THAT LOOK
BATALHA MONASTERY
I'M HERE
ABSOLUTE SILENCE
The Portuguese Republic President
DINNER
THE DEAL
A FAMILY CEREMONY
NIGHT RAIN
On the wall of "A Esteva Hotel" lobby, Castro Verd…
NOBODY IS GUILTY
UNDER THE FIG TREE
SKY BURIAL
There are dreams...
YOU SPEND THE NIGHT ON ME
USELESS POEM WITH MOUNTAIN
Wet pebbles
SERENADE TO RAIN
At the B and B
WARNING SIGNAL
TWILIGHT
AN ORCHARD AT THE BOTTOM OF A HILL
...get in...
Orchidaceous musing
Ghost Ship
TREE WOMAN
TWILIGHT
NOBODY
Damaged world
THERE IS NO MORE SPRING
"TOBACCO SHOP"
WINDOWS UPDATE
NEBULA
FENIX
My residential neighbborhood
Almond blossom
TAP WATER
RUMOR OF THE WORLD
CHEMICAL ATTACK ON DOUMA
SHEELA NA GIG, ST MICHAEL'S, OXFORD
See also...
Le vite degli altri - La vie des autres - The lives of others - Das Leben anderer Menschen - Las vidas de otras personas
Le vite degli altri - La vie des autres - The lives of others - Das Leben anderer Menschen - Las vidas de otras personas
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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FOREDAY IN THE MORNING
My mother grew morning glories that spilled onto the walkway towards her porch
Because she was a woman with land who showed as much by giving it color.
She told me I could have whatever I worked for. That means she was an American.
But she'd say it because she believed
In God. I am ashamed of America
And confounded by God. I thank God for my citizenship in spite
Of the timer set on my life to write
These words: I love my mother. I love black women
Who plant flowers as sheepish as their sons. By the time the blooms
Unfurl themselves for a few hours of light, the women who tend them
Are already at work. Blue. I'll never know who started the lie we are lazy,
But I'd love to wake the bastard up
At foreday in the morning, toss him in a truck, and drive him under God
Past every bus stop in America to see all those black folk
Waiting to go work for whatever they want. A house? A boy
To keep the lawn cut? Some color in the yard? My God, we leave things green.
///
UM DIA DE MANHÃ
A minha mãe glorificava a manhã derramada no caminho para o alpendre
Quando era proprietária dum terreno notável pelo seu arranjo.
Disse-me que poderia ter tudo o que quisesse se para tal trabalhasse. Isso significa que foi uma Americana.
Disse isso porque acreditou
Em Deus. Tenho vergonha da América
E Deus confundiu-me. Mas agradeço a Deus a minha cidadania apesar
Do cronómetro definidor da minha vida me levar a escrever
Estas palavras: Amo a minha mãe. Amo as mulheres negras
Que plantam flores tão envergonhadas como os seus filhos. Na época da floração
Descontraem-se por algumas horas de luz, as mulheres que as substituem
Já estão a trabalhar. Tristes. Nunca saberei quem espalhou a notícia de que somos preguiçosos,
Mas gostaria de descobrir esse sacana
Um dia de manhã, jogá-lo num camião, e levá-lo com a graça de Deus
Por todos os caminhos da América a ver esse povo negro
À espera de ir para o trabalho que aparecer. Uma casa? Um rapaz
Para cortar a relva? Um pequeno arranjo no jardim? Meu Deus, deixamos tudo verde.
by Jericho BROWN, Louisiana poet, in "TIME", Aug. 6 / Aug. 13, 2018
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2018)
(photos taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)
Because she was a woman with land who showed as much by giving it color.
She told me I could have whatever I worked for. That means she was an American.
But she'd say it because she believed
In God. I am ashamed of America
And confounded by God. I thank God for my citizenship in spite
Of the timer set on my life to write
These words: I love my mother. I love black women
Who plant flowers as sheepish as their sons. By the time the blooms
Unfurl themselves for a few hours of light, the women who tend them
Are already at work. Blue. I'll never know who started the lie we are lazy,
But I'd love to wake the bastard up
At foreday in the morning, toss him in a truck, and drive him under God
Past every bus stop in America to see all those black folk
Waiting to go work for whatever they want. A house? A boy
To keep the lawn cut? Some color in the yard? My God, we leave things green.
///
UM DIA DE MANHÃ
A minha mãe glorificava a manhã derramada no caminho para o alpendre
Quando era proprietária dum terreno notável pelo seu arranjo.
Disse-me que poderia ter tudo o que quisesse se para tal trabalhasse. Isso significa que foi uma Americana.
Disse isso porque acreditou
Em Deus. Tenho vergonha da América
E Deus confundiu-me. Mas agradeço a Deus a minha cidadania apesar
Do cronómetro definidor da minha vida me levar a escrever
Estas palavras: Amo a minha mãe. Amo as mulheres negras
Que plantam flores tão envergonhadas como os seus filhos. Na época da floração
Descontraem-se por algumas horas de luz, as mulheres que as substituem
Já estão a trabalhar. Tristes. Nunca saberei quem espalhou a notícia de que somos preguiçosos,
Mas gostaria de descobrir esse sacana
Um dia de manhã, jogá-lo num camião, e levá-lo com a graça de Deus
Por todos os caminhos da América a ver esse povo negro
À espera de ir para o trabalho que aparecer. Uma casa? Um rapaz
Para cortar a relva? Um pequeno arranjo no jardim? Meu Deus, deixamos tudo verde.
by Jericho BROWN, Louisiana poet, in "TIME", Aug. 6 / Aug. 13, 2018
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2018)
(photos taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)
Christel Ehretsmann, buonacoppi, cammino, goandgo and 3 other people have particularly liked this photo
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