"tempos" poems
*He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.
He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.
He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.
He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.
He's no poet.
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.*
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
a silent metronome,
we know exactly when,
when sleep pleads us enter,
and when it bids us adieu,
when we growls for sustenance,
or begs for plenty of the mercy
of emptiness to cleanse our void,
when to compose,
when to repose,
when to dispose,
and when tempos dictate
lay down child,
fallow!
*but its greater feat,
when sounds the bells of alarm,
when need is greatest,
for arms embraces,
wet lips to refresh,
bodies to synapse,
eyes require delight,
when needs be greatest,
for that very first infant step
to what can only be ever felt,
but is otherwise undefinable,*
for another
+to make us complete,
a unity, an,
us+
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 7:21 AM UTC
My song, a melody composed,
on heartstrings of each passing day.
This ballad’s mine, and mine alone,
a verse of life, to sing my way.
T’was never plain and seldom free,
as tempos often changed and rush,
but always, I’ve been greatly blessed
with life’s vast treasures mostly hushed.
The strains that I have sung through life,
at last have finally found their ground:
A tenor voice, in senior years,
the songs I sing, with value found.
I lift my voice, the world to hear,
for ne’er will it be heard again,
as long as there is life on earth,
and time has reached its final end.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
slowly carefully
as i might an ancient diary
still full of young dreams
and even perhaps
the salt of young love
it hurts
to carry adolescent obstacles
given my age
and all those hateful skeptics
it hurts how they gleefully profane
yet settled dust is yet dust
i sit willing to love
amid my dust
i sit in ever deeper vasts of love
in existential sacrum wag
kindled crown and fullness breath of all the scents of varied forms of love
lighthouse toes inspire seas ancestors swam
lyric feet to message myth of travels won
my calves and shins knees and thighs
crawling climbing walking running jumping kicking at the start
physiologies of courage ****** ahead
as future unmade moulds invite
caress the bodied length intent provides
singing fingers scale my world in chords of gliding love
tips of arcing sensate dawns
diverse as nightsky suns
my palms divine an ever giving gift
no futures could unveil--
the toucher's touching touched
aligning novel insights wordless as the womb of time:
perhaps a symbol flare could squint
and grant a vision of horizon's end--
another pleasure game
a bonsai love to soften age
another twisting meditation's emptiness in form
as motion stillness spaces words
to perfect pitches tempos sound
though all of which will never meet
and never meeting meet
as one
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Music
holding its many tempos
fast
slow
just like a heartbeat
fast
slow
beating through your chest
as I lay my head down
I listen to the heartbeat within your chest
at first; fast
as you drift off to sleep; slow
in these moments I realize
no matter the tempo
I could happily listen to the music that is your heartbeat
forver
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Saudade de meus avós
Procuro uma justificação plausível,
Para tanto amor que recebi.
Indago nas profundezas do universo,
Escuto conselhos sábios nunca dum homem só,
Amor eterno a meus avós.
Caminhadas por entre giestas sedutoras,
Rebanhos que alguém guardou.
Hinos ritmados que alguém sabe cantar,
Chilrear dos que sabem amar…
Rochas que se expõem ao vento,
Fustigam meu pensamento.
Chuva que regas vinhas, olivais e belos jardins,
Quimeras e o meu jasmim.
Tempos dum amor natural e medonho,
Folhas secas de Outono,
Inércia dum amor infinito que sempre vou ter,
Saudade de meus avós e do seu viver…
Victor Marques
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
Drawn on strings of moonlight visions are whispered in love notes and poetry
Future brushstrokes on the echoes of eternity
Enigmas in candid but if you look closely
Sun petals
Soft tempos
Giving solace and solstice to the sun-kissed and weary
Delicate and hardly above skylines and kiss me’s
Daydreams and the uncanny act of tripping on galaxies never lasts through the laughter and the sadness in the symmetry
Despite the next level of genesis in trinity
Stands the heretic consumed with the brevity of setting free
Amassed and exhumed the expanses of longevity
Sporadically bloomed now the tragic is ahead of dreams and shivers in the night
Unparalleled and strung by kites and carousels and river streams
Never made of sense in seems the abstract is the kin that breathes in metaphors and similes
Terraforms and then it leaves entranced within lost reverie
Such is love and loss and finding peace
And across the stars I’m still finding me
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
I remember the beginning
And how you took my heart
The way your arms would hold me
Your lips so warm and soft
The way you bit my neck
To grab my full attention
And off to wilder tempos
Till love relieved our tension
We’d relax a moment
In lovers' afterglow
And soon you’d be right back
And off again we’d go
You woke my sleeping senses
And warmed me to the bone
Our loving was fantastic
With thunder in our *****
Just like two thoroughbreds
We pushed our outer limits
Holding back just barely
To delay the final finish
Milking all the sweetness
As hungry lovers might
To reach another pinnacle
Before the morning light
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 7:16 AM UTC
Collages diffuse vanilla vistas
such effulgence waltzing to violet tempos
though the forestalling of waterfalls
evolves into a gargantuan war
weapons whistle from the mountains
beatitudes of mirth shan’t ever be eradicated
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 4:12 PM UTC
O dia que chegou tão depressa ao seu final,
Trouxe-me a certeza de uma noite fria e pálida,
Onde chego à cama, e espero ver-te ali deitada,
Pelos tempos fora, sinto a certeza desse sinal!
Foram três longos anos de vazio, tais como os teus sinais,
As estrelas que carregas nos ombros, são juntas na tua lua,
São profundos sonhos de um golfinho que a ti, se junta, lua tua,
Imensas vezes, a olhei, para te ver a ti brilhar em vendavais!
Hoje percebo porque sentia e via o meu quarto sempre vazio,
Quando chegaste em dia de temporal, na noite sadia e vadia,
Estava eu junto daquele precipício, esperando sair desse presidio,
De cores sem tom, de cheiros sem fragância, naquela estadia!
E assim nas voltas que dei, das estrelas que vi, tu chegas-te,
Mesmo na hora que tudo parecia perdido, desenhada perfeitamente,
E de todas as preces e palavras que preguei a Deus e ele me advir-te,
Trazendo-te a ti, contornada de perfeitas coisas, cantando acusticamente!
E assim percebi que a força que têm a cobardia de destruição,
De um coração como o meu, perfeitamente bom e agora teu,
Me dá ganas de pegar em ti, ao meu colo teu, deitar-te no céu,
Decorar as estrelas, contigo no centro, meu quarto cresceu, paixão!
Autor: António Benigno
Escusado será dizer-te a ti, que te vejo, sabia que virias, não te imaginava chegando, mas surpreendentemente, tudo que lhe havia pedido, ele me trouxe triplicando, abusando mesmo de galhardia, e eu agora me contemplando, porque tudo que me trazia, era muito mais do que lhe pedia. Liliana, lhe peço agora mesmo, que meu coração mereça sempre, tudo aquilo que Deus me prometia.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
RAWEST-
most distorted synchronized bass lines measured in rhythmic tempos of head nodding neck shape shifting melodies that bounce in and out- resonate through you so much as a deep tissue massage; if loud enough.
a zen state if you will.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
-
Harmonic dreams
in slow dance tempos,
melodically sing to you
the music of my heart
Performed whispers
in the key of love
echo from a twilight sky
of stardust concertos
On gossamer strings
upon a moonbeam guitar
tuned to the symphony
of your serenade smile
As mesmerizing lyrics
of forever poetic promises
resonate from our heavens
creating the perfect duet
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
She fluttered like the heart ascending o’er that ‘a way,
her swirling flower petals trailing scents throughout the day.
Heaven’s hounds are following, the wolves who chase the moon,
who chased after the birds and eagles, -who clamored to the sun.
The meeting followed once the bull, and the man,
tree and mountain, rivers and ship; found they met as one.
And finally the snake appeared to join in Tlaloc’s face,
All the actions, movements and motions that occur in outer-space.
Each apportioned in a name and symbol, time and order, or function each unto its place...
When the heart did see them afterwards and it fluttered like the early birds, inhaling in the wondrous, feeling something marvelous, and trailing through the skies upon and over time…
…and song or poem, bardic tale, kenning and the rhyme,
And set in stone or scribed on scroll, clay-carved or remembered in the mind. Lost of rhyme or reason and forgotten of their meaning until thought of as sublime. A tragedy or travesty, our lost past and history and that Dragon from the mine; and who he was or who he is and what we’ve lost or what we did.
A sleeper nay, a beast they say, who directs the evil Id...
And the birds shall fly and flowers grow, the ship arrived and animals stowed. The rivers, tree, mountain, bee, the bull and last, the man.
An ordering too and of all things said to be a plan,
…and that Dragon in his awful cave,
when Homer died became the grave,
...for over time did man forget them and thus became a slave.
chorus
…qe te awis petō, beehelōtis krēskō, plowós ghēmi qe kaiwotos karpō,
Te danus, deru, uros, bheiqlā, te ukson qe póstmos te haner,
…qe tagjōvi do-qe-pe olja weqtise seke do esmi e-men,
…qe jod Dherghen en-hen ghouros-te-speqos,
jom e-Homer walóm weiṛtō en-dō bhodsās;
…uperi tempos, ye man ne-mē, qe-en-dō e-dōsos.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
Hoje sinto que aquela bola de sabão existe!
É uma bola de verdade, leve e livre, pelo vento,
Sente-se os sons das palavras, que expeliste,
Sentiu-se aqui o timbre, presente do alento!
O longo curso, no horizonte dessa montanha,
Que um dia essa bola quis seguir, sente-se aqui!
Brilham olhares atentos à noite, agora estranha,
O olhar de bolas voando vê-se agora até daqui!
Desperta solto e livre o sol de medo dos ventos,
Dispersa cores cinza, que o habitaram por tempos,
Ouvem-se desejos de liberdade, nestes momentos,
Quem sabe agora, o tom dos seus passatempos?
Não vejo os Invernos, nem se sente o tom do inferno,
Plana sobre a linda natureza um cheiro aflito e difuso,
Que sonho teve o vento, que te levou e trouxe, recluso!
Voa-as pelos *** e nem sabes mais a forma do parafuso!
Os círculos controversos do prender da abertura das portas,
Sustentam como metal idêntico as formas do pensamento,
Não importa ser bola de sabão e voar ao saber do vento,
Foi disposição para soltar amarras e viver o que hoje adoras!
O homem fez-se fora e a mulher vê-se agora, ambos cintilantes,
Todos os medos e costumes, já doentios, na hora do descanso,
Quando à noite no silêncio, os medos dos sons são abundantes,
Fogem sorridentes porque mesmo carentes têm seu descanso!
Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2013.09.18.02.23
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
I pressed my head against your chest
To listen to the compression
Papillary muscles
Beating at irregular tempos
Papillary muscles
Beating at irregular tempos
I pressed my head against your chest
Your heart beat out a confession
Keeping up with you is
Both exciting and exhausting
Keeping up with you is
Both exciting and exhausting
Hey!
But I don’t want to
Slow things down
As if you could
Arrhythmia
When things just don’t line up
Now the blood’s begun to rush
But you’re unavailable
What’s coming next for us
Can’t being friends Being friends can’t
Be enough
Well it has to be
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 6:04 PM UTC
We only have what we remember. Do you remember? Remember yesterday and the promises that we made to each other in the early morning hours before the sun had risen its fiery head? Do you remember? Remember the lies that were only lies in retrospect? The truths that we swore were truth until the rays of that star cast our doubts and fears asunder and we realized that we were wrong for believing in stone and embers?
We only have what we remember. We only have the feeling of our hearts beating in unison to the rhythms of our own lives, yet for one fantastic moment, their tempos were the same. In that moment, the pathways of our futures lined up perfectly, becoming an auditory road map to infinity, or merely to the tempo change.
We only have what we remember, and how often is what we remember a stacked deck in our own favor? The lies that we tell ourselves to quell the fervor of our breaking hearts its rotten tender.
We only have what we remember.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
A song is a poem
With rhythms and rhymes
It would be a blasphemy
Not to say it and explain it.
A song is a prose
Put on pause
Intermittently
With various beats and tempos.
A song makes you dance
A poem makes you dream
And a prose helps us examine.
A poem is a classical prose
With harmonic words
And well-calculated rhymes and verses
A poem is really fantastic.
A song makes you live
A poem makes you revive
And a prose helps us survive.
Copyright © December 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 11:24 PM UTC
A belly of butterflies
Danced to the sound
Of harmonica trees
And the violin leaves
Synesthesia bound
To the whispering winds
Of the sweet nothing skies
Playing fungi Fall fiddles
To tempos of riddles
Sensational melodies made in her eyes
Resonant love
In a breath of fresh air
These orchestra waves
In my deepest sea caves
Drifted away to the shores of nowhere
Then bottled-up notes
In time-signature sands
Wrote ballads of blisses
From strawberry kisses
Plucked from the tunes of our heartstring commands
And each nymph and faun
Composed of the Earth
Out of many songs one
And our voice was the sun
Crescendoing to a symphonic rebirth
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
O desenho inscrito sobe a forma de sinais,
Que percorrem o mapa secreto desse corpo,
Onde no olhar se vêm certezas divinais,
Mais secreto é saber que alimentas o meu horto!
O dilema repleto de infindáveis caminhos,
Onde a escuridão que existira se esfumou,
Nossos dizeres tornam-se atos e miminhos,
Essas dúvidas são claras e o tempo levou!
Como tu eu sinto que o melhor é mesmo acreditar,
Soltar-me no vento e explorar o sentimento quente,
Que chegou recheado de sonhos e contornos de cativar,
É porém o desenho do teu rosto que guardo tão presente!
Presente tão bom, presente que Deus me enviou no caminho,
Posso mesmo confiar que tenho vontade de ir pela avenida,
Nem tão pouco, nem tão perto a luz do fundo eu imagino,
Mas o alimento que trouxeste e que a ti vai deixando com vida!
Segue nas minhas veias na esperança de te poder hoje e sempre olhar,
Apertar-te nos braços e encontrar o meu, em tempos já distante Norte,
E hoje aperto em minha mão a bússola que me trouxeste em passaporte,
Para o vão da felicidade, de que hoje quero acreditar, e comigo, a ti levar!
Autor: António Benigno
Para ti Lili…
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Hoje enquanto dormia, sonhei que num jardim vivia,
Ouvia os pássaros, cantar lindas canções, com ternura,
Sentia-se a água da chuva correr sem sua armadura,
As flores eram verdes, como os sonhos, de pura lixivia!
Lavaram-se as vestes, lavaram-se as mãos, enquanto sonhava
Quando acordei pela manha do costume cheia de sonhos,
Percebi que se tinha tornado uma rotina ser feliz e eu amava,
Amava incansavelmente seus olhos, via o coração aos quadradinhos!
Quadros pintados nas paredes de casa cheio de nossas recordações,
Hoje, era senão mais um dia, onde pintava na tela nossas emoções,
Aquilo que começou num passeio descalço junto da lagoa vazia,
Formava agora na parede de casa retractos de uma família que crescia!
Peguei depois na espátula da minha vida, peguei-a de nova na mão,
Olhei-a nos olhos, senti-lhe as formas e apertei-a ali junto ao coração,
Em tempos atrás deixei-te fugir, deixei-te viver e crescer longe de mim,
Mas hoje, e agora, para sempre, te quero ter aqui, até aquilo que é o fim!
Quando à noite me for deitar, só quero acordar para te olhar o rosto,
Porque os sonhos, por mais belos e lindos, mesmo de nos encantar,
Não se comparam sequer a tudo aquilo que tu na vida me fazes amar!
Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2013.08.29.02.17
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
A luz febril da infância rompe pelo milharal dourado.
O Rei Sol adormece, para lá do âmbito,
para lá do Fim dos Tempos.
Não será a última vez.
***
The feverish light of infancy
strikes deep
in thru the golden cornfields.
Her sun souled feet
won’t stand still -
they rave the sand
of endless seas.
No life, no death,
just the ride in between.
Once upon a time
the gods made us
and we made them.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Reminiscing the Moments
Do you remember me? Because I remember you. YOU. Everything about you. The way you walk. The way you talk. How you dress up. The night we argued. How you wanted to say sorry but I wouldn’t let you. You caressed my cheek and held my arm. You looked into my eyes and it seemed you were trying to reach my soul. I remember the glimmer in your eyes, it sent sparks down my body when you touched me. I was filled with warmth and happiness. A tingling feeling engulfed me and I could have melted right then and there, but I didn’t. I just stared on ahead, ignoring you. There was a sly smile playing on your lips as you were thinking that you finally got me. You were right. You did. My face stayed blank but my mind, my heart, my body, they were one. If my face registered ignorance, my body sure didn’t. It was screaming, and my organs were trashing around, dancing to the rapid beat of my heart, matching their tempos to that of my thoughts.
As I’m typing this right now, reliving the memories, I could feel the same warmth, the same flutter in my stomach, craving for the electricity that once flowed through me.
I remember you.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
Repair the world that's broke n with a wrench,
For never can a fixer can't afford
To fix a mental meaning with a *****
Though all the world's a floor of concrete poured.
Restore the restoration of the world,
And everything returns to right its place:
The lone construction worker spins betwirled
With bluebirds singing friendly in the face.
Time flies, and so do flying jellyfish.
Since tempos fugue it, carp the dying day.
Go find a star and make a walrus wish
That aliens would pray away the gray.
The grass is greener if the other side
Where hamsters love and noon has never died.
*
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 4:43 AM UTC
heart beat hammers as i
appear to study holy
horoscopes over green tea
and grand gestures
i'm sure you've come to
tell me where your
hack sawed heart still
lies, barely beating,
instead i learn of your
new found freedom as
we take our buckets
full of ***** bad habits,
abusive fathers, brazen
moms and bare it all
on the table between
sabre's shots in the
laundromat as i fold
every ******* item of
clothing that i own
i begin to dread the
departure and the
growing space that looms
between us so i ****
you in with the promise
of a six pack and vinyls
satiated for only so long
you find my fresh buzz
and the blank lines between
us vanish, hands on my
head and lips on my neck,
i'm holding on tight, but
it's only a matter of time
until reality escapes me
quick trip down the
slopes and i'm over flowing
with what defines me,
our tempos are timed by
the too fast kits that
hammer in sync in our chests
sun's coming up and
luna's got more than just
moons in her eyes, she
sees me and then looks
beyond me into past lives
i'm reminded what it is
to actually feel something
and the passion is exhilerating
and terrifying as my
numbness is washed away,
wave after wave, in
comfortable silence
******* cigarettes and
slipping through
song after song
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC