Tavira, Churches of Santiago and Santa Maria do Ca…
Photo de Malik
NUCLEAR EXPLOSION
Coucher radieux .
Praia da Rocha
Photo de Malik.
Bonne semaine ...
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A SNOWY EVENING
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WAIT
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WRONG NORMA (*)
Falling Light
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Rainbow
Bonheur a Deux.
Un coucher et une....
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"MY TYPE, YOUR TYPE"
"GOING, GOING, GONE"
Lune rouge
Bonne semaine Fleurie .
Photo de Malik
Photo de Malik
Sidi youchaa
Plaisir d'un instant ....
Prophecy?
DEAR MOTHER
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A-dos-Ruivos, country house, furnace
Bain de nuit .
Couchant Porsay .
Bijou artisanal du sud Algerien.
MY MOTHER'S MATTRESS
Tendresse et Delicatesse
LOVING SMILE - 45
Naturellement votre .
The Desire of Losing Everything
Couchant
The moonlight belongs to us
Photo de Malik.
Lotus/2
Pears
See also...
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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430 visits
THE BELL AND THE OCEAN
Death arrives with her bone hammer
and metal eyes. I keep my hands
in my pockets so my arms don't
disengage. Every visit is the same:
time expands into a silence
like the afermath of a bell. I listen
to rain strike the trailer roof, lucky
for the thin sin, lucky the ocean
slams against the shore like the faraway
roar of a lion in a monumental dream.
///
O SINO E O OCEANO
A morte chega com o seu martelo de ossos
e olhos metálicos. Mantenho as minhas mãos
nos bolsos para que os meus braços não
se desmembrem. É sempre o mesmo em cada visita:
o tempo expande-se em silêncio
como o ecoar dum sino. Ouço
a chuva a tamborilar no telhado do atrelado, feliz
por ser de estanho fino, feliz com as batidas
do mar na costa como o distante
rugido dum leão num sonho monumental.
by Polly BUCKINGHAM, in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 106:2, Summer 2016
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2016)
and metal eyes. I keep my hands
in my pockets so my arms don't
disengage. Every visit is the same:
time expands into a silence
like the afermath of a bell. I listen
to rain strike the trailer roof, lucky
for the thin sin, lucky the ocean
slams against the shore like the faraway
roar of a lion in a monumental dream.
///
O SINO E O OCEANO
A morte chega com o seu martelo de ossos
e olhos metálicos. Mantenho as minhas mãos
nos bolsos para que os meus braços não
se desmembrem. É sempre o mesmo em cada visita:
o tempo expande-se em silêncio
como o ecoar dum sino. Ouço
a chuva a tamborilar no telhado do atrelado, feliz
por ser de estanho fino, feliz com as batidas
do mar na costa como o distante
rugido dum leão num sonho monumental.
by Polly BUCKINGHAM, in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 106:2, Summer 2016
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2016)
, Steve Bucknell, goandgo, beverley and 8 other people have particularly liked this photo
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