"horta" poems
They set off from white rocks,
red geraniums, blue tile,
and let the green sea
lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves.
The stony islands that were home
were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic
but they hunted the big fish,
the giant whales with human eyes
who rolled and sang and swam
in oceans a continent away.
They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel
Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta -
Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain,
neither of the old country nor the new:
Halfway there and halfway gone -
secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors.
They sailed into unknown waters,
south around tropical shores
where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks
and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage
rose in clouds around their heads.
Then north, and north, north again
to colder waters
where sea lions barked and lunged
at the strange massive wooden beast
that coursed the waters,
strung with brown bodies swaying
on the lines and cursing the sails.
North still they swept
casting contemptuous eyes on
the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles
of the Sea of Cortez.
Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca,
the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers,
they chased their smooth grey prey,
riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island,
herding the leviathans onto their spears,
adventurers with an audience of only
gulls and sky and seal.
Until they sailed too close one day
to a rock-strewn shoreline
and saw the golden hills.
Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home
with orange poppy jewels at their feet,
missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary.
The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil
rich and brown and loamy
waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots
peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa,
fertile and heavy with sweet promise.
And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried
but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled.
The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home,
called and wept
and waited in vain for the sailors
- beached and grounded -
cutting not waves but earth,
tracking seasons not whales,
seduced by dirt.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
she wants head
male bonding
siamese twins
tango 69
me
i travel by images
corporal landscapes
the mouth is the tunnel
quick, now
the tongue the train
windows on the world
unmistaken
still
same refrain
we will meet
we will meet
somewhere again
end of the line
with
the power of torso
speed of the memento
lost and then
found
and
always
the blood engine
pounding
puffing
steaming its blush
on the cheek of night
2.3k
Quando for grande quero
Ter um jardim
Para cuidar como não cuido de mim;
Fazer cama de um vaso cheio de terra
Onde cobrirei a semente de amor
Com água fresca e luz do sol
Palavras e doces melodias
Até e depois de nascer.
Quando for maior ainda,
Se amar a flor tanto assim,
Quero fazer uma horta do jardim,
Para amar o que como
Da semente até ao prato e,
Se somos o que comemos,
Plantarei amor em mim.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 6:39 PM UTC
hoje plantei
duas mudas de rosa vermelha
também duas de boldo.
comprei sementes de margarida branca
e salsa do tipo que não é graúda.
esvaziei um vaso e arranquei fora a planta
quando olhei pra raiz
descobri que plantei batatas miúdas.
guardei elas
pra plantar novamente.
como é gostoso cultivar vidas que não falam.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
Bari waxaa jiri
Two garments both alike, indignantly
In the shoe closet
Where we lay our seen
Star-crossed lovers can't hold a candle
To Abti Sock and Mamo Sandal
A Bonnie and Clyde of sorts
Fugitives of the fashion police
Not a season anywhere
Can they live together in total peace
Not too hot
Not too cold
Can't get wet
And they're always old
I can not wear them in the Fadhi
I can not wear then on the Salli
I can not wear them eating beer
I can not wear them anywhere
Mamo, Where'd you find this shabby sham
Who lives beneath the sole of man
She answered on demand
“Waxaan daganahay, Habo macaan,
Cag walba oo noo banaan ”
Adna Abti, Where would you say
Did your luck finally come into play
Finger shaking, he proclaimed
“Horta, wax kama galin gabaryahay,
Dacaskaan bass baan ka helay”
250 a.d, the style arose
Egypt claimed to fit the mold
A two pronged slipper hooved their people
To pair in hot climate
They made it legal
Actually it was the first
That Abti came from Mamos birth
I guess you can say they always were
Two of a kind, they naturally occur
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC