Wetting my lips
EMPTY LOT POEM
Smoke without chimney or chimney without smoke
Cafeteria
I forget what I want to say
Upside down or upside up
Flying
Refugees
Springtime is coming
NO OTHER PURPOSE
HAPPY FENCE FRIDAY
Biking until fall on ground
Killer Light
Spring
1st Spring Day, Lisbon, 16h00
...therefore our dimension isn't life nor death...
Innocence dies early
PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH
WE ARE...all victims of our wrongdoings
Old working class neighborhood
Big birds on the perch
Forest Fire
Ages in looks
Unexpected vortex
You Can't Depend on Your Family
On the other side is the kitchen
The glorious BENFICA
The Universal Expansion
All roads lead to Lisbon
Human Ovule on the Top of a Pin
Hello! I'm right behind you!
The bus is coming
Benfica Municipal Market
Most days I walk on this way
During the day ghosts are hiding on the sidewalk
My Way
All stone crosses are anchored on earth
Between showers
The last tie of the soul
Look at what will happen to our umbrellas this wee…
Ceilings aren't always light fences
Ericeira, surf
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Group of the Visual Poets (2 photos/day, no invite needed :)
Group of the Visual Poets (2 photos/day, no invite needed :)
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The last elegy to the composer and pianist Bernardo SASSETTI (1970-2012)


oxalá it was raining, the door ingrown, the car driven into south, and there was a solar eclipse, or a dog runned over in the weepy paw. oxalá an angel had fallen, bleeding music, in the central square, joining the marbles of the wings, to feed children, insinuating that no one should die, during spring. oxalá that never was required to leave home, to see if the sea exists, if the cliffs are so high, if we were made to wave. If at least seagulls were like cats and creepers and came to explain the world's mysteries, the god statures. oxalá there was always a handrail, to hold our blindness, when we don't see that we are just a glass, pouring water, fragile and so deadly as any other bee, under rain. oxalá I knew how to rescue you from the ground, each time you fell down, lighting your hands, transferring my blood into you, sitting you at the piano, clapping hands.
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oxalá tivesse chovido, a porta encravado, o carro guinado a sul, e havido um eclipse solar, ou um cão atropelado na pata flébil. oxalá tivesse caído um anjo, sangrando música, na praça central, juntando os berlindes das asas, para dar de comer às crianças, insinuando que ninguém devia morrer, durante a primavera. oxalá nunca fosse preciso sair de casa, para ver se o mar existe, se as escarpas são assim tão altas, se fomos feitos para minguar. se ao menos as gaivotas fossem como os gatos e as trepadeiras, e viessem explicar os mistérios do mundo, as estaturas de deus. oxalá houvesse sempre um corrimão, a segurar a nossa cegueira, quando não vemos que somos apenas um cálice, vertendo água, frágeis e tão mortais, como qualquer outra abelha, sob a chuva. oxalá soubesse como resgatar-te do chão, cada vez que caísses, iluminando-te as mãos, transferindo-te o meu sangue, sentando-te ao piano, batendo palmas.
by Daniel GONÇALVES, in "PEQUENO LIVRO DAS ELEGIAS", edição Companhia das Ilhas, Poesia, 2016
(English tranlated by Armando TABORDA, 2016)
(photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)
///
oxalá tivesse chovido, a porta encravado, o carro guinado a sul, e havido um eclipse solar, ou um cão atropelado na pata flébil. oxalá tivesse caído um anjo, sangrando música, na praça central, juntando os berlindes das asas, para dar de comer às crianças, insinuando que ninguém devia morrer, durante a primavera. oxalá nunca fosse preciso sair de casa, para ver se o mar existe, se as escarpas são assim tão altas, se fomos feitos para minguar. se ao menos as gaivotas fossem como os gatos e as trepadeiras, e viessem explicar os mistérios do mundo, as estaturas de deus. oxalá houvesse sempre um corrimão, a segurar a nossa cegueira, quando não vemos que somos apenas um cálice, vertendo água, frágeis e tão mortais, como qualquer outra abelha, sob a chuva. oxalá soubesse como resgatar-te do chão, cada vez que caísses, iluminando-te as mãos, transferindo-te o meu sangue, sentando-te ao piano, batendo palmas.
by Daniel GONÇALVES, in "PEQUENO LIVRO DAS ELEGIAS", edição Companhia das Ilhas, Poesia, 2016
(English tranlated by Armando TABORDA, 2016)
(photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)
, .t.a.o.n., beverley, Christel Ehretsmann and 4 other people have particularly liked this photo
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Fotografia e palavras perfeitas, Armando
Armando Taborda club has replied to J.Garcia clubArmando Taborda club has replied to Malik Raoulda clubArmando Taborda club has replied to Christel Ehretsmann clubBernardo S. was a great jazz's pianist
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