"lisbon" poems
*Cycle chic fashion
Our slow bicycle movement
Poetry in bike lanes
Sartorialist's on two wheels
reclaiming **** cities*
.
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 9:09 AM UTC
Boston Sydney Oslo London Berlin Montreal Ibiza Stockholm Lisbon Dublin....where are you?..Chicago Madrid Turin Liverpool....I need you home!....Tokyo India Rio Helsinki Milan Botswana....please come home....Gibraltar Alice Springs Zurich Tel Aviv St Helier Jerusalem....I really miss you x
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 7:50 AM 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
You probably think this poem is about
Lisbon, Portugal, where women
dangle your imagination like
a necklace of sun-dried
currants. No,
Lisbon, Iowa, a town twenty-two
miles removed from the 21st
century, where I stopped
for coffee, flipped eggs
and a place to ****
on my way home
from god what a day;
a man ordered a plate
of Rice Krispie bars
and tea—shuffled
his wallet for ten minutes,
made me nervous
like he was on
Thorazine;
it was the last
time I visited
Lisbon.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side
In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway
In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna
In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated
In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes
In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.
In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale
In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies
In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered
In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
coffee tastes better in Spain
a simple hello is groundbreaking
comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture
the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)
they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger
sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home
if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€
crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal
never doubt the power of distance
now you can never say you didn’t try
just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean **** off” isn’t universal
sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be
“I’ll never see these people ever again”
have pride
ask me now what it is that I want
I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases
vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy
remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea
your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked
art galleries are best enjoyed alone
now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is
write it down if you want to forget it
acknowledge buried truths
eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think
go to movies at the tallest cinema
slip a little on the cobblestones
lay for hours on the beach
then
go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace
Glasgow – 1/8/15
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
The cheering had already begin
Nobody was in their seats
The race of the year, The race of the century?
It had been a long season for these two
Each with different odds to face
A rivalry made by the media
Cultivated by the perseverance of each rider
Clocks gone will jumps in front
Dubai tonight follows
But all eyes are on "Casino Lisbon"
And his brother "Silver Sea"
A mile and a half they stride
The race is loud and the crowd is wild
Instinct verses experience
Their strides are graceful
Their speed is immaculate
The younger of the two, "Silver Sea"
Knew he was out to win, his eyes said it
"Casino Lisbon" blood ran cold as he
Took the lead half way through the race
With ambition and determination they pushed
One horse goes out wide, but steady
Turns the corner and down the stretch
They battle for first! Holy **** !!
Neither can lose. But only one will win/
Who has worked harder than the other?
Who has pushed themselves during training?
Who will survive the ****** on the roof,
Waiting for his own fate?
They are neck and neck down the stretch
Casino Lisbon has a nose in front of Silver Sea
Pop. Pop.
Pop. Pop.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
Stones from Heaven ---pourles enfants de Haiti "Whatcrime what sin had those young hearts conceived That lie bleeding torn on a mother’sbreast... The human race demands a word from God."--Voltaire, " Poem on the Lisbon Earthquake" (1775) the flesh of the city blends its blood with the dust ofearth's gravethe devil quake broke the bones of their beds with itsterrorist bombthey could see the day light of death in the beaten air feel it in their prayerful souls as the some time glad daysun fell into forever's darkness and all the all reeked with theashes of fearwhere is the loving God of married hallelujahs? all the poor man's houses falling falling "amid thedeepening gloom"into a tomb for sons of promise and green daughterstheir pleasure and pain drowned in a ghost of tears lost like raindrops on the grey face of the bottomless oceanvanished like the passing shadows of stories in theimagination of cloudswhy oh darkened God of stones God of the Word God of Heaven? in the once bright light of a schoolyard's promise silencenow bleedswhere young eyes yesterday shouted from their books a beliefin tomorrows now the living dead carry their bodies with loving worms on the gallows of their bent backs wander the veins of thebeaten streets chanting horror's verbs black angels mourning the flesh of222,217 in mass graveswhere is the open hands of God the prodigal Father? they lie down forever in the weather of their sorrow withthe innocent deadweep for the seed of their breathless children in the bloodlit city of gospel sorrow no glad to be home families no wined friends with hope'sholiday songs no loving child's prayers or whispered shut eye no sweetgood nights no these good soldiers of Jesus' hosannas are the inspiredblind no moreto the womb of endless night no to the forsaken God of theirbrambled *****
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
The Aunt of Lisbon
Those nebulous
Short, squat spiders
Living on
Grief
And hatred of men
They cannot have
They live
In the darkest corners
Of Lisbon
Trying to catch
A man
Their slobbering lust
Give them away
Poisonous pens
Stabbing
Futile in air
Dark is the mind
Of the spider
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
Lisbon you look beautiful to me.
Miles high -
the first time I seen your city pretty.
Beneath my feet capture me when I land on you for the first time through turbulence and gin soaked T shirt.
Seeping through to my skin.
The deep sea spoke to the infrastructure,
we landed in harmony with a disruptive aftermath.
The stony paths lead back to those off beat tracks,
as we bask in the heat of the sun.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
Little. Broken. Promises.
I disregard the cigarettes remnants,
it contains another broken promise,
how come I can tell the truth to everyone,
except to my self I can’t seem to be so honest,
she messages me on Facebook,
with tears in her eyes,
she tells me she’s in love with a husband,
who already has a wife,
really though she loves me,
I’ve known that since we first met,
she sends my hearts and poetry,
and I know in her heart a place for me is kept,
her tears roll down her face,
and rest upon her breast,
I’m aroused being as I’m just a man,
so I tell her let’s have ***
virtually anyways,
because we’re communicating on the internet,
she’s in LA I’m in Lisbon,
so we are on Skype having inter-sex,
she plays the lead and I direct,
so I tell her rub on her ****
I then take off my shirt,
and tell her next to rub on her ****
she does and we do,
what so many today do too,
it’s a virtual world this is virtual reality,
so I guess it makes sense to have virtual *** too,
we both came but still it seemed,
she and I were far apart,
she might have well been on Venus,
and I of course on Mars,
where are those emotions of ours,
that we used to have back in the day,
why does it seem now that the only thing we show is scars,
as we lay restless in the bed that we’ve made,
we make,
promises to ourselves,
then we break them almost as soon as we make them,
just to try and remember how it felt,
remember when we could still feel,
when we’d make a promise and keep it,
remember when the world was ours,
and we believed if we tried we would make it,
now where are we,
chasing empty dreams,
and giving ourselves to anyone,
that will again make us believe,
I breathe,
in the smoke mixed with night,
as we make one more little promise,
to make all these wrong things right,
as I disregard the cigarettes remnants,
it contains another broken promise,
how come I can tell the truth to everyone,
except to my self I can’t seem to be so honest…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
From my window I observe the beauty of this city
That I was born in
From my window I watch the river being touch by the sun
Reflecting a light that illuminates the whole city
The light that travels through the streets and eliminates any kind of sadness
The colourful buildings mingle with nature...
So softly
So unique
Just as only Lisbon can
If you hear closely
You can hear the singers singing their hearts out
Singing away their pain
While the guitar accompanies the rhythm of their voices
Echoing
What beautiful melody
Lisbon blessed by Christ the Redeemer
Lisbon, my immortal city
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
when you suddenly realise your in love with your best friend.
the one that was there when you were in yr 8 and were going through your "I’m ‘creative’ with my fashion" phase
the one who was there when you liked all those guys and embarrassed yourself in front of them
the one who was there when you developed that eating disorder and hated everything about yourself
the one who was there when you became the very ***** you never thought you’d become
the one who was still there after all the **** you went through with your dad
the one who helped pick you up from the ground when life kicked the living **** out of you
the one who you never thought you’d ever find attractive.
the one who made you laugh until you cried
the one who creeped up on you without you really noticing
the one who swept you off your feet even when he didn’t want to
the one who you know you’ll find very hard to stop loving.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart”
Julio is Julia’s love
Julio and Julia both are Portuguese
Former for namesake, latter at heart
Julio’s America born
Writer he is but no ordinary
Languages French, Portuguese, German, Spanish
All flow through his soul
Virtuoso is the word they use to describe his artistry
And it was for one of his poems that he won Julia’s heart
Poem was 'Meu Coração'
Recited it was in Lisbon, Portugal
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon
On a sunny busy day; Julia vividly remembered
Today was the day they stole each others' hearts
That is what led to this decision
Of trying a poem for her beloved
But the catch was she was trying to write in English
Her English was even worse than their old Spanish janitor
But she was not one to shy off from challenges
So she tried one more time-
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart
Julio makes me smile
Julio makes me laugh
Julio makes me blush
Julio makes me warm
Julio is my love
Julio is my heart
Julio is my heart”
The poem to her seemed terribly plain but effective
And no matter how hard she tried
It felt as if the words were stapled in her brain
And then she jumped like a kangaroo
As the doorbell rang
Put on her slippers and hurried towards the door
Opened it and leaned forward to kiss him gently
She always knew when Julio was at the door
He was her Julio, her desire, her dream
Smiling at her, his eyes home to the bluest sea
They kissed again and this time more slowly
Letting the magic settle in the air more properly
Julia went to the kitchen and brewed some coffee
While Julio went to shower and as he removed his shirt
He saw a paper on the bed, bent he to hold it in his hand
And the lines on his face smoothened and turned into a nostalgic smile
Julia was busy making espresso Julio’s favorite
When Julio entered , the somehow, roulette shaped kitchen
With a paper in his hand on which stretched Julia’s curvy handwriting
“Oh! Wrote that poem for you I titled it ‘My Heart’
Not very flamboyant, simple like you
Hope you’d appreciate my hard work”
Said she, as if the words were sewn in her heart
Then all of a sudden both erupted into laughter
Laughter filled with a sweet secret each beheld
Lucky enough I was to have known their little secret
Years ago, similar words had crusaded Julia's heart
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon;
On a sunny busy day in Lisbon, Portugal.
~Manu M.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 12:46 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
India, China,
Venice and Rome.
Oh, the places I will go.
Lisbon, Paris,
Vancouver and Peru.
Oh, the places I will travel through.
Istanbul, Dublin,
Kenya and Cairo.
Oh, the places I will go.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
The musician
Nothing more
&
nothing less than
a travelling instrument,
with
the voice of a thousand ashtrays
&
the past of a thousand mistakes.
Living life out a suitcase,
and abused stained sheet music,
a sweet movement,
some say.
Some said he was to cute to change;
he would make it someday,
but for now,
just feeling those home town blues,
in a city so far away.
Take a walk in those shoes,
one size too small.
Let the soles talk in rhythms
played,
the beat of the drum conundrum.
Done
London,
LA,
New York
&
Lisbon;
Still searching
for something;
The band missed a beat,
and now he misses the the band.
He’s got the crowd in the palms of his hands,
but they’ll never understand;
the music
man.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:07 AM 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
I read a book today.
A 136-page furnace
That seared my learned flesh
Of history to its core,
Unveiling The Man within.
His name was Gomez.
A grand wizard
With roots in Lisbon,
Newport and Curaçao.
He bore the cross
With pride
For all to see
But held his star inside
To worship secretly.
Under a Latin shield
He wove a gilded web
Over land and sea
Buoyed by curse of ham
And ivory.
He loaned the ship.
He sold the slave.
He ran the bank.
He owned the game.
His name was Gomez.
~ P
#HisNameWasGomez
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
so you write a lot,
pouring entire waking existences,
current n' prior,
into a long and crafted 'pistles,
and pixels
and you got jive pride
and then, the poem,
you worked so hard for,
ups and dies
gets a few middling fingers of reads,
dying on a vining of
Juliet's pseudo poisoning elixir,
no big deal, happens all the time
but here's what's wielding & weirdly wilding:
***A poetpourri.
of newly found co-inhabitors,
from around the universe,
from places unpronounceable,
unlike Venus & Mars, (very poet-popular)
and from previously places were
never or seldom was heard a
discouraging word, igniting a
rewarded mutuality of a
following up embracing***
par example;
Tirunelveli
Poland
Lisbon
Cyprus
Bihar
Uruguay
Ankara
Vienna
Albania
Tanzania
India
Bangladesh
New Zealand/Australia
Soldotna (Alaska)
plus Texas, West Va., Ohio, and other exotica, like
Nowhere
what a blessing!
Blessed art Thou o Lord,
that permits the miracle that my integers
of 0 & 1
can be translated into such
varied exotica, in harmony,
thus permitting this discovery of
never visited oceans and landfalls
of poetry never heretofore to join as
one.
Aman.
<>
nml
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 6:31 AM UTC
Mary was a carrack around two hundred in size
Having a cargo space and five masts with lateen sails.
The men climbed to the top of the mast to front the skies.
Loaded the cargo and prepared it for heavy gales.
This ship had a main mast with a square sail for speed
And triangular sails for maneuverability.
Being eager to eat, to drink and to smoke their ****
To load brocade and silk, they got the ability.
They had to purchase these goods of China to Lisbon,
Where they could exchange it for some Portuguese silver.
The crates were quite heavy, and Frederick asked Brisbon
To hire men, 'cause ‘’at time, the goods they must deliver.’’
Brisbon hired sailors from Istanbul for the crew.
They carried the crates, one by one, into the cargo.
Sulim came and said that the gangway was damaged, too.
‘’What else? ’’‘’Three crates of goods and Abseil’ hands, ’’ said Fargo.
''We have to get to Gibraltar before September
In order to be able to pass through the mousetrap.
There is a strong current, which can be our ship's dismember.
It flows in the opposite direction. Here's the map! ''
Sam said, ''captain, how fast are the currents through this strait? ''
''The water at the surface flows between 2 - 4 knots.
The Autumn current can make us strain as through Hell's Gate.
Losing knots in speed, we can die; life is in my thoughts.''
'' The merchant wants to leave and doesn't know what to do, ''
Said Sam. Frederick and two men went into port to seek
Someone, who could repair the gangway and someone who
Could treat Abseil’ hands, because to sail he was too weak.
Geraldine was in the kitchen to prepare some food
For the ****** ''Where do you go? '' She asked Frederick.
''A man's job! You're too jealous. I don't mean to be rude.''
''At noon, they drink.'' She laughed. ''My time is always metric.''
Frederick descended quickly into the boat with
Sulim and Suaram. They went ashore and went up
In northeastern outskirts of the town, where the fifth
House was an unfinished jewel under the sky's cup.
After two hours, they brought a few craftsmen the gangway
To repair. Finally, all the goods were brought on deck.
When the men started to eat, 'twas the end of the day.
'' The water swallows the sun; it's time for the dreams' trek.''
Said Sam while eating bread. ''And darkness engulfs the day.''
On the deck, the lanterns' light made the place enchanting.
They ate in silence. The water sprayed wet pearls away.
Frederick said, ''Now, the timeless our sleep is granting.''
(to be continued....)
Poem by Marieta Maglas
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 6:16 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
Notre Dame in flames.
i'm crying for my mother.
my Notre Dame that was eaten by inferno.
In Paris went through terror.
Notre Dame is bearer from all europeans .
Oh my mother how is suffer .
I see how your tears fall but is late.
Oh my Notre Dame how i love you so much .
My mother please wait.
Please don't fall into despair.
Oh heart from europe save your mother.
In Lisbon i see dark and sadness from the Paris.
the tears from all the parish.
My mother be stronger wait from more million years.
I fell to the ground when I saw your beauty disappear.
your Crown is gone and you know it's true.
Sky in Paris was blue, has became a dark and red
Oh my mother your are the fenix, you aren't dead yet
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 5:53 AM UTC
the morning star i see glistening in
trapped condensation between loose panes,
glimpsed through a sliver of lace,
is no angel falling over
london city,
just an aeroplane, and the silence of
people kicking and screaming
their way home from dreamier locations,
lisbon, or somewhere
the sun is already awake. they too are
weighted with clouds, pillows pressed across their faces.
in space, all our eyelids are
feather light, we breathe comets,
my lunar skull suspended
between this world and the eternal
dawn. this is how i fall asleep.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC