Lisboa (1983)
Lisbon
How life runs quickly by
The painted flowers fade on the walls
Of Avenido de Liberdade
The flowers of revolution that were sown in blood
Of Africa seized by your ancient rulers
And leased to your moneyed class
Subleased to your southern farmers
Lisbon
Burst into bloom after the fallow of centuries
Freedom to sing in the streets, to withhold labour
But life still does not cease to worsen
For your Africans and poor
At work on every street without machine tools
Laying and repairing each small stone
Lisbon
You welcomed the crowds at Restadores
Massing to support the young officers
And to paint the stone where martyrs fell
Today there is no scarcity of politics
But the same men control, the same women keep clean
The sheets, the workers far from home
Sweep clean the streets of worn election posters
In Lisboa to learn Portuguese
I keep a red carnation fresh in water
In the window of my boarding room
The rain falls gently on the traffic below
The flowers that the singers hold are new
Those in the hands of practiced leaders
Are petals that discolour one by one.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stone Cold
Outcast a time of war,
The mankind lost control
Of life and death, under survaillance
I watch the children pray,
While God just turns away
Our in the ruins they seek shelter
These streets were once my home,
But those golden days are gone,
Now Im fighting to survive
Stone cold, man or machine
Stone cold, the end of our dream
The word is on the street,
Its kill or to be killed
With no exception yourre on your own
We should have seen it all along,
The writings on the wall,
Tell me what have we become
Stone cold, man or machine
Stone cold, the end of our dream
Who do you belive in now,
When the prophecy came true the final deja vu
These streets were once my home,
But those golden days are gone,
Now Im fighting to survive
Stone cold, man or machine
Stone cold, the end of our dream
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Nice Middle Class Family
A Nice Middle-Class Family
I know the guy, who planned the Lisbon Metro,
he’s French, called Pierre and has a red beard,
the only famous man I know. He lives in a posh
part of Paris, his wife paints livid pictures, lots of
ruby, I wonder why, as nothing in Europe can be
more worthy than the French bourgeoisie.
Two pleasant daughters and a splendid son too
all firmly educated, they can play piano and sing.
His girls are married to young, simple men from
the cultured field of soft carpets and commerce.
They will do well, but not as ably as their father
who helped construct the great Lisbon Metro.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Democracy
Democracy
Tiananmen come again
we need you everyday
send flowers to brutes
play Panpipes and flutes
let the tunes be the fire
of a newage's desire
be like Revolução dos Cravos
spread like Lisbon's petals
that sweet scent of freedom
Tiananmen come again
let the dried blood
fill us not in Vain
let the bullets sound hard
for a soft sigh's certain death
instead, never forget
never be forgotten;
Tiananmen come again
for we need you everyday!
Madrason
The commemoration day 03-06-2009
poem by Madrason writer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Men Walking
Three men walking
Along the roadside
One after another
Wearing weird caps
In the dark
The town asleep
Some traffic
Street lights
And cold
Silhouettes
Trees
Roots whirling
Some visible others hiding
Some past events
The three men
Talking to themselves
And to each other too
Smell of hey
Some old friends
The three men
Still walking
One after another
A young boy
Runs past
All covered up
Without socks
A cat with long tail
And a dog
Waiting for something to eat
Common cause
The boy
Collects rotten fruit
In a bag
Whose cause?
The three men walking
A young girl
Beaten
Cries
Selling flowers
A man with a gun
A watchman
Destroys her flowers
Water
Red colored
And black too
Going down a small stream
Blood is red
And water black
The three men
Further, into the darkness of the streets
Their caps
Water enters the shoes
Cold water
And black water
And then into the restaurant
The three men
With weird caps
Some people in the restaurant
Long faced small faced
Tired and worried
The three men
Looking from above a cabin
Some boys
And burgers
Water and tea
A common cause
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Journey To Lisbon
Winter Journey to Lisbon
Up rua Garrett I walked and it’s steep, in Baixa, the old heart
of Lisbon, past a shop that sells lottery tickets that sits beside
a shop that sells religious artifax, which is next door to a shop
that sells Cartier watches, if you buy a ticket and win, there is
money to decorate you mother’s grave and to buy a watch for
yourself. At the top of the street there is café Brasilia it used to
be Fernando Pessoa’s drinking den, the place is full of solemn,
nice Portuguese who, dressed for the occasion, drink nice cups
of coffee, their forefathers used looked down on Fernando,
irreverent poets and writers must go and drink elsewhere.
The master poet is now a statue sits outside in the rain and has
his picture taken by tourists, one wonders what he thinks of it all
as he sees the statue of Antonio Ribero Chiado, a poet who lived
in the sixteen hundred, the Largo is called after him he is bald and
is dressed like monk. From Largo Chiado I could see the harbour
where tug boats ply their trade on grey waters; the church
“Incarnacao” where Antonio used to pray is beautifully restored,
but empty god had left by the backdoor, the front door was too
heavy, but I saw woman weeping near a statue of Christ, “opium
for the people? ” Yes, why not?
It is getting dark the Portuguese are swallowed up by the Metro
as middle aged men with folded cardboard boxes, look for a shop
doorway where to bed down; and over this scene hovers Amalia,
the great Fado singer, she came from poverty too, famous in her
own life time she had the sense to be a friend of the powerful and
made it to the top. When her friends toppled from power she was
out in the cold, but not for long the Portuguese quickly forgave her.
Fine rain falls on Fernando’s hat and Antonio’s bald head, empty
streets the city sleeps and leaves the space to cats, the sleepless,
whores and their sad clients.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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William Street
’Tis William Street, the link street,
That seems to stand alone;
’Tis William Street, the vague street,
With terraces of stone:
That starts with clean, cool pockets,
And ancient stable ways,
And built by solid landlords
And in more solid days.
Beginning where the shadow streets
Of vacant wealth begin,
Street William runs down sadly
Across the vale of sin.
’Tis William Street, the haggard,
Where all the streets are mean
That’s trying to be honest,
That’s trying to keep clean.
’Tis William Street with method,
And nought of show or pride,
That tries to keep its business
Upon the right-hand side.
No pavement exhibition
Of carcases and slops;
But old-established principles
In old-established shops.
’Tis William Street the highway—
Whichever way it be—
To business and the theatres,
Or empty luxury.
’Tis William Street (the East-end)—
The world-wise and exempt—
That sells Potts Point its purgatives
With something of contempt.
With fronts that hint of England,
As England used to be,
Old houses once in gardens,
And signs of Italy.
With hints of the forgotten,
Strange Sydney of the past,
When bricks were burnt for all time,
And walls were built to last.
’Tis William Street that rises
From stagnant dust and heat,
(Old trees by the Museum
Hold back with hands and feet)—
And where the blind are plying
Deft fingers, supple wrists—
’Tis William Street, exclusive,
Where pray the Methodists.
The blind courts see the clearer,
Side lanes grow trim and neat,
The wretched streets are cleaner
That run from William Street.
The sick streets’ lonely matron
Seems stern, as matrons do—
’Tis William Street, redeeming,
Regenerating “Loo.”
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers - Giving It All Away B-side
Renegades and shifting shades
And the lights in your face
And you friends talk lying
But some of them got flowers in their room
When its on and youre falling on every floor
That youre hoping to score
And youre every night ? ? ?
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
Hear the word that the man on the stairs
Knows your every affair and is holding your hand
And he says some of them got flowers in their room
And he screams in a face
But the smile on the face is cool and its cold
And it reads vacated
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And I take someone home and I cant be alone
And theres faces to please and I walk on the knees
Oh you see, I got no flowers in my room
And I laugh with my mouth and I laugh with you
But the joke was a joke that I never really knew
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suicide Underground
Everyone dated the demise of our neighborhood from the suicide of the lisbon girls.
People saw their clairvoyance in the wiped-out elms and harsh sunlight.
Some thought the torture tearing the lisbon girls pointed to a simple refusal to accept the world as it was handed down to them:
So full of flaws.
But the only thing we are certain of after all these years is the insufficiency of explanations.
Obviously doctor, youve never been a thirteen year-old girl.
The lisbon girls were 13, cecile, 14, lux, 15, bonnie, 16, mary, and 17, therese.
No one could understand how mrs. lisbon and mr. lisbon, a math teacher, had produced such beautiful creatures.
From that time one, the lisbon house began to change.
Almost every day, and even when she wasnt keeping an eye on cecilia,
Lux would suntan on her towel wearing a swimsuit that caused the knife-sharpener to give her a 15-minute demonstration for free.
The only reliable boy who got to know lux was trip fontaine
For only 18 months before the suicides had emerged from baby fat
To the delight of girls and mothers alike.
But few anticipated it would be so drastic.
The girls were pulled out of school, and mrs. lisbon shut the house for maximum security isolation.
The girls only contact to the outside world was through the catalogs
They ordered that started to fill the lisbons mailbox with pictures of high-end fashions and brochures for exotic vacations.
Unable to go anywhere, the girls traveled in their imaginations:
To gold-tipped siamese temples or past an old man, the leaf broom tidying the [maws] carpeted [speck] of japan (? ? ? ).
And cecelia hadnt died.she was a bride in calcutta.
Collecting everything we could of theirs, we couldnt get the lisbon girls out of our minds, but they were slipping away.
The colors of their eyes were fading, along with exact locations of moles and dimples.
From five, they had become four, and they were all (the living and the dead), become shadows.
We would have lost them completely if the girls hadnt contacted us.
Lux was the last to go.
Fleeing from the house, we forgot to stop at the garage.
After the suicide free-for-all, mr. and mrs. lisbon gave up any attempt to lead a normal life.
They had mr. henry pack up the house, selling what furniture he could at a garage sale.
Everyone went just to look.
Our parents did not buy used furniture, and they certainly didnt buy furniture tainted by death.
We of course took the family photos that were put out with the trash.
Mr. lisbon put the house on the market, and it was sold to a young couple from boston.
It didnt matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls,
But only that we had loved them, and that they hadnt heard us call; still did not hear us,
Calling out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide,
Which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieced to put them back together.
song performed by by Air
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can you hear him?
Can you hear him whispering behind his window
Can you hear the rain tick against the glass ever so slow
To remind him that the rain hasn't stopped for years
But the pavement isn't drenched with water but with blood and tears
The revolution has started, and the mob is cold hearted
Can't distinguish friend from foe, nor those living or departed
All they see is rage and pain
So many different reasons to revolt, but their screams the same
Freedom … Freedom
This is the chant that reaches the sky
These are the words for which many will die
But the revolution doesn't care
So he stands behind his window with an empty glare
And he looks down upon the fighting, the gunshots and the hate
He looks down upon all those who want control over their own fate
They no longer want to rob, just so they can eat
No longer want to be scared walking down their own street
This isn't for oil, religious reasons or terrorists … No
This isn't for wealth, fame or recognition … No
They are fighting for peace
And until success the revolution will not cease
Until they have what they are screaming for
Nothing less and nothing more
Freedom … Freedom
So he stands behind his window, patiently waiting
Until those in power decide to share
Until those in power decide they care
Until they do Africa is bleeding
And with it the economy is dying
This is not rain this is a country crying
And the people are tired of drowning in these tears
Tired of waiting until the smoke clears
So they stand up strong and keep their heads high
If Africa is to be reborn, let it first die
That is the revolution that's why they fight
Trapped in darkness but there's a small piece of light
Freedom … Freedom
This is for that child that had to watch his family get shot
This is for that child that keeps watching the sky hoping for blessings to drop
His stomach is round, filled with nothing but air
And I won't waste your time asking if it's fair
But this is for that child that had to dropp out of school
No money to pay tuition but wants to go to school
The child that rather studies then plays and gets called a fool
Freedom of ignorance, knowledge its tool
So he stands behind the window, realizing he is dead
Shot in the head by the same revolution that said
This is for the people, and he was hoping it was a dream
But it isn't so he makes two fists and he wants to scream
Freedom … Freedom
But he doesn't, calmness comes over him
And he realizes one thing
The revolutions first step has finally been made
Sacrifices for freedom seems like a fair trade
So instead of screaming freedom he lifts his fist in the air and starts chanting a soft mantra
Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa,
Can you hear him?
poem by Vino Venitas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The walls
Life, here in the surroundings of my white walls,
The walls that watch me while I pray, while I sing,
While I dance and work in my little room, while
I cry, these white walls they know my life, only
they cry with me or sing or pray or dance, they give
my life the warm feelings of hands. The colors
of my works the fabrics, the pen that move my hands,
the architect of my bones, the father, the I AM, they
all life in me. Life, life is my big question! , life is the
I AM, and the I AM is life. I gather here in my room
all of my works, the good, the bad and the worsse,
they come alive with my help. Life in these white
walls, pink I rather say, ' I love pink' My sink full
of dishes waiting to be washed, the flowers on my
table growing roots, the doors and windows always
on guard, the lamps that never cease to give me light,
the sofa so exhausted of my exhausting body, the tree
near my window poking at me, then the cry of a puppy
I hear it all the time. My shop my objects; they dream
and have their own mind, they wear the colors of life,
they dress up and move my soul,
I love how they love me back…
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Some Flowers Bloom Dead
We didnt make it
We did not pull through
You shouldnt blame me
I dont blame you
Now what else did you think
That I would do?
Ooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
Im so tired of waking up
Feeling bad
You havent been the kind of place I have
Could it hurt you now
To let this pass?
Oooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
You want to make it so much harder
Now in another world
I could learn to forget
But til then Im here
Making room for new regrets
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers just bloom dead
The way you make me feel
I could collapse
An epidemic I cannot outlast
How could you feel used
When I feel trapped?
Ooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
And just as my conscience
Starts to clear
I drag the river and youre still there
The way I bring you down
Could not compare
Ooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
You want to make it so much harder
Now in another world
I could learn to forget
But til then Im here
Making room for new regrets
Now some flowers they never bloom
But some flowers just bloom dead
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers just bloom dead
The way I sleep
This bed just cant be made
I pull the covers up around my head
Now when I think of me
I think of somebody else instead
As if it wasnt hard enough
Youre gonna make it so much harder
Now in another world
I could learn to forget
But til then Im here
Making room for new regrets
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers just bloom dead
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers they just bloom dead
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Flowers Bloom Dead
We didnt make it
We did not pull through
You shouldnt blame me
I dont blame you
Now what else did you think
That I would do?
Ooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
Im so tired of waking up
Feeling bad
You havent been the kind of place I have
Could it hurt you now
To let this pass?
Oooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
You want to make it so much harder
Now in another world
I could learn to forget
But til then Im here
Making room for new regrets
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers just bloom dead
The way you make me feel
I could collapse
An epidemic I cannot outlast
How could you feel used
When I feel trapped?
Ooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
And just as my conscience
Starts to clear
I drag the river and youre still there
The way I bring you down
Could not compare
Ooooh as if it wasnt hard enough
You want to make it so much harder
Now in another world
I could learn to forget
But til then Im here
Making room for new regrets
Now some flowers they never bloom
But some flowers just bloom dead
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers just bloom dead
The way I sleep
This bed just cant be made
I pull the covers up around my head
Now when I think of me
I think of somebody else instead
As if it wasnt hard enough
Youre gonna make it so much harder
Now in another world
I could learn to forget
But til then Im here
Making room for new regrets
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers just bloom dead
Now some flowers they never bloom
And some flowers they just bloom dead
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out Out
Had enough of this
Out out out out
I seen a crazy dog, crazy dog
In the flowers in the wood, crazy dog
Ive seen a crazy dog, crazy dog
Crash through flowers in the big wood
Do not know why it is that everywhere I go
Im seeing tall trees, tall trees
They cover me
All around me
As theyre standing up all around me
With their big leaves, small leaves
They cover me
Ive had enough
I want out out, out out
Gotta do something, cant do nothing
Cause I know these people, they dont know me at all
I want to hold you in my arms
I want out, I want out, out out
I want out, I want out, out out
When Im home I look around me in a room
I see the white walls, stone walls, so solid
And in the lonely night, watch the disappearing light
On white walls, stone walls, swear theyre moving in
Gotta do something, cant do nothing
Cause I know these people, they dont know me at all
I want to hold you in my arms, again
I want to hold you in my arms
I want out, I want out, out out
I want out, I want out, out out
Out out out hey hey hey out out
Out out out ho ho ho ho...
Come out of the night
I want out, I want out
Come out of the shadow
Out of fear, out of fear and pain
Into the warming sun
Into the warming sun
I will be with you again, will be with you
Out of the shadow, out of fear and pain
I will be, I will be, I will be, I will be
I will be with you again
Out out, out, out
Drain away the blood, out of darkness
Out of shadow, out of the night
Out of all the pain Im going
Ho ho ho ho, out out...
Out out out out out hey hey...
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Least Complicated
I sit two stories above the street
Its awful quiet here since love fell asleep
Theres life down below me though
The kids are walking home from school
Some long ago when we were taught
That for whatever kind of puzzle you got
You just stick the right formula in
A solution for every fool
I remember the time when I came so close to you
Sent me skipping my class and running from school
And I bought you that ring cause I never was cool
What makes me think I could start clean slated
The hardest to learn was the least complicated
So I just sit up in the house and resist
And not be seen until I cease to exist
A kind of conscientious objection
A kind of dodging the draft
The boy and girl are holding hands on the street
And I dont want to but I think you just wait
Its more than just eye to eye
Learn the things I could never apply
I remember the time when I came so close with you
I let everything go it seemed the only truth
And I bought you that ring, it seemed the thing to do
What makes me think I could start clean slated
The hardest to learn was the least complicated
So what makes me think I could start clean slated
The hardest to learn was the least complicated
Im just a mirror of a mirror myself
All the things that I do
And the next time I fall Im gonna have to recall
Its isnt love its only something new
I sit two stories above the street
Its awful quiet here since love fell asleep
Theres life down below me though
The kids are walking home from school
Im remember the time when I came so close with you
Sent me skipping my class and running from school
And I bought you that ring cause I never was cool
What makes me think I could start clean slated
The hardest to learn was the least complicated
So what makes me think I could start clean slated
The hardest to learn was the least complicated
The least complicated
The least complicated
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I had no books at home. I started to frequent a public library in Lisbon. It was there, with no help except curiosity and the will to learn, that my taste for reading developed and was refined.
quote by Jose Saramago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clean
Eat clean,
Live clean,
Sleep clean,
dress clean,
Walk clean,
Learn clean,
Play clean,
Think clean,
dance clean,
Talk clean,
Sing clean,
work clean,
Because the world around you is watching what you do;
You are the only one on this earth,
So live and let us live too.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunk Lyonesse
In sea-cold Lyonesse,
When the Sabbath eve shafts down
On the roofs, walls, belfries
Of the foundered town,
The Nereids pluck their lyres
Where the green translucency beats,
And with motionless eyes at gaze
Make ministrely in the streets.
And the ocean water stirs
In salt-worn casement and porch.
Plies the blunt-nosed fish
With fire in his skull for torch.
And the ringing wires resound;
And the unearthly lovely weep,
In lament of the music they make
In the sullen courts of sleep:
Whose marble flowers bloom for aye:
And - lapped by the moon-guiled tide -
Mock their carver with heart of stone,
Caged in his stone-ribbed side.
poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beautiful Camellias
The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.
In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.
In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.
The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Golden Streets Of Glory
Glory to his name, oh, holy, holy
Theres a city where the streets are paved in gold
A land where the milk and the honey flow
And a mansion which for me
cause my Bible tells the story
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
Green meadows where the little children play
No sorrow there, just one long happy day
And none will litter there except the pure and the holy
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
And when Ive reached my journeys end
And if Im worthy to go in
Golden streets of glory, I walk on
And the golden streets of my new home
Will lead me up to the masters throne
With the angel band Ill sing
Glory to his name, oh, holy, holy
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
Hallelujah, I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
And when Ive reached my journeys end
And if Im worthy to go in
Golden streets of glory, Ill walk on
And the golden streets of my new home
Will lead me up to the masters throne
With the angel band Ill sing
Glory to his name, oh, holy, holy
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
Hallelujah, I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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