Long Tempos Poems
Long Tempos Poems. Below are the most popular long Tempos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tempos poems by poem length and keyword.
Pessoas Poderosas
Analisemos isso por um momento.
Chamamos muitas pessoas de “poderosas”!
Então vamos escrever sobre poder.
Temos dois tempos no qual vive e viveu o poder:
o poder antigo funciona como uma moeda.
O poder novo funciona como uma corrente.
O poder antigo está nas mãos de poucos.
O poder novo não está nas mãos de poucos, mas é feito por muitos.
O poder antigo trata-se de download e o poder novo faz upload.
O poder novo não é sua página do Facebook. Garanto.
Dito isso, não se esqueçam de uma coisa: estamos no início de uma curva bem inclinada.
O poder novo é um poder de valores.
E por isso vou escrever aqui um primeiro rascunho de como serão os valores do novo poder.
Os valores de o novo poder apreciam a transparência acima de tudo. É uma crença quase religiosa em transparência, a crença de que se você iluminar algo ficará melhor. E lembrem-se de que no século 20, isso nem sempre era verdade. As pessoas pensavam que deveriam trabalhar à porta fechada e fazer acordos confortáveis.
O poder novo valoriza a governança – não liderança e sim inspiração informal e em rede. As pessoas do poder novo nunca teriam inventado a ONU hoje, seja para melhor ou pior.
O poder novo valoriza a participação, e o poder novo tem tudo a ver com "faça você mesmo". O interessante no poder novo é que ele evita a profissionalização e a especialização.
Fique ligada e saberá mais quando quiser: 055 19 9 8127 7372WhastApp
Não diga que uma pessoa é poderosa se ela realmente não é.
SWEATS and SWEETS
Shooting sighs and moans we fired last night still glows
As tangoed silhouetted shadows hungered love dancing
Peeping breeze outside match our whispers and calls flow
Desiring to dip and sway like leaves our top wanting
Our hands and lips pastel strokes to light brushes show
Two bared torso's touching amidst silken sheets warmed
Daring palms to fingertips send fevers upon hungry hips
Heartbeats stomps and thumps like bass drums stormed
Thrusts and pumps to nerves draw carousels of round trips
Stirring sweats to trail slow on curves adorned
Sweet scented heart lips in nonstop loving caress
As tempos rising aplenty voice fusion fueled cries
Torso's now blossom blessed by their loving impress
Gyration waves ebb after reaching heavenly skies
Legs twine, breaths calm, sated souls fall finesse
______________________________________________________________
©J. A. Fraser and O. E. Guillermo
17.14pm, May 24, 2015
a practiced smile on her face
a mother’s oenomel breath puffs wind under gossamer wings
reminiscent of the translucent wings of green lacewings—
mistaken for a pest, but beneficial—
to strike out and explore a thorny world
resisting the siren call of spring’s scent
turning their heads with songs of love
emerging personalities
unravel the cocoon spun in love
as naiveté fragmentises into bluster
a mother unobtrusively dries tears
desiring a moral code of empathy towards all
the sweet fragrance of pride
a tantalising selection between
intrinsic values and
natural curiosity—
concomitant heartbeat tempos to dog-eared sheet music of ambition
culminating in Life’s crescendo
natural selection, be damned
as recalcitrant offspring echoes eons of mitochondrial resilience
Muda-se o ser, muda-se...
Mudam-se os tempos, mudam-se as vontades,
Marinas, Thaises, e tantos nomes...Glauco e Joãos
Todo o mundo é composto de mudança,
Tomando sempre novas qualidades
Das outras mudanças.
Viver. Crescer. Aprender.
Experimentar.
mudar de idéia
Mudam-se os tempos,
mudam-se as vontades,
Voltar quando quiser mudar.
Mudam-se os tempos,
mudam-se as vontades,
Continuamente vemos novidades,
Diferentes em tudo da esperança:
Do mal ficam as mágoas na lembrança,
E do bem (se algum houve) as saudades.
De tanto que se muda
Que deveria existir
Mudançar...
Assim Repor
o batom,
refazer a maquiagem
Reacordar
quando o tempo de sono
é
vício na pele amarrotada
deveria ser
Mudançar
Reler
por “saci” nas sílabas
em escuridão afundada
deveria ser
Mudançar
Reaver
do padre eterno esquecido
fé febril equivocada
deveria ser
Mudançar
Reter
no músculo oxigenado
Resistir
ao cântico suado
a evolução revoltada
deveria ser
Mudançar
Mudançar...
É o verdadeiro
linguajar da contínua marcha
vivente reinventada.
É hora de mudançar.
Marinas, Thaises, e tantos nomes...
Glauco e Joãos
Volte
quando quiser mudar.
Afro Beats pulse through my veins/
Deep House vibrations as Dj Vertigo X manipulates the house vinyl/
The booth is alive/High-end sequences intertwine, complex melodies wrapping around me/
Jazz Hip Hop can you hear it? Waiting for the breakdown/ Do you feel It/
The echoes of Pete Rock and DJ Krush are in the air, a dance house of history, Bling to Swing, a playful soundtrack creaking in my ear/
Downtempo grooves guide our feet, Drums thumping, bumping/
Upright bass grounding our soul/
Melodic piano loops drifting, Chords and chromatic notes shifting/
Herbie Hancock to D’Angelo, From Prince’s Crown funk to our very own, Soulful loops, Jazzy Keys, Miss Anderson wants to sing if you please/
Tempos shifting, HI/high/treble/Top/ 85 BPM, 104 BPM, feel that ebb and flow, man, the sumptuously smooth journey unfolds/
Afro Beats and Deep House collide/
listen, baby, I ain’t talkin no playboy jive/
If I come to you in summer fields
full of fragrant bell-shaped flowers,
would you fly that I might follow
to watch you dance before your fellows
in floral-edged soliloquy.
With vibrant tempos fundamental
you turn and run and circle 'round,
find vertical inclination
to correlate the invitation
and fly the pathway now revealed -
Then come again to summer fields
full of fragrant bell-shaped flowers.
*****
Note: Honey bees are the only known bee genus that uses nest-based communication to provide nest-mates with information about the location of resources, the so-called “dance language.” Successful foragers perform waggle dances for high quality food sources and, when swarming, suitable nest-sites.
Para uma Boa Amizade
As pessoas são muito parecidas
às crianças,
Excessiva amabilidade
causa mal!
Na convivência
com outras pessoas
é aconselhável
fazer sentir
de tempos em tempos
a homem ou mulher,
que podemos passar sem ele ou ela.
Via de regra,
não se perderá um amigo
por lhe negar um empréstimo,
mas muito facilmente
por lhe conceder,
também não se perderá
nenhum amigo
por conta de um tratamento orgulhoso
e um pouco negligente,
mas sim em
virtude de excessiva
amabilidade e solicitude,
que fazem com que ele ou ela
se torne insuportável,
o que então produz a ruptura.
KEROUAC THE WORD SPEAKS JAZZ/Tony Adamo
Spoken Word All in Caps for Better Reading While in Recording Studio/10/14/23
THE JAZZ COOL AND BEBOP MUSICIANS MADE MUSIC THEIR OWN/
THE BEAT GENERATION WAS A NONCONFORMIST CULTURE MOVEMENT OF THE 1950’S/
WRITERS, POETS SUCH AS JACK KEROUAC, NEAL CASSADY, ALLEN GINSBERG, DIANE DE PARMA, WILLIAM S. BURROUGH, AND PHILIP LAMANTIA, AND A WHOLE BEAT GENERATION OF AUTHORS WHO TOLD YOU LIKE IT IS/
INNOVATIONS IN THE COOL OF WORD SPEAK POETRY/ THE BEATS WERE A LITERARY SUBCULTURE THAT WAS DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE TOTAL REJECTION OF STANDARD NARRATIVE VALUES/
MAN, HARD LIQUOR, DRUGS, AND MAD SEX FUELED THE BACKBONE OF THE BEATS ALONG WITH THE HARMONIC SYSTEM OF BEPOP IMPROVISATIONS INFUSED INTO THEIR WORLD OF THE NEW POETRY SPOKEN WORD/
THE BEAT GENERATION’S MOVERS AND THINKERS HIPED THE WORLD TO A NEW WAY OF KNOWLEDGE WITH FLOWING THOUGHTS AND IDEAS ABOUT PERSONAL FREEDOM WITHOUT GOVERNMENT INTERVENTION/
SO, DIG, LIKE THE BEBOPPERS STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS ON THE BANDSTAND, IN PARTICULAR, CHARLIE BIRD PARKER IMPROVISED HORN SOLOS/
SO WAS IT FOR THE BEATS' FAST AND SLOW MUSIC TEMPOS IN THEIR WORD DELIVERY/
TAKING MELODY BEBOP MUSIC LINES, IMPROVISATION ON WORDS, AND INCORPORATING THE SOUNDS INTO THE BEAT THINKING AND WRITINGS/
MAN, THESE JAZZ POETS WERE DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF JAZZ WORD SPEAK, BEBOP JUMPING FREESTYLE IN WORD WRITING TO PAGE AND BEYOND/
NOT ALL BEATS WERE JAZZHEADS/ BUT JAZZ MUSIC IN THE 1950s GAVE VOICE TO A LOT OF THE BEATS' POETRY AND WRITINGS/ LIKE DIG KEROUAC ON THE STEVE ALLEN TV SHOW TO SEE AND HEAR WHAT I MEAN/
LIKE IT IS BABY, LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI, KEROUAC, AND GINSBERG, WERE KICKIN THEIR WORD SPEAK WRITINGS WITH A BEBOP INFLUENCE AND A MARIJUANA, HIGH BALL HIGH/
THE BEAT GENERATION FREED THEMSELVES IN THEIR WRITINGS AND LIVES FROM THE SHACKLES OF WESTERN THINKING IN SEEKING NEW WAYS TO EXPRESS THEIR TIMES ABOUT LOVE, LIFE, DEATH AND POETRY.
The bowel of the earth deepens with
Saturated blessings of the soil, and
Down, down, the forces burrow in its
Caverns —creviced
Between day and night, I cannot decipher,
Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the
Arcane values, where the eyes, though
Blind, see through the darkest chasm
Syncopations thrive —the mind and the
Soul of the hides, the metallic occupation,
The throbs from animal faculty in desuetude,
And hallowed cadences of chants.
Darkness and light, I do not know
But behold, in the strength of the day’s looming eyes,
Cormorants, in elixir, hover at the mouth of vigilant cliffs
Beneath the earth’s balcony, chattering loosely.
Chants, chants of midnight-hour Africa,
Feeble metaphor for the softness of leopard skin,
Innocent voices parched like no globule of water
Has streamed past their distressed throats in ages
From the riots of drums underneath the exhausted earth,
Skeletal frames of distinct horn-like sounds
Surround the warm rage of ceremonies in volcanic appeal,
Enough for us to grab and interpret
The rubbles of the crust, smelt in the heat of
Confused processions, charm my eyes
The earth rumbles, mirages occur so pronto, focusing their
Lens on the revelling clouds above.
Chants on time and chants on the spine of the hour . . . .
Seen through the heat-haze of the swelling day,
Beheld in the webs of the night as in the stately
Prowls of lurking, visiting silhouettes;
Chants of gestures, of initiations, of primitive
Religions, of the invocations of rain after a stifling drought,
Chants of accelerated tempos from drums and flutes in salutations
To the returning reincarnated souls.
Let the restlessness of the spirits begin now —but with supreme bliss
I could have borrowed steadfastness from the moon and the sun,
For perpetual energy and unending flow of unseen waves of clarity.
From the dark nights, I humbly request their star-studded witness.
From precipice of memories, flashbacks nostalgic billow,
Thinking of you as I ruminate, adoring the views below,
Where waves oceanic dance, leaping on windy tempos,
Propagating ambitions of tides, vying pristine sea shore;
Rippling my thoughts, undulating with emotions of yore,
Mesmerized in recollections lovingly brought to fore,
Allured by longings unforgettable, yearning for more,
Of your covert smile, enamored in friendship and love.
Admiring beauty serene, negotiating crests and troughs,
Immersing in nature’s awe, despite hurricanes and storms,
Sailing on vigor of vitality, rowing with elation and joy,
We built on hope and pride, rising and falling with tides;
Adulating on apex of highs, descrying the lows of sighs,
Turning pages of life, enchanting our hearts and minds,
We watched seasons decaying, regenerating over time,
Recognizing, in failures we sow, seeds of success in life.
Though dreams of romance became nightmares of desires,
We retain treasured albums, forever moments inspired,
Of sacred truths unveiled, destinations exotic we sailed,
Of dreams magical reveled, of themes our passions made;
Hypnotizing me still, in glance of your glamorous smile,
As I rejoice in tenor of then, remorseful of final goodbyes,
Cherishing melodious sounds, echoing from arc of bygones,
Gleaming our separate horizons, hosting asunder dawns.