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New Brazilian Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Brazilian poems are below this new poems list.

Brazilian cut by Jetaime, Agatha
Brazilian Soccer by dailey, mike
Brazilian Wax by dailey, mike
Brazilian Boy by Quinney, Kenneth
Brazilian Woman by Restrepo, Luis

View all new Brazilian Poems

The Best Brazilian Poems

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.


The powder of white sand holds her flesh close to his musk pelvis as she gasps with the murmured waves trembling on the coast of a fragrant mouth against a manly tongue, and they lay on hidden grass in an old Ipanema cove where rippling strokes fondle the east and north of her sylph-like curves: amidst the liquid Brazilian dusk, her flowing hair sinks from the lapping of crest in rhythmic grinds; tanned fingers exploring a soft canal of a nymph's heightened pleasure… by the sea- bend, he pulls her creamy thighs like a driftwood sailing afloat upon each quivered abandon while they melt under balmy trees… without the need to speak. ........................... 100 in a ROW contest -- 11

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Piece Of The Pie

This was only our second date... A Black Tie Affair... ...Set against an incredible view, vineyards, waterfalls, a plentitude of flower beds, all just outside a charming postcard Town. This indeed was a serious event, anyone  who was anyone... and my date...were here. A live Jazz Band filled the air with a symphony of soothing sounds we all took our seats as  The Annual Fine Pie Tasting Festival began. My first nibble was an Orange  Blossom Grand Marnier Silk Pie. I cleansed my palate with a sixty seven French Beaujolais   took my tiny fork and partook of a slice of heaven. The pie had a fine bouquet with a peach raspberry scent. It was a nice blend, moist, with a fragrant overtone of fermented grapes... my date, well, my date just porked down her first slice... ...in one swallow. Her comment? ..."Yeah, yummy" and added "can I have some more wine, and fill the glass up this time, Mr. Stingy" Ah the wonderful charm of youth (...luckily no one heard her.) Now came the second offering a Vienna Chocolate Lace Kaluha Pie. My date grabbed three slices complaining about the size. Charming! (...Thank God no one saw. I enjoy my ranking in this exclusive social group) If she asks for more wine I'm going to hand her the bottle  tell her to swig that. The next offering is a Dulche De Leche Italian Rum Pie I dread the thought she might try to wring a slice in order to squeeze out the Rum. All is well, she has wolfed down her serving before the thought occurs to her. Imagine my surprise? I order a third bottle of wine. There is not a drop left in our second bottle, not a drop. Can you wring a glass bottle?  I doubt I have had a full ounce of wine yet. At eleven hundred dollars a bottle I start to question my taste... .....................................in.... .......women. My stunning date excuses herself. With all that wine I am surprised she has waited this long. She is wearing a gorgeous gown... "you can put lipstick on a pig..." "shit! did I just say that out loud" The  night continued... pie after pie more and more wine. The pie slices are small the bill will be HUGE! ...but ah the pies... Sweet Lime Tequila Mouse Pie Vanilla Bourbon Brazilian Pecan Pie Irish Cream Island Coconut Mouse Pie Lady Godiva Truffle Raspberry Liqueur Pie to name a few. Pie tasting? A refined activity  of the gourmet connoisseur. My disaster of a date has returned, (God she's beautiful!) "So Scrooge" she says "are you ready to leave" I am so embarrassed she is crass and rude in front of all these distinguished people. "Come on, I'm bored with this crowd of stiffs. Let's blow this Popsicle Stand," she says " They all have pickles up their asses" Well I never. ( Popsicle Stand? Just how young is she?) She continues "Honey, it is time to go back to your place for the best piece of pie you have ever had." At this point my twenty five year old goddess is more beautiful than any woman any marvel I have ever viewed... her words immaculate... ....You don't have to hit me over the head with a hammer.  ...Personally I was fed up of  all these stiffs with pickles up their ass. I think I gave some sort of dignitary the finger on the way out... ...I was excited. I have never driven so fast in my life. Finally I was going to get my piece of the pie.
16~10~2014 Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper Contest Name: Plentitude of Pies

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

All That You Imagine

My imaginary restaurant will be named “All That You Imagine.”
Any food you can imagine, you will be served.
Thanks to technology and a world-class cooking staff,
I can offer my patrons any food that they desire.
However, they must book their table three days in advance!
If their wish is for a dish like their mama used to cook,
they need only provide my chefs with the recipe or its description.
If their palate leans to the exotic, they need only give its name.
My research team, like no other, can track down any foreign dish.

From All-American delights like mac‘n cheese or burgers and fries
to all the others: Indian, Mexican, Brazilian, Chinese, Italian, French,  
and the list goes on and on.  We can do it all! Everyone wants to come here!
By the way, my restaurant has become a tourist attraction.
Renowned for its varied and eclectic menus, it is visited by thousands daily.
If restaurants were malls, mine would be the largest and the most incredible.

Patrons may reserve a private room or choose a table 
from one of many wondrous atmospheric sections.
Each section is a restaurant in and of itself, with its own kitchen 
and a staff of waiters and waitresses dressed as befitting that section’s theme.
From jungle room to bar and grill to futurist (where servers dress in pristine white),
I have over one hundred types of settings to match the mood and the type of food;
some with karaoke, some with splendid views, utilizing IMAX, for example,
some with magic shows, others with comedy, and one room with a waterfall
where divers perform amazing feats. There are classic sections
where patrons may dance in ballroom style; imagine any type of music you like,
I am sure we have it in one of our beautiful sections!
For the romantics, candlelight dinners can be enjoyed next to a faux River Seine.

Tourists, for a small fee, may observe the many rooms in a guided tour.
We use technology that allows the tours to not disturb our diners.
It’s that same technology which allows my restaurant to flourish,
for expert computer techs arrange for the smooth operation
of matching patrons to sections and coordinating everything efficiently.
Favorite recipes may be purchased from us too in our gift shops.
Souvenirs and samples of our most popular food items 
are sold there along with a wide array of unique gifts!

Nothing is impossible in “All That You Imagine.” 
Well, except for one thing: No endangered specie, such as monkey or koala
will be served here!

(Getting ready to enter the contest I noticed I had misread the rules. Sorry, I don't know if I can redo it any other way. I am calling this prose and hoping it's acceptable!)

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tea Party

Lies glamour gossip and Earl Grey tea 
turbulent tales boiling in China cups 
elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies 
pinkies stuck up in the air, hiding their 
anger or boredom or feeling their own 

Crimson glass roses feathers and jewels 
crowned with wide-brim hats, trimmed
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some pearls 
are appealing to these extravagant, fast
and proper old girls

The guild does not approve of
             tortilla chips or
                piercings of the tongue.

Invitation is by Tea Bag only. merely 
a device to project the status of a 
proper and affluent wife.
Shaved legs polished nails and GiGi’s 
Brazilian waxing will enliven you as a 
part of the crowd, but may be a little 
bit taxing.

Copyright © julie heckman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A SECRET: For auction contest

This is the last piece to go. All the others are sold.
I hate to part with it, but now that I've grown old
I need to find the right home for it before I die.
I'll explain its importance if you're wondering why.
You see, it's been a treasure since before I was born.
My father found it buried in a city that was war torn.
He marveled that among all the rubble and concrete,
no scratch marred its beauty nor was it burned by heat.
It graced our living room with the status of a Queen,
Most beautiful Brazilian Rosewood vanity ever seen.
Father had to have it to match the great beauty of his wife,
Adrianna, was fragile and giving birth to me took her life.
Father gave me the vanity, a priceless piece, an heirloom.
One rainy day I was bored and was dancing around my room.
I bumped into the vanity and from behind a drawer fell a note...
"Who ever finds this, look for the secret," my Mother wrote.
That was seventy years ago, and no secret  did I ever find.
Age has taken my strength away and now that I am blind,
I can no longer search for the secret within this vanity.
I want it to belong to someone kind while I still have my sanity.
It's being auctioned by verbal bid so I can hear the voice
of the one I deem worthy of my treasure. I'll make the final choice.
Money is no longer important so the auctioneer will look to me
when that special voice I hear, I'll nod and that bid will be the fee.
I've set no starting bid and no reserve for it's time to let it go.
Come, take a look. Rub your hand across the wood grain's glow.
I hope you will find the secret my Mother hid so well inside,
perhaps a young man will take it home, as a gift for his bride.

The value to me is priceless, and I would sell it for only a cent.
If I hear something in your voice, I will know for you it's meant.
February 24, 2016  " The Auctioneer Contest by Mystic Rose

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Music Lives

A vintage Martin parlor guitar gathers dust in the corner A Brazilian rosewood grand rests under bronze chandelier lights long past glowing Weathered romantic sheet music adorns the broken piano bench seemingly undisturbed for years a little hazel hair girl peeps into this darkened room the one Gram told her to steer clear in fear her memories would disappear Soft strumming echoes through the air as the room comes to life purples, yellows, and blues dance off the piano keys twirling and swirling with every strum the two beats Waltz as if in love She sits in wonderment taking every beat in dreaming of a Grandpa she never knew and an endless love so true Watching from afar Gram's tears trickle as memories come to light a small smile comes to the little girl's face as Gram comes and hugs her tight

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Bold is the heart of the adventure, seekers of the undiscovered
Frontiers beyond the realm of mankind’s knowledge.  Hardy, bulling
Figures the unafraid, the uninitiated these spirited wilderness men.
Of epic proportions whom challenge fate, and defy death itself.
Railing against its white rapids of the unknown. 
Hailing their indifference by yelling at the top of their lungs,
We will not surrender until the ending of our final journey,
Has come and consumes us utterly, leaving nothing left
But footnotes at the bottom of historical records dusty pages
Behind as our only existing legacy.
The great serpent snake of the Amazon, crawls through the open
Belly wound of the Brazilian rainforest, splitting the devils dark
Jungle in half, a beckoning demon calling unto the heart
 Of the adventurer come explore me if you so dare.
Adversities freedom stalkers, heeded this challenge,
Grappling at the serpents tributaries rattling tail, biting
And spitting at them, with sufferage's malice, the reptile
Of aquatic distain, cost many lives of the innocent in its
Vengeance aftermath.
In this river of doubt called the Rio da Duvida, 
This vipers poison travels fast through the veins of mortal
Men, starvation, Malaria and the mistrust of others destroys
The flesh from within and from without.
 Leaving spiritual wounds that will never heal no matter the
Strength of one’s faith, or the endurance of the individual 
Whom survives the attack of this snake called
The mighty Amazon River.
Three adventures made it through this black jungle of death,
Theodore Roosevelt’s, his son Kermit, and the leader
Of this historical group Mr. Rodon.
After reading about their story of bravery, I the author
Of this tail have one thing to say in their memory, bully
Gentlemen, and on wards unto your next journey’s adventure,
And may its endings final current find you well at the end.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Where modern Gladiators go to collide
Like solders in prison these warriors ride

Mono el mono this is how they believe
No smoking mirrors or tricks up their sleeve

Guillotine, arm bars and rear naked chokes
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu certainly isn’t no joke

Royce Gracie changed Mixed Martial Arts
“The Natural” Randy Couture, man what a heart!

Many men have risen and many have fell
To the powerful striking of Chuck Liddell

Ken Shamrock is a warrior who deserves his fame
At UFC 100 Mark Coleman proved he still has game

Big time wrestler Brock Lesnar proved he is no joke
As Anderson Silva continues making fools out of folk

Lyoto Machida is now a champion again
Along with the true Prodigy B.J. Penn

Who is my favorite fighter in the UFC
Without any doubt that would be GSP  

Written for Matt's Contest
Started within 30 seconds
written in about 30 minutes
(I had to look up how to
spell a lot of the words)
Actual writing time was about
5 minutes
In Honor Of Georges St.Pierre 
Excellent fighting skills

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

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The Little Ones

The Little People

Where do all the little people live?
Marine Le Pen lives in France
A rabbit, who has come out of her hole
Donald Trump lives in America the Great
Trump will soon enough make it a dump
Fernando Furtado
Starves all the Brazilian Indians
No rice for the dark lazy ones
What ever could the Amazon teach us?
Putin, is truly a littleput one
A puffy war chest for sure
He sits on old telephone books to seem tall
He may sit down for Turkey dinner with a smirk
Little ones soon realize when it’s too late
That Turkey will eat them.

I am sad
So many migrants in one boat
When if dreams came true
The Little people above
Should migrate to the sinking boats below

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Brazilian Soccer

A former goalie in prison for life
For feeding his dogs parts of his dead wife
Was granted a work-release to play soccer again
For the Brazilian pro soccer team needing a win

Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2014

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tea Party

Lies, glamour, gossip and Earl Grey tea,
Turbulent tales boiling in china cups.
Elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies,
pinkies stuck in the air, hiding their anger
or boredom or feeling their own

Crimson glass roses, feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats… trims of
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some pearls
are appealing to these extravagant, fast
and proper old girls…

The guild does not approve of:
   tortilla chips or
      piercings of the tongue.

Invitation is by Tea Bag Only merely 
a device to project the status of a
stunning, affluent wife. Shaved legs,
polished nails and GiGi’s Brazilian
waxing, will enliven you as a part
of the crowd but may seem 
a little bit taxing.

Copyright © julie heckman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Housewife Rap

Hey,  listen up ,  I was born for this ,
Gateaux ,  tortes and appertifs ,
State of the art utensils ,
make my soirees trouble free ,
My thermostatic oven´s  fan assisted  -   naturally ! 
I make my own bone fida , pate de foie gras ,
my sauce is even smoother than a new born babies ass !
Mary Beaton !  -  she´s  just some ho from history !
Delia Smith -  that bitch stole all my recipes !
Verbatim -  hey , that means line for goddam line ,
Hey bitch ,  get yourself a life ! 
I´m the number one hostess ,  
I make my own French bread , 
I do the perfect soixant neuf , I give the perfect head ,
Nouvelle Cuisine ,- man that´s  just passe ,
 No one can pronounce that French stuff ,  anyway ,
My cuts are allways fillets , 
I don´t  "do "  skin and bones ,
My windows are rose tinted , 
For intimate soujourns ,
My pans are copper bottomed , for the perfect fricassee
I got myself a dough hook ,  so  you best not mess with me  !,
My coffee is Brazilian , my Teas are Ceylonese ,
I can cook two perfect salmon , in my double bain maries ,
I don´t do cooking , man ,  I  create ,
( I got myself a cleaner ,for the dirty Jobs I hate ,
My surfaces are streamlined ,( bacterially clean ) 
In shades of  oleander  , and subtle woodland green ,
My cornice is Athenian ,my frieze is Viennese ,
My tiles are Greek Terrazzo ,
my curtians crepe de Chine ,
I dont do chintz , I don´t do kitsch !
In the kitchen I´m the goddess , in the bedroom , I´m the bitch ! ,

Hey I don´t come honey ;  I fu***ing arrive ! 
 I have multiple  fu ***ing  orgasms every  fu****g time ! 
My pasta  is   " al dente " ,  my souffle is a dream ,
My petit fours are featherlight ,
My waffle is supreme !,
My gateaux is  " to die for " , my timing is sublime ,
Bicarbonate of soda is my middle   fu****g  name ,
Dust !  what the shi*  you talkin about !
My hoover is cytronic , with double suction heads ,
My Sofa is vermillion - and that means goddam - red !
My wines are international ,with names you never heard of ,
My freezers full to bursting -
With all my  fuc***  Oeuvre ! .

Copyright © Lena McArdle | Year Posted 2016

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

No Arachnophobia Here

I have always loved spiders
The basement in our house
was loaded with spider webs
They became our pet spiders
We captured insects to feed them;
bees, dragonflies, you name it
Throw them in the web,
two legs appear, then a quick rush
A frightening yet thrilling sight to behold
Once we put a bumblebee in a web
The battle lasted over half an hour
The enormous spider eventually won

You can ‘trick’ a spider
by tugging and gently jiggling its web

Most spiders help our environment
and are beneficial creatures
Ever see a garden spider?
A beautiful sight to behold…

The largest spider in the world
Is the Goliath Tarantula,
which makes its home
in the jungles of South America
Over a foot in diameter
It dines on mice and small birds

The most venomous spider in the world
Is the Brazilian Wandering Spider

The southern Brown Recluse
causes unique damage to those bitten
If left untreated, it eats away flesh
VERY painful, often requiring major surgery…

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Very Early Memory .

My earliest memory was the Mid-Wife
 And her strong , safe forceful grip .
 And Dad's big frown
 In his surgical gown
 Saying "don't let my baby slip .
 Lord ! , he's pink and bald and ugly
 Hey Mom ! , here's your nine month dream
 He's the perfect mix 
 For politics
 'Cause he sure knows how to scream " .
 They all ooh'd and aah'd and choochy cooed
 Saying yeah, he's one in a million
 As I looked in bother
 And asked , hey mother
 So tell me ! , what's a brazilian ? .

Inspired by Danielle White's early memory contest ..

Copyright © Sean Kelly | Year Posted 2009

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A Planet of Pain

Kids dying for diamonds in Sierra Leone,
Innocent civilians killed in Iraq’s warzone.
Indigenous tribes removed from their lands,
Children in the Congo losing legs and hands.
Arms companies still supplying while civilians are dying,
Kids begging on the street while the rich keep buying.
Sex slaves sold, countless stories untold,
So much unnecessary hate in a world that’s so cold.
Shameful, disgraceful racism in South Carolina,
Tens of thousands of baby girls abandoned each year in China.
Discrimination will never disappear, it will always be here,
Numerous Pakistani and Somalian women constantly living in fear.
Diarrheal diseases in Bangladesh, killing over a hundred thousand children each year,
While Libya continues torturing citizens for drinking a beer.
Botswana and Swaziland infested in HIV/AIDS,
In the Central African Republic a Coca-Cola cost more than grenades.
War hysteria in Syria, Kidnapping cases in Nigeria,
Human rights violations in all parts of Algeria.
Endangered tribes in the amazon crying for help but nothing is been done,
And when’s the last time a child in a Brazilian favela had any fun?
Corruption levels in Uzbekistan and Zimbabwe remain at an all-time high,
Shocking and Inhumane laws condemned by the government of Brunei.
Genocide in Darfur, millions dead from starvation in North Korea,
The US military has ruined beautiful Diego Garcia.
Chocolate child slaves whipped for working too slow in the Ivory Coast,
And celebrating thanksgiving is nothing but a genocidal toast.
Poverty is everyone’s responsibility, and it continues to increase,
A violent environment, that’s allergic to peace.

Copyright © Wes Martin | Year Posted 2017

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

When Only the Best Will Do

A former goalie in prison for life
For feeding his dogs parts of his dead wife
Was granted a work-release to play soccer again
For the Brazilian pro soccer team needing a win

another news brief from your Uncle Mike

Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2014

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Tea Party

Lies, glamour, gossip and Earl Grey tea,
turbulent tales boiling in china cups,
elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies
pinkies stuck up in the air,
hiding their pain or boredom
or unleashing their
hidden affairs.

Crimson glass roses, feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats and trim,
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some
pearls, are appealing to these
extravagant young
and proper
old girls.

The girls do not approve of:
	   Tortilla chips or
      Piercings of the tongue…

Invitation is by “Tea Bag Only,” which is
merely a device, to project the status of
a seriously affluent wife. Shaved legs, 
polished nails and Gi Gi’s Brazilian
waxing, will enliven you as one of
the crowd but may
seem a little 

Copyright © julie heckman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A multiculture peace

I met a Muslim family living down the road, 
And I thought they’d be different in every kind of way.
But in the mornings they just wake up, get dressed, 
Feed the cat, and they do this every single day.

Beside them lives a retired Jewish couple, two cars and a dog,
Their son had moved across town.
Their son moved in with an African woman 
Who wears her kaftan, and head dress with a gown.

And the family run shop down the corner, 
With the friendly Asian guy always ready for a chat.
That’s where I met the Brazilian theatre performer, 
And she invited me to her show called “Acrobat”.

At the gig I sat beside an Egyptian guy, 
He was so in awe just like he was holding his new born.
He was there with his French lover, 
And we all talked and laughed and shared some popcorn.

It turns out everyone I met in life from every cultural hub,
Has the same desires, wants and needs.
It’s the politicians spreading hate and fear to exclude,
And regular folk planting the inclusive seeds.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Plenty of room in Le Fut for Soccer

Plenty of room in « Le Foot »* for Soccer
     For Doug Vinson at PoetrySoup.com
Not long ago King Pelé
   Set “le foot” in America
Today his peoples’ muted “Olé”!
   Rue the day at Maracana

Now from coast to conniving coast
   Your Can-Can gals kick “le balon”*
No Wall in between the goal-posts
   To win at summit many a “galon”*

Alright! Keep your cherished football
   Iced-hoc-key bounced balls in basket
But let echo corked-leather on “saule”*
   Crikey! "le cri-cri"* of “le cricket”

Tremble at the hakka-cry of the All Blacks
   Cringe before Aussie toughs at Springbok élan
And let them romp with the Six-Nation packs
   Over your greens with fifteen Argentinian

Call out to the run-machine Little Master*
   And let his blade flash home-runs tout azimut
Over heads of fielders spectators and trainer
   And let your millions throb and catapult 
Your new knights sans armour in world arena
   And gasp at fresh records topple centuries*
On pitch and turf in Tests across suburbia
   And join the world in friendly rivalries.

*"Le Foot"or "Le Fut": French for football/soccer.
*"le balon": French for ball.
*"le(s) galon(s)": French for "stripes" as in "to win one's stripes in battle" (gagné ses galons au combat) .
*"le saule": French for the willow tree. "Willow" is metonymy for the cricket bat as the latter is made from the tree.
*"le cri-cri": familiar French for "le grillon", the insect cricket.
*"Little Master", sobriquet of Sachin Tendulkar, the retired legendary Indian test-cricketer, the counterpart of the Brazilian Pelé in soccer. See my poem: "The Little Master: Sachin Tendulkar", my most-read ever poem.
*"centuries": batting records in cricket run into a few centuries, mostly in five-day international test-matches.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017 


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2017

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Brave New World

It's the nature of the experiment
To be peeling off my autumn skin
In a gasoline waterlogged romance.
You can stay
If you want to.
We're pulling figures out of the way.
A fire in the hills 
Is luring a crowd in
And the admission fee starts
Somewhere in the infinite.
The new years Tokyo Alliance
Has brought a bouquet 
Of pharmaceutical pleasures
And I'm handing out 
Needles and narcotics
In the opium den.
This brave new world
Sells sex for a dollar and
A penniless teenager 
For even less.
And fast from the ground
Stands a Brazilian girl,
Fastening her garter belt
And smoothing her skirt
As she casts a virgin's suicide stone
Into the sounds of the sunrise.

Copyright © Samantha McDougal | Year Posted 2006

Details | Brazilian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

On Silly Childish Stickers

I scribbled quickly
As they wrote their final exam
Little notes of appreciation
A special individualized message
Thanking each student
For having been in my class
And for bringing me joy
Reminding each one
Of the potential that lies within
For each is a remarkable individual
A personalized message
Of encouragement
And a shared Bible verse
Psalm 37: 4

This was a special class
Made up of pastors
A journalist 
An architect
Adults from different walks of life
Some married
Others single
Some shy
Others bold
All wanting to become
Better writers 
What an amazing group
My French came in handy
With my students from Algeria
How I loved their French accent
As they tried to pronounce
The bothersome words in English
Leaving a never ending smile on my lips

After they spent an hour writing
I made them pause
To have home baked brownies
I’d made from scratch
Along with a soft drink
A time to relax…

They continued on their essays
And I decorated each note
With stickers
“Great Work”
“Way to Go”
“You are a Star”
And for the women
Lots of hearts!
I love hearts
They decorate my office
Key rings
And now
My little notes
Which came straight from my heart

Each one got to exchange the finished essay
For a handwritten note from the teacher
I said with a sheepish grin
“These stickers are not because you are a child….
But…because I am!
I am a child at heart!"

That brought smiles
And a hug from 
The journalist from Brazil
“I’m going to cry,” she said.
As she gave me a bear hug
My heart sang
They had learned to love writing
What greater joy could be mine?

The Brazilian journalist
Met me in church last Sabbath,
Gave me another warm hug and said,
“Teacher, thank you for the note
You inspired me to do my best.”
And what she couldn’t articulate well
Sparkled in her eyes
And danced in her hand motions

Silly little stickers
Simple little words
A whole lot of love
Love for my students
EVERYONE needs some encouragement
Everyone needs to know 
That inside the heart resides
A wealth of beauty longing to be expressed
A piece of the soul that longs to live forever
In the written word

I thank God I’m a teacher
After all, 
I’m in good company
For, the GREATEST Teacher of all time
Jesus Christ
Is my mentor!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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Welcome to Parliament, my
dear old friends,
Welcome aboard - we'll 
start new trends.
The murky world of this
exclusive house,
You may not bring your
married spouse!

We have a chamber that's
fit for the crust,
It features whips - and
there's plenty of lust!
There's a smoke room
too - and a basement 
playroom - 
Madam Sin doing wonders
with her broom!

Sadism and kinky - is
the only requirement,
Chains and shackles - in
Rent boys on tap - 
Brazilian blend,
Polishing the brass - of
the bell end!!!!

There are mistresses
too - with purring little
They cater for all - 
including lesbians!!!!
They specialise in 
adultery - and exposing
their clients,
Then sell to the news
media - the gossip, 
the chants!

They love to party - 
at the swinger's nest,
It really is sordid - it's
the new Falcon Crest!!
The pendulum swings - 
the party begins,
Please lead the way - 
to the house of sins?

The smell is wretched,
like the MPs themselves,
Champagne and drugs -
are high on the shelves.
Powerful people who 
have no shame,
If they are caught - they
will pass the blame!

They act like the crazies - 
caressing their parts,
MPs all laughing - as 
they fondle their tarts!
Anything goes - and
everything goes,
Even some crack is 
pushed up the nose!!!!

The wenches are ladies - 
ladies of the night - 
They are well paid - as
they think that's right.
Expenses are on hand - 
to claim for this hash,
MPs are gladly - hiding
their stash!

The house of lords - is
the next stop - 
Snogging and cavorting - 
until you do drop.
This gentleman residency - 
is a respected' old house,
Where dirty old men - 
can cheat on their spouse.

Just sign in and go - is 
the order of play,
Sniff the odd coke - then
claim your back pay!
Ten per cent - that'll do
More champagne, Sir?
oh, absolutely!!!!

The Houses of the elite,
is waiting for you,
But, just hang on - there
is a big queue!
Live and let live - is our
motto for ever,
Especially if you're 
confused - and a bit of
a bender!!!! 

Oh come all ye faithful - 
you are "NOT" welcome,
If you are single - you 
may still come.
The corrupt we adore - 
this is our motto - 
Time, Gentlemen, please,
same time tomorrow!


Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2015

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The Sweetest Compliment- My Blog on FB Musings

	The day before I posted a picture on my Facebook page that I thought would bring criticism my way. It was the picture fuller sized woman, sitting on a wicker chair. The controversial bit? She was stark naked. The beautiful bit? She was gorgeous….rolls and curves and everything! She was sitting sideways with one of her legs over the arm of the chair. Her long auburn hair cascaded down to cover those bits of her that needed covering. All you could see were curves and rolls. The article that went with it was about acceptance of fuller bodied women. It was a humorous write which compared whales to mermaids in response to a sign posted on the door of a gym, “Would you rather be a mermaid or a whale?” Anyway, it resonated with me because I used to be called a dolphin. I’m VERY free and graceful in the water. I LOVE to swim. Now….I resemble another aquatic mammal which, though large,….is still graceful and beautiful. You GUESSED IT…the WHALE! ;) Anyway…the article was AMAZING. I loved it and I posted it, knowing as I did so that the conservative Christians in my church group would find it…..disconcerting, to say the least.
	The next day, I posted a picture of myself, which happens to be my current avatar. I love snapping pics and this pic was one that I particularly liked. My hair is flaring out all around my face. You can’t see it here. The caption? BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT. A little while later I got a message in my inbox by a really good Brazilian friend of mine who was part of the staff at the university where I teach. His comment? 
“The latest pic you posted: hot!! but I could not post this comment there, hehehehehe so im messaging it.” I messaged back that I thought so too, and it really helped that the woman had such a pretty face. In my mind I was going to tease him and say, “Oh, you mean the pic of me?” but I never got the chance because this was his next message: “btw i was talking about your pic!!! hehehe but that other one is pretty hot too!!!!” 
	I was beside myself. How can I explain the joy that it gave me to read that? Now you all must be thinking one of two things: 1) shame on her for sharing his personal message (HE KNOWS. I TOLD HIM I WOULD) 2) what does that have to do with us?
	I’m having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I’m aging…with the fact that I’m not the woman I used to be…with the fact that the world sees only skinny as beautiful. A compliment like that gave such a boost to a woman who is struggling with body image issues. You never know what words can do for someone’s self-esteem….especially words for a dear friend. Marcelo has been and continues to be a very dear friend. He made my day yesterday. I’m here to say….don’t hold back on words of affirmation. Of course, think of the context…and appropriateness.  I’m still flying high on his words. I will for a while…it will give me the impetus I need to be that woman I was….that I still am on the inside!
Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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I am from

I am from a house full of kids and vacations with family reunions at my relatives' farm,
I am from the smells of fruits and flowers and the smell of wet earth, and mischief without intent to harm.
I am from a time to make-believe to be an actress or a beautiful model full of charm
I am from a childhood surrounded by perfume,
memories, happiness, and also gloom.
My best friends and best members of my family were always a pen and paper to jot down my fantasy.
I am from busy parents who had put me in a Catholic school with nuns who were always talking about heaven and generosity
but in fact, they were wicked and they were always trying to prune my curiosity
by punishing me for asking and doubting about the Bible story
and once again the pen and the paper were both my glory.
The paper and the pen never disappoint me and never leave me alone
They were always with me and they have never gone.
I am from Polish blood and Brazilian heart,
I am made from pieces and made from parts.
I have no labels, I am a learner, I'm right and wrong
I am longing to live forever and supposed to last a season,
like all the human beings who are not for so long.
So, I will be happy with or without reason.
From "I dare you" as my cousin used to say
"No one can dare me", I will answer, it is my way.
I am from a childhood full of dreams, full of mess
I was a tomboy and also a princess
I was an actress holding a Pepsi
I am full of failure and success
I was everything I was longing to be
A child can do anything with imagination
I am grew up, I am a human being, I am just like me
with pen and paper to give me the same sensation?

Copyright © Ana Dyminski | Year Posted 2016

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Walled by Religions, Painted by Books

A rare Arab and Asian identity which is distinct in topography; blessed with an excellent human resource in health services; its heart, destroyed and rebuilt seven different times; having a name unchanged and sustained to reach historic zeniths; surviving a number of years more than the number of Brazilian Airports while its tongue resonates in three different dance moves. This land historically occupied by over 19 intruders holds the world book capital and appears in the league of the most popular shopping destinations globally. In the global skyscraper of night clubs, sky Bar stays at the top. The creation of the first boat and the establishment of the first sail makes the Phoenicians topple Christopher Columbus to reach America. Down town Beirut raises its flag high above all others in the building of its law school. Rooted from its gardens is the creators of Tom and Jerry and holds the shield of pride as the first constitution driven Arab Nation. A plug in the large socket of the Arab peninsula is this land with the highest percentage of Christians in its league; having a city named after the combined scrolls of the Christ-like religion and sidon signifying the first miracle center of the Messiah; with the popular belief of the divine plantations of the cedars. It is sealed by the several mentions of both land and tree in the holy scriptures. Even though it is a fortieth of the entire religious empire its garage gives out a large chunk of the peninsula’s publications. Unique in its spring, when skiing and swimming are both possible; possessing fifteen flowing waters, each coming from its own mountainous source; with four times more compatriots outside its landmark than within its territorial fence. Its past time events of the wild fire of civil wars all ignited by the sparks of inter-religious differences reflect a large society harbouring eighteen different faith to form a nation with hidden political and economic influences.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015