Best Rio Poems
Carl is still in Rio
He is hooked on the casino
Sweet love in moonlight
Cherry musk all night
His libido is like a volcano
01.03.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
6-8-5 -5 -10 syllables
www.howmanysyllables.com
Rio de Janeiro, a city by the shore:
Home to Ipanema, Carnival and dance folklore.
As a child, of you I read, from books that showed your Christ.
Arms outstretched, He guards your days and lights your sky by night.
And now I’ve stood beneath His feet and breathed the air you breathe.
I’ve viewed the famous Sugar Loaf, seen monkeys play in trees,
visited your fruit stands and drunk from a coconut shell.
I’ve searched for creatures hewn in stone that midnight vendors sell,
and on your soft and clinging sand, I thrust my toes deep in
and glistened under winter sun, brown sugar on my skin.
Along Copacabana, I jumped waves, enjoyed a beach
which, when they cross an avenue, all visitors can reach.
On weekends and on holidays, your several sea fronts teem
with hundreds, no with multitudes, of people who all seem
content to chat beneath umbrellas, lounging in the sun,
while on a road closed to all traffic, others like to run.
And on that winding promenade are folks, most clad in shorts,
thong-bikinied women, sundry shapes and shades all sorts!
Kids whiz by on roller blades; old or young may ride a bike.
Many simply merrily stroll, though dressed as for a hike.
And in your city’s whole, the countless cars and bodies stream;
pedestrians and door-less shops, props in your waking dream.
with taxis veering left and right and people catching buses;
Cacophony of life your subways and your streets encompass.
Children on their mother’s hands; boys in soccer shirts.
Men sip beers at sidewalk bars; girls scurry in their tight skirts.
Portuguese artisans laid the paths your people walk.
What tales immersed in history if cobblestones could talk!
More than a metropolis, you are yourself, unique!
And I have had the pleasure to have sampled your mystique.
For Bic Gi-Sa's Landscape and Towns Contest
The Olympic games are ending soon,
Oh, what a show it's been,
With athletes losing gracefully
And gracious when they win.
Bringing honor to their countries,
Their families and their sports.
Behind the scenes they mingle
And listen to reports.
USA gymnasts are a wonder,
They have gobbled up the gold.
The tales of these fearless athletes
Will be told and retold.
If only nations followed
The examples of their youth,
Problems would be solved without a war.
We'd be winners in all truth.
Before next games in 2020
May the world find a lasting peace
And leaders who've learned lessons
And formed friendships such as these.
Now this is quiet a famous little stream, many untold story
The muddy waters run slow, but don't let it fool you when it comes alive
Divides the United States and Mexico, but it is just a line
Old Cottonwood trees and quick sand, some cross it for glory
A history of out laws crossed it fleeing into Mexico, some did not survive
Maybe holding up a bank or stealing from a gold mine
Long yesterdays ago, Pancho Villa and his raiders came
They robbed and killed, then head back to their sanctuary
Some though him to be a hero, to the poor he was a giver
He was an out law, that is where he got his fame
Even today there are those that will argue to the contrary
After he did his damage, he always crossed that river
Those muddy waters have seen a lot and still active
It has been a battle ground, many old cowboy songs sung
But like history, the old river changes too
Sometimes history is not very attractive
Those cottonwoods have seen many horse and cow thieves hung
Back in those days that what they had to do
The tides of the old river have changed. smugglers bring drugs to this side
No longer six shooters, it is machine guns now days
No more cowboys and Indians, now cocaine desperado thugs
Anything goes there, no such thing as pride
And the old river once again has had to change it's ways
It is all because of damn old drugs
Take me back, to good old Rio
Let me lie there in the Sun
Then take a ride to Capo Ferro
Dancing Samba, having fun
And the girls will all be prancing
In the waves along the shore
Eating crab and fish together
That were caught the day before
As my passion starts increasing
Like the heat upon the grill
With all the stress now I'm releasing
I don't miss the northern chill
Take me back to good old Rio
Let me stay there to the end
No yesterdays or tomorrows
The place where night and day, just blends
Take me back.....
Zuzuangel, dances the dazzling streets of Rio.
Her red hair, shines in the moonlight.
Attracting only the finest to her.
She wears studded gold sandals, those sexy feet,
cannot stop dancin to the Jobim, Bossa Nova Beat.
The outside cafes, the weather divine,
This is Zuzu’s time to be out and about, plus to
radiantly shine.
Her inner-soul, you see, has a rain-bowed, inviting
glow.
Wherein the river of her inner poetry does both rise
and flow.
That inner peace, is her fortress, where she truly
cannot be touched.
And any fool, who intimidates her-will be at once,
directly be rebuffed!
It does no good to intimidate, crush or
gang up on any poet’s soul.
The fate for any who so so?
When you harm any of God’s children,
in a monsoon of your own arrogance
you are eternally lost and tossed.
Your vanity, will kill you so high and mighty
you are.
Forgetting each poet is part of
God’s creative star!
11/18/2021
Pangie still in Trauma Center.
Learning to walk and stand.
Sorry, I am constantly around.
Commenting time is at
a minimimum..
on and on and on
we climbed on painted horses
we hitched a ride on a conga line
rode on the luggage collection airport rides
watched the slide-show cycles on endless repeats
for life's a carousel of roundabouts
on those merry-go-rounds,
on and on, on and on,
with no beginning,
end or meaning,
spinning not
to heaven,
nor hell,
dream
on
Ah, I remember those smashing
days when I was dancing till dawn!
Refusing to be a workforce pawn.
It left no lines, but painted a smile on my face!
I enjoyed the joy, the people-peppered life.
Marvelously, frenzied, frenetic pace.
Being wild,did agree with me.
Life, for me, was so far, far more wondrous,
Than a posh,expensive, one- time cruise at sea.
Confetti-like, touching , steamy romances.
Meeting eccentric people from all nations
Learning, international, amazing dances.
Most people's lives follow a boring straight line.
Mine was and still is an escalating spiral path
Of colored, metallic, ribbons rising to the sky.
Nothing about it was ever dull norever orthodox.
I cherished each hour never did I once.
Run my life by societal rules or the face of a clock!
Full of international sounds andjoyous souls.
What a great life God has given gave me!
Now these joyous times with pen,I can transpose!
A free soul,I am till the day that Iexpire.
But perhaps~God might send me a spare tire?
A few more Bossa Nova years to
be with you.
In harmony and rhythm, just more
Samba and going to Rio!
March 6, 2024
his eyes as we stroll
to the rainforest café. . .
bright flowers float by
for Line Gauthier's Bite Size Poem No.4 Poetry Contest
Glorious Rio - unashamedly you bare
your body and your soul
to anyone, to everyone
who comes upon your glistening ocean shore.
You lie blissfully flaunting yourself,
oblivious to a code that tells
of when to arise or go to bed
of when to take breakfast or lunch or of where to sup
of how to dress for the beach or for the street.
You offer up yourself for my pleasure
and readily I take!
I take the sand to romp upon,
to lie upon and brown my skin.
I take the waves through which to leap
in exuberant jubilation.
I take your streets,
through which countless cars and bodies stream
and your cobbled walks
with their door-less shops
and their strange and tantalizing odors
of breads and fruits and sweets. . . I taste your delicacies.
I choose from wares of vendors on Copacabana’s Promenade
and marvel at delicate tropical birds
carved from amethyst, rose quartz, and from gold.
I take your abundant sights of natural splendor -
your Sugar Loaf Mountain
where tiny monkeys wander within my reach, your green foliage,
your many sunsets breaking
over the Atlantic.
I take the hospitality of your people of many hues -
from white to tan to black,
and I bask in the festive atmosphere with which you are imbued.
Alas, when I leave you, Rio, I look back
to the mountain where your Christ
o u t s p r e a d s
his arms
the symbol of your acceptance of us all.
Today I had the chance to hold "the blue from rio",
A blue bird on a skateboard you should meet and know,
A fancy parrot from the happy meal kid's land,
Preening all his gorgeous feathers on his wheeled stand,
Visit the happy meal site! Join his feathered flow.
That kid I saw in Rio,
I can’t forget him,
He hung on my arm, amidst overpriced, flashy hotels,
Past the nightclubs and dazzling neon lights,
That draws tourists like flies to a cottage porch light,
……..
The mix of poor and rich, lined the corners and formed the scenery,
In a city of black and white, no shade of gray,
He was following me, but where did he stay?
Was it in the Favela?
His eyes told me it was far away from the twinkle of riches,
His voice spoke of urgent desperation,
Sir, sir, he said, with subtle hope and aspiration….
To see a kinder world, than the one he’s seen so far,
To hope for so much more, to reach up for the stars,
. …….
Of all the versions of hello, I’ve singed into my mind,
Through all the coasts I’ve moored, and all the docks my ship has lined,
Where body language bridged the gap with those from distant lands,
When the unknown caused uncertain fear in greeting fellow man,
Amidst the seas that roared as if the hand of God propelled them,
There's that kid I saw in Rio, and I'll be damned if I forget him.
Pro Patria Mori
Missouri volunteers bit bullets, watched
as Santa Ana's baggage washed
their brazen hair, hip deep
in the Rio Grande.
The ancient river moved across the land
Like slow drool down a leather cheek.
Bang! Paul Bunyan's balls
rolled down the Great Divide, rattled
across the porcelain sea.
Oh, the girls!
Hair hot and black, Whoopee!
Their tongues as pink as baby fat.
Now tongs drop a hissing crepe
on the defoliated plate. Butter complicates
our fingers, soils the bib.
We crack a claw. Like a crib
at Benin, wary and dull,
the eagle fills his nest with skulls.
Carnival of Rio
in poverty and laughter
people celebrate
The opportunity came to play with Pedro from Rio,
A chubby red crested cardinal interesting to know,
He spins on his right gray wing with a flamboyant and fun flair,
Sporting black sunglasses looking all relaxed without a care,
*note one line is still being worked on, this is a series of
all the birds from the movie RIO, you can collect them at
MacDonalds, they all do tricks, this one spins on his wing,
the BLU one I posted, a button is on the back that plays music
they come with happy meals, or buy them apart for 2 buck CA.
Cute collection.