You see how Spanish, Italians, Portuguese play football. I don't say they are perfect, I say English football has a few things to learn from them in the same way they have a lot of things to learn from English football.

quote by Jose Mourinho
Added by Lucian Velea
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angola the African dream

Angola, the African Dream.

A box of photos, black & white and amber, under the old woman’s
bed, tell of young faces and success. Cars drive up and down
an avenue called Liberty. Angola, even the most humble state
functionary had a black servant. And the white people were deaf
to the dark voices of independence.
The Portuguese settlers had been promised a land of plenty, and
the local people would be their willing serfs. Foreign legion soldiers
helped them flee the wrath of the exploited. Back in Portugal again,
dipping their hands in manual work, the African dream was over.
Photos never tell a story it’s a blank canvas made up of shadows
and the unspoken. Memories will be sweet and often untrue.
People who had to return back to poverty, will insist they brought
civilization to Angola, especially now that the avenue of Liberty,
in Luanda, is potholed.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Fight For Freedom

The Fight for Freedom

Another art exhibition, paintings of naïve art decorated on ancient doors
and window shutters, most of them about harvesting of olive and carobs.
And of course there were mules and donkeys without the beasts of burden
the Iberian landscape could not contained its charm of slow but steady
labour. Fences made by stones, from unwilling earth, this patch of land
is mine given to me by my father. And so are the trees, all of them; land
was important back then for families’ survival and cultural inheritance.
And they are lucky, the Portuguese, no horde of war injured people will
descend upon them and declare a new Hebrew republic,
Yet, once upon a time Portugal was a province under Imperial Rome till
it declared independence, by force. If you do not fight for your freedom
you will not get it. So what is left for the Palestinians to do….Intifada?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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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,

[...] Read more

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Only A Dream In Rio

More than a distant land
Over a shining sea
More than the steaming green
More than the shining eyes
Well they tell me its only a dream in rio
Nothing could be as sweet as it seems
On this very first day down
They remind me son have you so soon forgotten
Often as not its rotten inside
And the mask soon slips away
Strange taste of a tropical fruit
Romantic language of the portuguese
Melody on a wooden flute
Somba floating in the summer breeze
Its alright you can stay asleep
You can close your eyes
You can trust the people of paradise
To call your keeper
And tender your goodbyes
Oh what a night wonderful one in a million

[...] Read more

song performed by James Taylor
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Johannesburg 1965

As a baby barely able to walk,
I walked in the long corridors
of the apartment block that belonged to us
pulling-pulling on the big collie dog

that was smiling at me all the time
and wanted to lick me in my face,
taking a broom
I held the handle against my head

and when I slipped and fell
my whole forehead was cleft open
with blood pouring out
as if from a fountain.

One afternoon I got hold of the shoe polish
smearing my face full of Nugget
and I looked like dear old Sofie
and she laughed with white teeth
while cleaning my face,

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Portugal is a high hill with a white watch tower on it flying signal flags. It is apparently inhabited by one man who lives in a long row of yellow houses with red roofs, and populated by sheep who do grand acts of balancing on the side of the hill.

quote by Richard H. Davis
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Nagasaki mon amour

Nagasaki Mon Amour

There are moments when things become clear. A night, the Pacific Ocean was,
as its name, calm; I sat on deck and listened to the heartbeat of the ship,
which seemed to beat faster when one of the engineers opened the door and
came out on deck. I heard laughter from the mess-room they were playing
cards but I knew I would never be one of them, I had tried, the swagger and
the misogyny, living in a world where women were either whores or mothers.
The ship was bound for Nagasaki, which for the young crew meant little, but
I had been here before and visited a graveyard where Portuguese sailors had
died long time ago when Japan was an unknown land. At sixty I was a relic
and accepted that. Berthed. Walking down the gangway, I didn’t bother to look
back, didn’t shake anyone’s hand- it was dinner time anyway. Before flying back
to Europe I tried to find the Portuguese cemetery, it wasn’t there anymore;
another relic gone.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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My Cape women are generally true to type - big hearted, motherly women who love the sea. My other characters, with the exception of the Portuguese, who I occasionally mention as Cape dwellers, are obviously drawn from the city types one sees in everyday life.

quote by Joseph C. Lincoln
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Artificial Paradise

It’s an Artificial Paradise
Here in the Vale Da Plenty

Security keeps the peasants out
Unless there’s bins to empty
And shirts to iron
Beds to change
Floors to sweep on Wednesday

They’ve a Portuguese lady does each week
They think her name’s Miranda
But they’re not sure
They’re always out
At the clubhouse bar veranda

Ferdinando cuts their grass
And trims their Bougainvillaea
If he trimmed for them
In Tunbridge Wells

[...] Read more

poem by Martin Swords
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Paradise Lost

Paradise Lost

The grass is tall now a cat with a dormouse in its
mouth is watching me, not quite an African lion
as seen on a BBC, nature program

I may go to Africa in May, Congo, might not see
an elephant or a gorilla but I’m sure to find a war
somewhere in the forest, near a diamond mine.

Here, where I live, I can take off my shoes and
walk barefoot in the grass, but my feet have been
encased in shoes so long they are European now.

So am I an African? No not now, but I used to be
in an earlier life, that’s why I call Africa my home
and tend to idolize and over romanticise the place.

Portugal is a god country to live in and it is closer to

[...] Read more

poem by Oskar Hansen
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African Elephant

A rock fortress
In gaze's path of sight
The tenacious titan of the animal kingdom
Drifting through corridors of space and time
Seeping the grace of a celestial angel
The innate serenity of a Dominican friar
The noble poise of a Lusitanian fidalgo
The effervescent spirit of a Kikuyu warrior
An august creature idyllically plodding on the endless savannahs
With an indomitable dominance
Bestowed by the herculean muscle of her dental boughs
As giant elastic flaps flutter in a karmic cadence
To be one with the svelte curves of a buxom Aeolus
As he unleashes his trumpeting voice, a reverberating call
An offering of peace, a plea for compassion
To the callous ears of man, entwined
To the misery of deed's warped exploitation
As humanity gazes through the eye of a needle
Through narrow straits of indifference, in the hollowness of a heartless gun barrel
As a mighty boom silences the call of the wild

[...] Read more

poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Blank Page

Blank Page

This new blank page, a word processor page, I cannot touch. I ought to leave it this
way, just look at it and dream of what I could have written on it. If I delet the words
I have written now, it will be blank again, no history, no crumbled up sheet of paper
in the wastebasket. For now it is too late but I might erase it when I come to an end.
My wife was in Johannesburg once for surgery, being born in Congo but light skinned
and travelling on a Portuguese passport, she boarded a bus for the blacks.
Great consternation, she was told by police to go on the white only bus since she
was Portuguese. Racism and anti Semitism are so stupid, it makes no sense, one race
thinks it is superior to others. Now it is the Moslems who are feeling the surge
of ignorance. We want them to be more like us and not Insist of doing their own things.
In Israel, for instance the European Jews feel vastly superior to Arab Jews, This in a state
that is an artificial construct. The culture of Europe in the Middle East. We know Israel,
as it exist today must come to an end. So there I said it, this white virtual sheet has been
befouled by an opinion no one wants to know about. So what do I do know? Erase this
page so it is blank again and I can write about the moon?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Portuguese Song

This song is Portuguese
and it says:

“There is joy, there is sorrow
And sometimes they walk
Hand in hand
As you and I
And there is no reason not
To laugh at the sorrow
Or cry from the joy
Because, like us,
They are invited
So let us thank them
For walking with us
On this path we call life
And dance with them
For who knows
What is waiting
For us at the end,
If there is one? ”

poem by Jonathan Horwitz
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Time Displaced Empires Conflict Expire

Byzantium Byzantine Empire survives;
to be time displaced Islam at greatest extent?
Arab Empire this region controlled 75%.

Europe dark Middle Ages slowly recovers;
Renaissance rebirth of 12th century leads
after centuries to European new aspirations?

Naval prowess of growing European powers?
Forced flexes muscles Ottoman Empire confronts
halts further rapid Ottoman Empire expansions?

European Catholic maritime states;
a coalition of southern Mediterranean
a Holy League fleet in 1571assembles?

Illustrious members were the Papal States;
Habsburg states of Spain Sicily Naples;
Republic of Venice Republic of Genoa mobilizes;

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fado

Fado
What do we do with Fado, this guitar sound and
guttural Portuguese voice that has a twang of
Arabia in its heart and is pure poesy.

Life, loss longing and the finality of death, is in
songs that celebrate love’s unbearable sweetness,
our tragedy and the unobtainable.

Yes, sing me a Fado, let me hear the guitar and
I will close my eyes float in a sea of melancholy
and remember you.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Influenced By Europeans

As An American I can say,
I've been influenced by Europeans.
I grew up with Jews and Italians,
Most of my young life.
My high school had a mixture,
Of Russians, Portuguese, French
And Spaniards.
Who would find me humorous...
When the teacher saw my hand raised,
To sometimes ignore.
Until I made outbursts.
Expecting from her more.

I took two years of French.
And had friends of several races.
Then one day all of that was changed.
When the city I now live in...
Became a place for bigoted racists.

Oh there may be many who will try to deny what I say.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Bough of Nonsense

AN IDYLL

Back from the Somme two Fusiliers
Limped painfully home; the elder said,
S. “Robert, I’ve lived three thousand years
This Summer, and I’m nine parts dead.”
R. “But if that’s truly so,” I cried, “quick, now,
Through these great oaks and see the famous bough

”Where once a nonsense built her nest
With skulls and flowers and all things queer,
In an old boot, with patient breast
Hatching three eggs; and the next year…”
S. “Foaled thirteen squamous young beneath, and rid
Wales of drink, melancholy, and psalms, she did.”

Said he, “Before this quaint mood fails,
We’ll sit and weave a nonsense hymn,”
R. “Hanging it up with monkey tails

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Graves
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Touch Of Class

oh well, i hear you
speak english to your dogs
spanish to the maids
and french to your business partners
on the phone,

you write your poems in german
your essays in portuguese
your menu posted on the ref in italian

cultured, educated, that is you
with a touch of class

but for one thing
now that you have fallen
drowning in the sea

oh gosh, you do not even
know how to swim!

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dunbar

This signal of your love and this signal of my muse,
It was joy when i heard of your words!
And like a visit to Lagos in Portugal,
But, i had the same experience in Lagos (Nigeria) some years ago.

Heavy metals and simple words,
Down the riverside to wait for you;
And like Dunbar your friend in the land of many waters!
But, thousands of flowers and candles are needed over here like,
The soft meat in the land of sweet songs!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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