives
*open your eyes and face your life
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 3:38 PM UTC
The hair on your forehead is soft umber wheat
with a cerulean sky behind it,
the dent on your cheek is deep-
enough for me to rest in it
You are the emerald mountains
and the tranquil rain,
that calms me down
and hands me pain
You are jazz and blues
and if yellow ochre had a sound,
Lying in between our smiles,
was a place that you found
I miss you
and the little church in Lisbon,
across the lone bench,
with a stick that you relied on
In the back of my mind,
how could I ever?
When I've never met you
and I've never been to Lisbon
a.r.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
The sun has long disappeared behind the stage
I'm inspired and sweaty and feeling my age
The amplifiers still ringing in my ears
The smell of the Tagus draws in and I take my tired frame up winding streets
The cafés are open. Piano music. Shoes on cobbles providing the beat
Sat silently listening to the late urban shuffle, people appear from narrow openings between tired, tiled buildings
Are the up late, are they up early?
It's been a long day. A day of fleeting smiles.
I think of you, and there's one more.
This one lasts.
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
I walk my life, a subway station
Where dirt consorts
The air around.
It pounds my nape,
It flames my mind
With sights and fates
And sounds.
Above, a tram goes up the alley
Tinged with canary hue.
Below, my wit:
What void, what valley:
It sank, in Tagus mused.
I take a seat, doors screech behind.
O, what wondrous whiffs?
Of metal beams
Attriting loudly
Against metal wheels?
To a halt it cuts my chain of thought,
Rivals my dream, they brawl.
'Tis from the gallery
Of broken hope
The beggar man crawls.
Intemperate horns his entry announce,
Dysphoric scenes aground.
He comes detuned
Near clears his throat,
Lethargic voice resounds:
I beat my cane
In wrongful rhythm,
'Cause wrongful
Was my life.
My voice hurts from
All this singing:
'Twas morphed into
A sigh.
I longed, I longed
For all my sinning
Was ought to be repaid.
Deserved so much,
God took my
Will, my sight,
My love, my
Name.
So tell me, vagrant,
What did He take?
-Said I-
Who has loved you?
What is your will,
What name did you go by?
I used to be a man of soul
Whose heart beat strong and dign,
I used to write
And then I died
On the 10th before July.
He took my coins for all my service
At wars:
At land
At sea
-The waves still have her,
Laying there still,
Waiting away from me!-
Said he-
I will my love,
My fire, passion
-My young Natercia!-
Most darling of all nymphaea!
So God is just after all,
Replacing sin with grief.
No need for me
To pay the man:
God has done the deed.
The deadbeat coins of his cup
Turmoil ever so slightly.
I leave my dream,
Doors shrill again:
'Tis time to end my journey.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
One last look for Lisbon
Let it seep into my heart
One last wistful wish that
I was back again at the start
I was a girl then
Wondering how to do my hair
I am a woman now
Heavy heart frayed with wear
One last look for Lisbon
Windows glow from the sunrise
The air feels full of magic
I am much more alive
I want to take a picture
So I pull out my phone
But no, I don’t need a photograph
Just this feeling in my bones
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 2:57 AM UTC
Lost in Lisbon,
just me and my addictions,
and when I say addictions,
I mostly mean my addiction to women,
caught in the same cliche,
but I can’t seem to get away,
like a dream that keeps repeating,
same place same case just a different day,
thinking that somehow *** can replace,
the actual act of acceptance,
thinking that regret can somehow set,
the pace for some sort of repentance,
but nothing changes,
except the weather and sometimes the faces,
found I’m still lost,
I’m a great shot but what’s the worth of a great shot that’s aimless?
No target,
no goals,
just a free market,
that’s completely uncontrolled.
There are no rules,
there’s no reality on which to base this face it,
we are all lost that is for sure,
only difference is most of us don’t want to admit it.
Addicted,
to the chaos it’s such a turn on,
even when I feel sick,
and my heart’s gone cold I’m still burnin’,
she’s turning,
her back on me,
says she doesn’t want to have ***
and I understand her exactly,
sometimes I wish I wasn’t a man,
sometimes I wish we were all brilliant light,
want to leave my dull bland body so bad,
that if someone came to take my life I wouldn’t even fight.
I don’t fight her,
she says no so I sit up and ask her to leave,
it’s almost 4 o’clock in the afternoon already,
and she’s got a flight to catch that’s leaving for Italy,
and it is then that I see that she’s leaving me,
both figurative and literally,
which I guess I accept because one fact,
we all leave everyone and everything eventually,
even ourselves,
the cards we were dealt,
were bizarre as a guitar played like like a bagpipe by a Celt,
and even though we feel no more well hell at least there was a time we felt,
oh well,
I understand now that you’re timeless and your love is priceless,
fairwell,
we win some and we lose some I guess that’s what this Game of Life is,
blameless and shameless in Lisbon having a midlife crisis.
Living in cities of sin singing songs of wrong still trying to be righteous,
lost as a lark trying to parrot a song to carry us along and guide us,
flying through this civic blueprint climbing high we deny lies and define all aliveness,
and even though your iris is sublime and so is mine we can’t seem to see through our own blindness,
like trying to adjust to the distrust that we feel when we’re told that someone loves us,
and the ironic thing is that in your strangeness I see a similar likeness.
We lost us.
We lost us and our fondness for any sort of conscious conscience,
so now we’re in love with fervid thugs and hooligans that are heartless,
and when we’re asked why we’re in love with this life we say because we are artist,
which partially explains why I’m in Portugal in pain with a beauty that’s stunningly monstrous.
Lost in this,
constant concoction of consciousness,
lost in this,
city by the ocean caught in the North Atlantic drifts,
lost in Lisbon,
just me and my addictions,
and when I say addictions,
I mostly mean my addiction to women…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
20/08/16
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
To see a fraction
of the world:
so many different people
and all of them
have something to tell
a poem of their own,
and sometimes you just want
to stop it all
and go to them
and grab that poem
and read it
but poetry doesn’t work that way,
and so you wait
for the poem to unfold.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
Fragrance was her forte,
and she wore it well.
Swaying to Fado,
eyes closed to this
unfathomable longing
delivered into song.
She stayed close to you,
scented like the flowers
she was named for,
until your knees
weakened and all
you could say
was,*Yes.
Yes, you are all
I could ever want.
Tonight, or
any other night.
Fragrant,
dancing, loving life
with every exquisite
inclination of your
beautiful, profound mind,
your lovely, ripened body.*
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
I. Café
the waiter has the kindest eyes
when he goes home after his shift he probably finds coffee beans tucked into his pockets
the whirring of the machine doesn't faze him as it did when he first started
he has become accustomed to the grooves of wood and the abstract art above the bar
he glances at the clock every hour on the hour, counting down the minutes until he is released
catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror is a reminder he exists
every time I see myself in it, my eyes disappear from reflection
I wish I spoke Portuguese – these tourists behind me make me embarrassed to be English:
man, loudly: She wants ORANGE JUICE!
waiter nods – such patience
for a moment I think of what it would be like to go downstairs to the restaurant
past the mahogany wood and chessboard floor
and **** on one of the tables
the next patrons would have no idea they were eating off of passion and stunted breath
“Enjoy: homesickness tossed with overwhelming contentment and a dressing of lust.”
I could drink every bottle of Campari, Bacardi and Jameson lining the wall and I still wouldn't have the courage to tell him how kind I think his eyes are
I really want him to drape me over the golden chandelier so I can be reminded of what it feels like to have an all-seeing eye
he has such routine with the way he places sugar packets on plates and lays them down for sleep-deprived and cranky patrons
maybe I should've ordered something
we should have an object at each corner of the octagon table – a spell, a hex
I need to be fed pastries to continue breathing
I would like for him to walk me home
it's just around the corner and I know its name and number are marked on the street but I have a terrible sense of direction
one false turn and I may end up in the water
and I won't ever see the waiter’s kind eyes again.
II. Ruins
if you held me the way you held that camera I'd melt into an exalted sigh
you told me you only take pictures of things you love but you never took any of me
I mean, I know the height and decomposition of this building is breathtaking but I could give you some air if you kissed me by the rusted trellis
your orange sunglasses look ridiculous
I would rather drape you in a cloak, like the Statue of St. John Nepomucene
two bells, like us, drone
as you speak, the sound of the Chinese couple is louder:
“We should go into this room… filled with artefacts…”
“No, here, let's stay…”
**** you for saying you're leaving.
I have the urge to pound you with one of those rocks on a ledge so you are trapped here
“Can you imagine this place filled with people?”
you wouldn't belong anyway
you have no affinity for red tiles scattered amongst grey
or the all-encompassing silence of the venue
there is a concrete slab on the left where I could lay you down and take off those glasses
and pour myself into you
so you would take pictures of me
so you wouldn't move to New York
I can't fathom people filling this place
because it should really house two souls instead.
III. Mirador
the number on the floor by the fountain is the amount of times I've said no to you while standing out here
I'll tag another 0 on, just to be safe
the red roofs look like my skin after I've sat all day at the beach at Sperlonga
you almost drowned
your footsteps on the gravel are ominous and even when I look through the telescope I can't see you
I pick a point on the horizon – the blue cubist building; the odd one out – and stare blankly
that guitarist playing “Oh Darling” reminds me of the first time you called me that and I want to smash it so violently
I find myself staring at the trio of scruffy young bearded men instead of you
“What are you saying?! It was at least this big…” one of them says.
he looks like you but the you before you moved to New York
you lean on the upside down heart iron fence and say for the 15th time that you still love me
I'm pushing you over the fence now onto the path below
the garden will still look lovely after you fall
instead I pick another building – pink with white windows and a black roof – and stare
it blinks its eyes and speaks: “Leave.”
you're in the middle of saying how much you loved the fish last night and I break:
“I'm gone.”
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC