"rodrigues" poems - Hello Poetry

Winter in Lisbon Up rua Garret I walked and it is steep in baixa, the old heart of this grand city, past shops that sell lottery ticket, besides a shop that sells religious artefacts, and a shop that sells Cartier watches. If you win there is money enough to decorate your mother's grave and to buy a posh watch. At the top of the street of the street a café Brasilia, it used to be Fernando Pessoa's drinking den, now it is upmarket, suit and short hair place who drinks tea and eat pastry; their forefathers used to look down their noses at Fernando, now they are proud of him. Irreverent poets can go somewhere else to drink. The master poet is a statue outside his café in the rain, and tourists take picture of him, one wonders what he thinks of it all. There is also a statue of Antonio Ribero Chiado, a poet who lived in the sixteen hundred, the largo is called after him, he was bald and dressed like a monk. I could see the river Tagus where tug-boats ply their in grey waters, and remembered when I used to be a ****** The church across the street “Incarnacao”, where Antonio used to pray is beautifully restored, but his God had left by the back door the front door was too heavy but saw a woman weeping in front of a statue of Christos, ***** for the masses? Why not? It is getting dark the Portuguese suits are swallowed by the metro, and men with cardboard boxes look for a doorway to sleep in. Over this scene hovers Amalia Rodrigues the great Fado singer, born in poverty, she hums a song for the wretched.

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Aug 2, 2017

Aug 2, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC

jan-oskar-hansen

winter in Lisbon

Winter in Lisbon Up rua Garret I walked and it is steep in baixa, the old heart of this grand city, past shops that sell lottery ticket, besides a shop that sells religious artefacts, and a shop that sells Cartier watches. If you win there is money enough to decorate your mother's grave and to buy a posh watch. At the top of the street of the street a café Brasilia, it used to be Fernando Pessoa's drinking den, now it is upmarket, suit and short hair place who drinks tea and eat pastry; their forefathers used to look down their noses at Fernando, now they are proud of him. Irreverent poets can go somewhere else to drink. The master poet is a statue outside his café in the rain, and tourists take picture of him, one wonders what he thinks of it all. There is also a statue of Antonio Ribero Chiado, a poet who lived in the sixteen hundred, the largo is called after him, he was bald and dressed like a monk. I could see the river Tagus where tug-boats ply their in grey waters, and remembered when I used to be a ****** The church across the street “Incarnacao”, where Antonio used to pray is beautifully restored, but his God had left by the back door the front door was too heavy but saw a woman weeping in front of a statue of Christos, ***** for the masses? Why not? It is getting dark the Portuguese suits are swallowed by the metro, and men with cardboard boxes look for a doorway to sleep in. Over this scene hovers Amalia Rodrigues the great Fado singer, born in poverty, she hums a song for the wretched.

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Feb 27, 2017

Feb 27, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC

brown soil erupts with till. more or less still, with seed. growing pains burst ground, cosseted by umbrella stem. seeds of dandelion spread, waving kisses as they spin. sunflower magnifies in sky… till seed stem **** sky tired birds sigh o’er them. garter snake slithers, amidst anxious pansies and elephant ears. gray clouds e x p l…………….o d……………………..e xxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx Kim Rodrigues (c) 2017

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Feb 27, 2017

Feb 27, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC

kim-rodrigues

ERUPTING CLOUDS

brown soil erupts with till. more or less still, with seed. growing pains burst ground, cosseted by umbrella stem. seeds of dandelion spread, waving kisses as they spin. sunflower magnifies in sky… till seed stem **** sky tired birds sigh o’er them. garter snake slithers, amidst anxious pansies and elephant ears. gray clouds e x p l…………….o d……………………..e xxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx Kim Rodrigues (c) 2017

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angels glimpse spryness of mirthful eyes and volcanic cheeks as puffy snowballs leap about chatoyant eyes glide side to side halcyon hands stroke chalkboard hue erasing frenetic world prowling paws stir snippets of serenity beautiful dreams shyness sheltered in nuzzled fur ~ sadness scurries ~ purr of laconic loneliness of an only child Kim Rodrigues © 2017

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Feb 17, 2017

Feb 17, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC

kim-rodrigues

THE AILUROPHILE CHILD

angels glimpse spryness of mirthful eyes and volcanic cheeks as puffy snowballs leap about chatoyant eyes glide side to side halcyon hands stroke chalkboard hue erasing frenetic world prowling paws stir snippets of serenity beautiful dreams shyness sheltered in nuzzled fur ~ sadness scurries ~ purr of laconic loneliness of an only child Kim Rodrigues © 2017

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dig deeper dagger whilst i hold the golden stake crowd shuffles nervously cautiously applauding sins whispered in the dark Kim Rodrigues ©Feb 2017 Oscar madness causes me to write!

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Feb 27, 2017

Feb 27, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC

kim-rodrigues

SINS AFTER MIDNIGHT

dig deeper dagger whilst i hold the golden stake crowd shuffles nervously cautiously applauding sins whispered in the dark Kim Rodrigues ©Feb 2017 Oscar madness causes me to write!

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Feb 17, 2017

Feb 17, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC