"rua" poems - Hello Poetry

"rua" poems

Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

0

Jun 25, 2012

Jun 25, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC

Red Colleen ( cailín rua dearg )

Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

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Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

0

Mar 7, 2013

Mar 7, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC

Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

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Soterrados locais de nascimento, Por entre as brumas do chorar ficaram Perdidos neste Tempo que não tem espaço Achados no centro do Lodo que encontraram. Espécie de dor ridicularizado ao Poente Loucura mórbida de um Amor quase doente Pisados por uma crença animal Enganados por uma vida que não é real. E aqueles que com uma corda fazem o seu caminho E na árvore penduram a sua alma devagarinho Morte lenta para quem a tem Muito Rápida para quem a vê. E não sabemos nos que também morremos aos poucos A cada dia perdemos um pedaço de carne do Ser Por cada noite gasta um turbilhão de vidas por nascer. E se somos a carne do pobre pensante Achemo-nos dignos de crer na inexistência do senhor Que pensa que nos tem mais que amor Que nos da e tira o fôlego só por crer. E na missa ajoelhados os pobres coitados Rezando cada um para a a sua amargura Filhos de um pai que não os segura Descendentes dos filhos da Terra, mortais. E aos *** elevam os braços por Ele E matam e esfolam os seus irmãos em seu nome E dizem que ele é Amor, e paz, e compaixão E por pecarem e errarem pedem perdão. E esta vida a que condenados somos Sem pedirmos o nascer nem o morrer Vamos todos em fila para a câmara ardente Não vendo nunca o nosso expoente. Procuramos o eterno sentir e o poder Não sabendo realmente o que é viver E a cada fôlego perdemos as forças E a esperança num futuro sossega-nos a morte. E para aqueles que iluminado esta o caminho A morte é mais rápida que o dia A luz mostra a direcção a tomar E o sentido da rua é ficar sem Ar. Definhar.

0

Jul 7, 2012

Jul 7, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC

sara-da-costa-oliveira

Soterrados locais de nascimento, Por entre as brumas do chorar ficaram Perdidos neste Tempo que não tem espaço Achados no centro do Lodo que encontraram. Espécie de dor ridicularizado ao Poente Loucura mórbida de um Amor quase doente Pisados por uma crença animal Enganados por uma vida que não é real. E aqueles que com uma corda fazem o seu caminho E na árvore penduram a sua alma devagarinho Morte lenta para quem a tem Muito Rápida para quem a vê. E não sabemos nos que também morremos aos poucos A cada dia perdemos um pedaço de carne do Ser Por cada noite gasta um turbilhão de vidas por nascer. E se somos a carne do pobre pensante Achemo-nos dignos de crer na inexistência do senhor Que pensa que nos tem mais que amor Que nos da e tira o fôlego só por crer. E na missa ajoelhados os pobres coitados Rezando cada um para a a sua amargura Filhos de um pai que não os segura Descendentes dos filhos da Terra, mortais. E aos *** elevam os braços por Ele E matam e esfolam os seus irmãos em seu nome E dizem que ele é Amor, e paz, e compaixão E por pecarem e errarem pedem perdão. E esta vida a que condenados somos Sem pedirmos o nascer nem o morrer Vamos todos em fila para a câmara ardente Não vendo nunca o nosso expoente. Procuramos o eterno sentir e o poder Não sabendo realmente o que é viver E a cada fôlego perdemos as forças E a esperança num futuro sossega-nos a morte. E para aqueles que iluminado esta o caminho A morte é mais rápida que o dia A luz mostra a direcção a tomar E o sentido da rua é ficar sem Ar. Definhar.

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Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

0

Jul 2, 2013

Jul 2, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC

Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

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( Song ) Europe in the dark age, was swept by an ignorant plague While Ireland was known for poets, scholars, and saints Invaders, would have Éire destroyed while only hurting themselves For it was the Celts, who taught poetry to ancient Greece They tried to burn her culture down But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden Love Songs of Connacht Beaten, almost forgotten she was Her sons sent off to the colonies And Ná Fíle; her poets, became beggars in the streets They tried to burn her culture down But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground Thank you Lady Gregory! Thank you A.E.! Thank you Will. B. Yeats! Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too! Thank you Mr. Synge! Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden Love Songs of Connacht They tried to burn her culture down But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground Thank you Lady Gregory! Thank you A.E.! Thank you Will. B. Yeats! Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too! Thank you Mr. Synge! Thank you Standish Ó Grady, and Pearse! Thank you Connolly, James! Thank you Merriman, Ferguson too! Thank you Rua Ó Súlleabháin! Thank you James Clarence Mangan! Thank you Tommy Davis! Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde! Of all the nations of the world Only Ireland's dream is a poet's dream Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden Love Songs of Connacht Great garden Love Songs of Connacht

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Jun 6, 2015

Jun 6, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC

Love Songs of Connacht

( Song ) Europe in the dark age, was swept by an ignorant plague While Ireland was known for poets, scholars, and saints Invaders, would have Éire destroyed while only hurting themselves For it was the Celts, who taught poetry to ancient Greece They tried to burn her culture down But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden Love Songs of Connacht Beaten, almost forgotten she was Her sons sent off to the colonies And Ná Fíle; her poets, became beggars in the streets They tried to burn her culture down But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground Thank you Lady Gregory! Thank you A.E.! Thank you Will. B. Yeats! Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too! Thank you Mr. Synge! Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden Love Songs of Connacht They tried to burn her culture down But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground Thank you Lady Gregory! Thank you A.E.! Thank you Will. B. Yeats! Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too! Thank you Mr. Synge! Thank you Standish Ó Grady, and Pearse! Thank you Connolly, James! Thank you Merriman, Ferguson too! Thank you Rua Ó Súlleabháin! Thank you James Clarence Mangan! Thank you Tommy Davis! Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde! Of all the nations of the world Only Ireland's dream is a poet's dream Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden Love Songs of Connacht Great garden Love Songs of Connacht

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Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

0

Oct 29, 2013

Oct 29, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC

Red Colleen ( cailín rua dearg )

Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

Continue reading...

Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

0

Mar 2, 2014

Mar 2, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC

Red Colleen (cailín rua dearg)

Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

Continue reading...

Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

0

Jul 13, 2012

Jul 13, 2012 at 10:13 PM UTC

Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

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Sabe, sei que fui contemplado com algo horrível, também sei que talvez tudo isso foi culpa minha, quando você é um idiota por muito tempo sempre acha alguém esperto demais para te amar, mas mesmo assim ela vai te amar, e tudo isso vai acabar de uma maneira podre e dolorosa, e eu irei acabar em um bar qualquer em uma rua qualquer dando risada sobre uma piada ou qualquer outra coisa estupida. E nesse momento enquanto dou um gole na cerveja e sinto sua fria espuma tocando meu lábio eu sou sugado para fora do presente, e lá em um campo verde vejo uma fileira imensa de lapides e distantes de todas as outras, no topo de uma montanha vejo uma arvore aparentemente morta, mas mesmo naquele estado tenebroso ainda me rende uma sensação de segurança, e ao chegar lá que percebo: a brisa ainda está fresca, as palmeiras ainda verdes e eu ainda estou aqui. Eu ainda estou aqui.

0

Dec 2, 2015

Dec 2, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC

Eu ainda estou aqui

Sabe, sei que fui contemplado com algo horrível, também sei que talvez tudo isso foi culpa minha, quando você é um idiota por muito tempo sempre acha alguém esperto demais para te amar, mas mesmo assim ela vai te amar, e tudo isso vai acabar de uma maneira podre e dolorosa, e eu irei acabar em um bar qualquer em uma rua qualquer dando risada sobre uma piada ou qualquer outra coisa estupida. E nesse momento enquanto dou um gole na cerveja e sinto sua fria espuma tocando meu lábio eu sou sugado para fora do presente, e lá em um campo verde vejo uma fileira imensa de lapides e distantes de todas as outras, no topo de uma montanha vejo uma arvore aparentemente morta, mas mesmo naquele estado tenebroso ainda me rende uma sensação de segurança, e ao chegar lá que percebo: a brisa ainda está fresca, as palmeiras ainda verdes e eu ainda estou aqui. Eu ainda estou aqui.

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Beneath the Amber sun, above the reflection of the waters, his armies did assemble, ready to smash, bash, and gnash, the hope of the Fea'inor dwindled. Numbered so few, that any host of evil could easily leave them ruined, Rua'grain, absorbed the fears, and disolved the confidence, until, Mædhras, delivered words inspiring to all. 'Be brave my fellow warriors, that this day Evil may take not one step more, and We the free, may tell the tales of this day. Fight not for the chance that you may live, but that your children, your wives, you families may have just one beloved day more! Waste not that which is sacred, be not careless with your lives, but fight for that one extra day. It is worth it.' Resounding horns, echoing on the waters, the flash of steel, magnified by the reflection, the hearts of Men, united with Old Allies, once more bore a flame, akin to none beheld before. The force of Good with swiftness moved, the host of Rua'grain, creatures from every shadow, crevasse, and lair, assembled to have at the free and fair. 10,000 creatures, all with sullied eyes stampeded in a wild craze. With courage, the Fea'inor defended, pushing back against the rage, fighting to the last, and making this en-darkened host pay. Mædhras, stands, resolute upon the eastern shore, his foes strewn all about him, smote upon the bloodied shore. His courage unyielding, strength unending, the host of evil festering around him. To his call his men did rally, showing all valor and courage, defending, and assaulting, inflicting devastation upon they who sought to destroy fea'inor' homes. In one final push, one last show of strength, Mædhras lead his men along the endless shore, and forced his sword, gleaming and rubied, into Rua'grains soulless chest, The Host of Evil, corruption and all villainy departed, fleeing for the hills, and making a victorious sound, Fea'inor went in humbled pursuit. Yet, along the endless shore, after all Good and Evil had left these two figureheads engaged in the greatest combat, Locked for all eternity, to create the birth of Day, and death of Night.

0

Sep 19, 2012

Sep 19, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC

anderson-ritchie

The Battle Of The Endless Lakes.

Beneath the Amber sun, above the reflection of the waters, his armies did assemble, ready to smash, bash, and gnash, the hope of the Fea'inor dwindled. Numbered so few, that any host of evil could easily leave them ruined, Rua'grain, absorbed the fears, and disolved the confidence, until, Mædhras, delivered words inspiring to all. 'Be brave my fellow warriors, that this day Evil may take not one step more, and We the free, may tell the tales of this day. Fight not for the chance that you may live, but that your children, your wives, you families may have just one beloved day more! Waste not that which is sacred, be not careless with your lives, but fight for that one extra day. It is worth it.' Resounding horns, echoing on the waters, the flash of steel, magnified by the reflection, the hearts of Men, united with Old Allies, once more bore a flame, akin to none beheld before. The force of Good with swiftness moved, the host of Rua'grain, creatures from every shadow, crevasse, and lair, assembled to have at the free and fair. 10,000 creatures, all with sullied eyes stampeded in a wild craze. With courage, the Fea'inor defended, pushing back against the rage, fighting to the last, and making this en-darkened host pay. Mædhras, stands, resolute upon the eastern shore, his foes strewn all about him, smote upon the bloodied shore. His courage unyielding, strength unending, the host of evil festering around him. To his call his men did rally, showing all valor and courage, defending, and assaulting, inflicting devastation upon they who sought to destroy fea'inor' homes. In one final push, one last show of strength, Mædhras lead his men along the endless shore, and forced his sword, gleaming and rubied, into Rua'grains soulless chest, The Host of Evil, corruption and all villainy departed, fleeing for the hills, and making a victorious sound, Fea'inor went in humbled pursuit. Yet, along the endless shore, after all Good and Evil had left these two figureheads engaged in the greatest combat, Locked for all eternity, to create the birth of Day, and death of Night.

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Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

0

Jan 6, 2015

Jan 6, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC

Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

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Patas macias acariciam a grama há muito não cortada Enroscam-se em espinhos Tropeçam em ninhos Tão perto da estrada. Seus narizes são ímãs Indisciplinados e impulsivos Um alarme rosado de caos abrasivo. Alaranjada, repousa na faxada da rua Seca, bronzeada Nua Sua. Três patas e uma planta Nada ela sente, silenciada por dentes Mastigada, digerida, excrementada Por fim Em adubo virada.

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Nov 7, 2016

Nov 7, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC

Três coelhos e um pedaço de cenoura

Patas macias acariciam a grama há muito não cortada Enroscam-se em espinhos Tropeçam em ninhos Tão perto da estrada. Seus narizes são ímãs Indisciplinados e impulsivos Um alarme rosado de caos abrasivo. Alaranjada, repousa na faxada da rua Seca, bronzeada Nua Sua. Três patas e uma planta Nada ela sente, silenciada por dentes Mastigada, digerida, excrementada Por fim Em adubo virada.

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Raiva. **** Dança. Um bipe, susto, esquecimento, raiva, dois bipes, três, soneca. Cinco minutos. - - - - ------------ - - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – – ----------- - – - – - - - - - - – --___ - __ - __ - _ Bipe. Resmungo. Piscar. Interruptor, luz, ardência, explosão. Porta, cozinha. Frigideira, ovos, omelete, engasgue, tosse, água. Maçã. Quarto, vestimentas, capacete. Mochila: 15kg. Rua, bicicleta. Firmeza, foco, parábola, impulso. Curvas, carro, fechada. Porra! Esquece. Vocalise. Caminho: metade → Calor, suor. Vestimentas, despir, mochila, guardar, impulso. Partir. Subida: força, constância, relaxamento, foco. Acidente. Morte? Não. ***** olhos, claridade. Gelo. Suspiro. Rua, asfalto. Inferno? Subterrâneo, ainda... Chegada, contra-mão. Bom-dia. Raiva.

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Sep 24, 2014

Sep 24, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC

O Ciclo do Oitenta

Raiva. **** Dança. Um bipe, susto, esquecimento, raiva, dois bipes, três, soneca. Cinco minutos. - - - - ------------ - - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – – ----------- - – - – - - - - - - – --___ - __ - __ - _ Bipe. Resmungo. Piscar. Interruptor, luz, ardência, explosão. Porta, cozinha. Frigideira, ovos, omelete, engasgue, tosse, água. Maçã. Quarto, vestimentas, capacete. Mochila: 15kg. Rua, bicicleta. Firmeza, foco, parábola, impulso. Curvas, carro, fechada. Porra! Esquece. Vocalise. Caminho: metade → Calor, suor. Vestimentas, despir, mochila, guardar, impulso. Partir. Subida: força, constância, relaxamento, foco. Acidente. Morte? Não. ***** olhos, claridade. Gelo. Suspiro. Rua, asfalto. Inferno? Subterrâneo, ainda... Chegada, contra-mão. Bom-dia. Raiva.

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( cailín rua dearg ) Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even fair Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

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Jun 7, 2015

Jun 7, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC

( cailín rua dearg ) Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even fair Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

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Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

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May 28, 2014

May 28, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC

Rua Dearg, Rua, roselet, Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean Torthaí agus adharc de neart, Earthen meirge de pebbled cré Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach Faoi vastness Sahára Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile, Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath, Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint, Eclipsed ag do heavenly Foirm, do lasair Vulcan An tsolais.

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Behold! Enthroned in a tower, enshrouded in the might of power, the soul of malice, the bitter existence, Foul breath giving life to evil, and provoking a grim struggle. Men cannot resist it, never are they content with it, but once they obtain this, they are hopeless to survive the emptiness. Rua'grain, the usurper, the master of villainy, the taker of lives, and destroyer of all good things. The lord of Mists, the keeper of shadows, the presenter of flames, and spreader of ash, how he has the world in his hands. We are without hope, no refuge, no noble heroes, no valiant quests, we are without hope.

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Sep 18, 2012

Sep 18, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC

anderson-ritchie

Rua'grain, the Usurper.

Behold! Enthroned in a tower, enshrouded in the might of power, the soul of malice, the bitter existence, Foul breath giving life to evil, and provoking a grim struggle. Men cannot resist it, never are they content with it, but once they obtain this, they are hopeless to survive the emptiness. Rua'grain, the usurper, the master of villainy, the taker of lives, and destroyer of all good things. The lord of Mists, the keeper of shadows, the presenter of flames, and spreader of ash, how he has the world in his hands. We are without hope, no refuge, no noble heroes, no valiant quests, we are without hope.

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. Red, Rua, roselet, Hair of vine and scarlet Grapes, drown me in your drink Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion Fruit and horn of plenty, Earthen rust of pebbled clay Draw me in as the water seeping Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden Under the vastness of Sahara Sands. I am a cloud of dream Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam, Your ears are for nesting doves And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring With ocean, for its colour, The wandering sun is a stranger As it falls, ending each day, faded As the gaseous giant of faint Antares, Eclipsed by your heavenly Form, your Vulcan flame Of light.

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Dec 8, 2012

Dec 8, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC

. Red, Rua, roselet, Hair of vine and scarlet Grapes, drown me in your drink Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion Fruit and horn of plenty, Earthen rust of pebbled clay Draw me in as the water seeping Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden Under the vastness of Sahara Sands. I am a cloud of dream Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam, Your ears are for nesting doves And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring With ocean, for its colour, The wandering sun is a stranger As it falls, ending each day, faded As the gaseous giant of faint Antares, Eclipsed by your heavenly Form, your Vulcan flame Of light.

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Quero usar seu moletom Quero acordar do seu lado Quero tomar o café com você Quero te beijar até não sentir minha boca Quero te ver no meio da noite Quero dançar na rua escura com você Quero rir até minha barriga doer Quero chorar de paixão Quero seu abraço quando eu ficar triste Quero ouvir músicas pensando em você Quero morrer de saudades de você Quero sofrer e ser feliz Quero te querer Seja lá quem for você

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Jun 25, 2013

Jun 25, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC

Quero usar seu moletom Quero acordar do seu lado Quero tomar o café com você Quero te beijar até não sentir minha boca Quero te ver no meio da noite Quero dançar na rua escura com você Quero rir até minha barriga doer Quero chorar de paixão Quero seu abraço quando eu ficar triste Quero ouvir músicas pensando em você Quero morrer de saudades de você Quero sofrer e ser feliz Quero te querer Seja lá quem for você

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( cailín rua dearg ) Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

0

May 28, 2016

May 28, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC

( cailín rua dearg ) Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

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Red, Rua, roselet, Hair of vine and scarlet Grapes, drown me in your drink Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion Fruit and horn of plenty, Earthen rust of pebbled clay Draw me in as the water seeping Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden Under the vastness of Sahara Sands. I am a cloud of dream Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam, Your ears are for nesting doves And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring With ocean, for its colour, The wandering sun is a stranger As it falls, ending each day, faded As the gaseous giant of faint Antares, Eclipsed by your heavenly Form, your Vulcan flame Of light.

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Aug 22, 2012

Aug 22, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC

Red, Rua, roselet, Hair of vine and scarlet Grapes, drown me in your drink Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion Fruit and horn of plenty, Earthen rust of pebbled clay Draw me in as the water seeping Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden Under the vastness of Sahara Sands. I am a cloud of dream Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam, Your ears are for nesting doves And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring With ocean, for its colour, The wandering sun is a stranger As it falls, ending each day, faded As the gaseous giant of faint Antares, Eclipsed by your heavenly Form, your Vulcan flame Of light.

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Hoje acordei e encontrei na rua frutos da vida, Penduradas numa mente distante, doces vivencias, Sim alguém falava comigo com mente sofrida, Como eu, como tu, todos temos diferencias. Simplesmente é complicado simplificar o fácil, Essa é a minha dor, era a sua dor, é a dor do mundo Não é fácil entender Deus no sentimento profundo, Quer que amamos a família sendo comunidade volátil. Aí a mente divaga, fumega e se acomoda na facilidade, Facilidade, que na real não é fácil e complica o nosso dia, Enfim que adianta dizer a alguém que por ele se morria, Se tendo ele sede, lha saciar se torna grande dificuldade! Então eu penso que porquê prometer se não quero fazer, Porquê não fazer, se ajudar me daria tanto orgulho e prazer, Serão acomodação a algo que não sabemos explicar ou dizer, Será o corpo que segura e rompe com a mente para te ver morrer! Autor: António Benigno Código de Autor: 201608051243.08.01

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Aug 5, 2016

Aug 5, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC

antonio-s-p-benigno

Eu não sou de cá nem vivo aqui

Hoje acordei e encontrei na rua frutos da vida, Penduradas numa mente distante, doces vivencias, Sim alguém falava comigo com mente sofrida, Como eu, como tu, todos temos diferencias. Simplesmente é complicado simplificar o fácil, Essa é a minha dor, era a sua dor, é a dor do mundo Não é fácil entender Deus no sentimento profundo, Quer que amamos a família sendo comunidade volátil. Aí a mente divaga, fumega e se acomoda na facilidade, Facilidade, que na real não é fácil e complica o nosso dia, Enfim que adianta dizer a alguém que por ele se morria, Se tendo ele sede, lha saciar se torna grande dificuldade! Então eu penso que porquê prometer se não quero fazer, Porquê não fazer, se ajudar me daria tanto orgulho e prazer, Serão acomodação a algo que não sabemos explicar ou dizer, Será o corpo que segura e rompe com a mente para te ver morrer! Autor: António Benigno Código de Autor: 201608051243.08.01

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Vou vagueando de rua em rua Observando rostos desconhecidos E vazios Tenho a certeza que nunca andei por estas vielas Mas algo nelas é tão familiar, Tão meu Sento-me num banco escondido Pouco iluminado E penso em ti Tu que me persegues para onde quer que vá. Fujo, corro para longe e por mais longe que esteja Perguntam-me: Em que estás a pensar? E eu como sempre respondo: Em nada. Porque tu és para mim O Nada do Mundo

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Nov 17, 2014

Nov 17, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC

O Nada do Mundo

Vou vagueando de rua em rua Observando rostos desconhecidos E vazios Tenho a certeza que nunca andei por estas vielas Mas algo nelas é tão familiar, Tão meu Sento-me num banco escondido Pouco iluminado E penso em ti Tu que me persegues para onde quer que vá. Fujo, corro para longe e por mais longe que esteja Perguntam-me: Em que estás a pensar? E eu como sempre respondo: Em nada. Porque tu és para mim O Nada do Mundo

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Nova Andradina, meu moinho Sua gente me recebeu com carinho Lembro-me de cada rua e praça Ali construí uma vida cheia de graça Domingos entre amigos e festas Passeios pelos seus rios e florestas Sábados aminados em seus bares Papeando com os tipos populares No caminho do trabalho aventuras garantidas Na “Escola Agrícola” se vai parte da minha vida Ali fiz amigos e tenho estudantes incríveis E aprendi com as mais situações horríveis Política, cultura, dia-dia e aventuras Aproximaram-me da vida dura Que esse povo forte e lutador Ostenta com graça e esplendor Aqui somente abri portas e janelas Aprendi o preço da liberdade Descobri a força da vida e da solidariedade Para sobreviver às contradições e querelas

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Jan 13, 2015

Jan 13, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC

Nova Andradina, meu moinho

Nova Andradina, meu moinho Sua gente me recebeu com carinho Lembro-me de cada rua e praça Ali construí uma vida cheia de graça Domingos entre amigos e festas Passeios pelos seus rios e florestas Sábados aminados em seus bares Papeando com os tipos populares No caminho do trabalho aventuras garantidas Na “Escola Agrícola” se vai parte da minha vida Ali fiz amigos e tenho estudantes incríveis E aprendi com as mais situações horríveis Política, cultura, dia-dia e aventuras Aproximaram-me da vida dura Que esse povo forte e lutador Ostenta com graça e esplendor Aqui somente abri portas e janelas Aprendi o preço da liberdade Descobri a força da vida e da solidariedade Para sobreviver às contradições e querelas

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Tenho medo o tempo todo Medo de salas de aula Escritórios De atravessar a rua Bancos De esperar o ônibus Da rua escura, do beco De ser passageira num carro que vai bater Ou ver quem amo morrer Tenho medo porque amo tudo descontroladamente Amo até o ódio que cria em mim rebeldia Que me faz desafiar os dias Tenho medo do tempo De te esperar na fila do cinema e você finalmente decidir que não é a mim que quer para ti Apavoro só com o pensamento de voltar para casa com outra frustração Eu não aguentaria, tenho medo de não aguentar Tenho medo do abandono Dos olhares Até de altares Que me lembram o medo de infância de que talvez houvesse um demônio em mim Um medo neurótico, paralisante Que nem por um instante Me deixa refletir quem sou

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Apr 14, 2017

Apr 14, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC

danielle-furtado

Tenho medo o tempo todo Medo de salas de aula Escritórios De atravessar a rua Bancos De esperar o ônibus Da rua escura, do beco De ser passageira num carro que vai bater Ou ver quem amo morrer Tenho medo porque amo tudo descontroladamente Amo até o ódio que cria em mim rebeldia Que me faz desafiar os dias Tenho medo do tempo De te esperar na fila do cinema e você finalmente decidir que não é a mim que quer para ti Apavoro só com o pensamento de voltar para casa com outra frustração Eu não aguentaria, tenho medo de não aguentar Tenho medo do abandono Dos olhares Até de altares Que me lembram o medo de infância de que talvez houvesse um demônio em mim Um medo neurótico, paralisante Que nem por um instante Me deixa refletir quem sou

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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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