THE NIGHT' SUN
Forest Fires
Purple light
REVENGER ANGEL WANTED
LOVING SMILE - 55
AUTUMN
THE PRAYER
GENESIS AND DEVELOPMENT OF A POEM
ETERNAL LIFE
HAPPINESS
SURF
Sunburnt
WAT PHO
SOMEDAY
MORNING
COLLISION
UNICORN
The ridiculous figure of the stars
Birds
IMMIGRANTS
SHORT POEM
Passing
QUIETNESS
APOCALYPSE
LABYRINTH
ENDEARMENT
IVY DRIP AT WARRISTON CEMETERY
LOCAL HISTORY
WHISPERS
LOVING SMILE - 54
ASHES
CROSS
LOVING SMILE - 53
Night
Selfie of the 2nd August's fortnight
LOVING SMILE - 52
Bright point
My garden
Burning waters
LOVING SMILE - 51
ELEGY
NATIONAL DAY OF PORTUGAL, 10th June
BETWEEN TEETH
PARKER SOLAR PROBE
SUITE FOR DREAM, ORCHESTRA AND VOICES
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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CRONE
I wake in a city.
Bodies cover the snowy streets.
The left-over
halves of people bend
their heads against dead chests.
An infection rages in my eyes.
I rest in complete dark.
My dead sister
sits at my bedside pushing
my hair from my face,
wiping my forehead with a dead
cloth.
I am a tree. I am a crone.
I stare into the flaming fire.
I stand in a basement
filled with brown water.
I meet my sister at a carnival.
We hold hands and run into the crowd.
I'm standing in a glass ball
filled with fog.
I turn and turn and turn.
///
VELHA BRUXA
Acordo numa cidade.
Corpos cobrem as ruas cheias de neve.
As metades
desenterradas das pessoas têm suas cabeças mortas
caídas contra o peito.
Uma infecção grassa nos meus olhos.
Estou completamente às escuras.
A minha irmã morta
sentada a meu lado na cama tira-me
o cabelo da cara,
e limpa-me a testa com um pano
morto.
Sou uma árvore. Sou uma velha bruxa.
Olho para o fogo flamejante.
Estou num porão
cheio de água suja.
Encontro a minha irmã num Carnaval.
Damos as mãos e corremos para a multidão.
Estou em pé numa bola de vidro
cheia de nevoeiro.
Rodopio e rodopio e rodopio.
by Polly BUCKINGHAM, in "The Far Field" blog, Ocober 2013
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2017)
Translate into English
Bodies cover the snowy streets.
The left-over
halves of people bend
their heads against dead chests.
An infection rages in my eyes.
I rest in complete dark.
My dead sister
sits at my bedside pushing
my hair from my face,
wiping my forehead with a dead
cloth.
I am a tree. I am a crone.
I stare into the flaming fire.
I stand in a basement
filled with brown water.
I meet my sister at a carnival.
We hold hands and run into the crowd.
I'm standing in a glass ball
filled with fog.
I turn and turn and turn.
///
VELHA BRUXA
Acordo numa cidade.
Corpos cobrem as ruas cheias de neve.
As metades
desenterradas das pessoas têm suas cabeças mortas
caídas contra o peito.
Uma infecção grassa nos meus olhos.
Estou completamente às escuras.
A minha irmã morta
sentada a meu lado na cama tira-me
o cabelo da cara,
e limpa-me a testa com um pano
morto.
Sou uma árvore. Sou uma velha bruxa.
Olho para o fogo flamejante.
Estou num porão
cheio de água suja.
Encontro a minha irmã num Carnaval.
Damos as mãos e corremos para a multidão.
Estou em pé numa bola de vidro
cheia de nevoeiro.
Rodopio e rodopio e rodopio.
by Polly BUCKINGHAM, in "The Far Field" blog, Ocober 2013
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2017)
, goandgo, cammino, Ulrich John and 2 other people have particularly liked this photo
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