A reworked text from 2006.
leading up to the favela
gave my heart added beats
and the feeling of belonging
grew like a cloud of paper kites
over shanty brick and concrete houses
as I walked yet higher up
into the sunlit slanting village
with a view leaping more magnificent
with every bare bricked dwelling
and tempting bar I passed.
The sea at a low distance,
the figure of he who defied death
at the other end of dark fuel
and motions of a gang,
the rule of the steep alleyways,
atop roofs of good view
and a full moon at all cost.
A cold beer is a window
without glass or intention
other then the beingness,
the movement
the present cannot preserve.
Poetry by Bob
Read 508 times
Written on 2009-05-27 at 00:39
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Vila Parque da Cidade
Climbing the narrow steep alleysleading up to the favela
gave my heart added beats
and the feeling of belonging
grew like a cloud of paper kites
over shanty brick and concrete houses
as I walked yet higher up
into the sunlit slanting village
with a view leaping more magnificent
with every bare bricked dwelling
and tempting bar I passed.
The sea at a low distance,
the figure of he who defied death
at the other end of dark fuel
and motions of a gang,
the rule of the steep alleyways,
atop roofs of good view
and a full moon at all cost.
A cold beer is a window
without glass or intention
other then the beingness,
the movement
the present cannot preserve.
Poetry by Bob
Read 508 times
Written on 2009-05-27 at 00:39
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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