Spring poppies - by Tisha

Scarlet wings

in the wind,

glorious pride

waving in the sun;

Warm touch of joy

overwhelms the soul

and embraces the wind.

Plenitude of Life!

The rising moon - by Tisha

The rising moon,

aglow as if on fire

in red and gold attire,

against the dark blue horizon,

calls for the nostalgic touch

of your burning lips,

on my softest skin.

A lone Stradivari

of bow and solo treble pitch,

sways on the moonbeams,

pulling my mixed-emotion

heart strings

while we breathe in the scent of violets,

with a musty perfume of moss and earth.

oh, I shiver, as I behold

the beauty of your eyes

in flaming fire

of deepest desire.

Oh moonshine bright,

look down on our plight,

yearning for delicious

fulfilment,

with dancing fireflies

on a bouquet

of sweet-smelling violets.

Carnal Apple - Pablo Neruda

‘Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,’

Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,

dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light,

what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars?

What primal night does Man touch with his senses?

Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars,

through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:

Love is a war of lightning,

and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.

Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,

your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,

and a genital fire, transformed by delight,

slips through the narrow channels of blood

to precipitate a nocturnal carnation,

to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.

Pablo Neruda

Brave women - fighting cancer

O teu rosto - by Tisha

No teu rosto                                                       In your face,

vejo a madrugada,                                           I see the dawn,

calmo e sereno,                                              calm and serene

Os teus olhos castanhos                                 your brown eyes

sempre presentes                                         are always present

nos meus sonhos                                   in my open-eyed dreams

de olhos abertos.

Os lábios teus,                                                     Your lips

rios de frescura,                                        rivers of freshness;

mel do meu desejo.                                    honey of my desire.

A tua pele                                                            Your skin,

suave, moreno,                                                    soft brown

translúcido,                                                        translucent

delicioso                                                               delicious

chocolate quente.                                            hot chocolate.

Os teus cabelos                                        Your dark-brown hair,

castanhos escuros brilhantes,                   brilliantly shining

desperta-me embriagada                 awakens me half-drunk,

ao vento                                                          on the wind

da nostalgia.                                                   of nostalgia.

The Last Horizon - Magalhães Pinto

The last horizon

of my way...

A new land of sweetness...

a promised caress...

an universe of happiness...

...are about to fade away...

lightless stardust,

made of despair...

shivering clouds...

rains of crystals...

Winds aware

of their shouts...

waves and seas...

storms of feelings,

crying in the dark...

wingless bees...

adjourned meetings...

frontiers that mark

the no-trespassing skies...

orphans and widows

looking for love

responding to their cries...

a thousand lost shadows

flying well above

the cosmic limits...

... come all near me...

surround me...

drown me...

erase me

from the face of earth…

take me with you

to an empty land..

..be sure...

I will understand!...

photo by Tisha Smit

Dr Adélio António Magalhães Pinto, author of the above poem passed away unexpectently on 6th September 2011

Retrato - Eugénio de Andrade

No teu rosto começa a madrugada.

Luz abrindo,

de rosa em rosa,

transparente e molhada.

Melodia

distante mas segura;

irrompendo da terra,

quente, redonda, madura.

Mar imenso,

praia deserta, horizontal e calma.

Sabor agreste.

Rosto da minha alma.

Foto Tisha Smit

Choro - Eugénio de Andrade

Choras, e nem eu posso

mais do que lágrimas, coisas frias,

sobre as tuas mãos abandonadas

à janela dos dias.

Alta tristeza de cabelos de água,

é o meu rosto que se demora

- meu coração

escreve na noite como quem chora.

Foto Tisha Smit

Fleeting moments - by Tisha

Swaying in the summer breeze

facing the glorious dawn with glee;

or observing the distant sunset,

flaming red on the horison,

or resisting the midday sun,

or the sweltering heat in the afternoon;

or drinking in the early morning dew,

or the ranging stormy rain,

sometimes silent witness to lovers' encounters,

admiring the full moon's reflection

on an open, calm sea,

are these dangling grass seeds,

which are here today;

but gone tomorrow.

Just like fleeting moments

of existence, flimsy,

insecure, temporary,

awaiting a rebirth.

Photo by Tisha

Lagoa de Óbidos - A Oeste - João Martins Pereira

In the photos, we can clearly see Gronho, the giant sentry Rock, and how the oceanic Sea, breached through the Aberta, gaining full access to the Lagoa de Óbidos, remaking a completely new scenário, destroying the man-made beach. The Ocean reclaims what belongs to it by the incredible force of Nature! Both photos were taken on the 31-01-2010

by Laetitia Smit

Há 50 anos que sei de ti,

mas sei que ainda não te conheço.

Vi-te, senhora do engenho e do capricho,

mil vezes mudar de cara;

meiga ou violenta,

generosa ou pérfida;

reinavas sobre os peixes e as gentes,

as águas e as areias.

Nem o Mar Oceano rompia

a tua porta Aberta fechada.

A cada partida, sussurrava, maternal,

a carta da Vida aos robalos,

aos sargos a às douradas,

aos flamingos, às garças e às tarambolas.

O gigante, sentinela de pedra alerta,

os chamaria na hora de voltar.

Viste-me nascer,

ganhar asas e voar para longe;

como um jovem pássaro,

tonto pela vertigem da primeira migração,

acreditei que o vento sopra sempre na mesma direcção,

que a maré vaza não volta a encher.

E pensei em Adeus.

Depois, em tanto e tanto Mundo,

te entrevi que,

finalmente, entendi o teu silêncio sábio

e ouvi o grito do Gronho.

Olho para ti e sei que voltei a casa!

João Martins Pereira

I don't know you,

although I have known about you for fifty years.

I saw you, Lady of device and whim,

changing faces a thousand times;

submissive or violent; generous or evil,

ruling over fish and folk;

waters and sands.

Nor could the oceanic Sea

breach the closed Aberta (Open) door.

At each departure,

you whispered your maternal wisdom,

as if in a chart of Life,

to bass and bream,

flamingos, herons or plovers.

The giant, alert sentry Rock,

would call them home, in the hour of return.

You witnessed my birth,

and later, gaining wings to fly afar

as a young bird, dizzy from its first migration,

I believed that the wind would always blow

from the same direction

and the low tide would never rise again.

And I thought of farewell.

Then, having glimpsed you over and over again

throughout my wanderings in the world,

I finally understood your wizened silence

and heard Gronho's shout

I look at you and I know I am back home!

Laetitia Smit (translation).

Autumn - by Tisha

Darkness falls, each evening..

Your image appears in my mind

in the dwindling light;
in delicious feelings of elation,
or in painful loneliness.

The sky painted in bright colours,
temporarily brightens my spirits,
but night falls without fail;
quiet, dark, sober,
covering my soul

with blankets of October.

The nights are longer,

the days shorter.

Trees are orange and gold,

preparing for the long, dark cold.

But I search your beloved image,

to fill my soul with joyous delight.

I imagine...

Your presence;

the aroma of your skin;

your voice in tender refrain;

your tender touch;

your sensual lips

in kisses divine,

like precious, mature wine.

Come to me , my love,

fulfill my deep desire,

embrace my soul

with the music of your being,

in perfect harmony.

Photo by Tisha

Olhos de âmbar - by Tisha

Os teus olhos de âmbar transparentes,
calmos como um rio de águas tranquilas.
Cor de mel e canela é a tua pele
veludo macio, delicioso ao paladar.
Aromas de jasmim e baunilha
é o teu cheiro, de bergamo e sândalo.
Os teus dentes, magnólias brancas,
formas brilhantes em marfim.
Licor da cereja pálida os teus lábios,
destilam desejo, promessas raras.
Formoso o teu corpo esculpido,
harmonia suave orquestrado.
Mas, ai... os teus lindos olhos,
os teus olhos de âmbar,
criadores de sonhos distantes.

XCVII - Sonetos de Amor - Pablo Neruda

É preciso voar neste tempo, para onde?

Sem asas, sem avião, voar sem dúvida:

já os passos passaram sem remédio,

não levantaram os pés do viajante.

É preciso voar a cada instante como

as águias, as moscas e os dias,

é preciso vencer os olhos de Saturno

e implantar ali novos sinos.

Já não bastam sapatos nem caminhos,

já não serve a terra aos errantes,

as raízes já atravessaram a noite,

e tu aparecerás em outra estrela

decididamente transitória,

em papoila convertida.

Photo by Tisha

In memory of Pablo Neruda, who was born on the 12th of July 1904, in the town of Parral, Chile. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature 1971.

African Thunderstorm - Perpetuum Jazzile

Toto's Africa magnificently sung by Perpetuum Jazzile October 2008 at Vokal Xtravaganzza

Alícia in a Warsaw Park

Sickle Moon - by Tisha

Low on the horizon, 
only a sliver of light
painting the sky in tones 
of black and white
the city apparently fast asleep 
at first sight
the cobbled stones silent witnesses 
to my plight,
Echoing the emptiness 
I feel tonight

Searching for you, 
always just out of reach,
I ask myself: 
Is feeling lost only just a figure of speech?
Or am I simply driftwood 
on a deserted beach?
rejected by the sea 
like an empty bottle of liquid bleach?

Admitting to the deep-set burning desire
that could so easily simply mis-fire
ready to explode like artillery fire
my sanity balancing on a high-strung wire

Oh sickle moon, 
without any offence,
Disregarding all disciplne 
and commonsense
help me find an effective self-defense
for my mental healing to commence
the quest for understanding 
is immense.

Photo by Tisha

Tears in victory - by Tisha

Jasmine's soft touch

on her mother's cheek,

who was overwhelmed

by the emotion of Obama's victory,

tried to soothe away the symbolic pain

caused by decades of racial discrimination;

the intense pain of untold injustice suffered

by African-Americans at the hands

of white fanatical bigots.

Her innocent gesture is symbolic

of the not-so-distant past,

but especially of the future.

Is it possible to have the:

"Audacity of Hope?"

I loved - Pablo Neruda

I loved and loved and loved

every scrap that was mine

till I came on existence itself,

grape after grape

Photo by Tisha

You're the result of yourself - Pablo Neruda

You're the Result of Yourself

Pablo Neruda

Don't blame anyone,

never complain of anyone or anything

Because basically you have made

of your life what you wanted.

Accept the difficulties of edifying yourself

And the worth of starting to correct your character.

The triumph of the true man

arises from the ashes of his mistakes.

Never complain of your loneliness or your luck.

Face it with courage and accept it.

Somehow, they are the result of your acts and

It shows that you'll always win.

Don't feel frustrated of your own failures,

neither unload them to someone else.

Accept yourself now

or you'll go on justifying yourself like a child.

Remember that any time is good to start

And that no time is so good to give up.

Don't forget that the cause

of your present is your past,

As the cause of your future

will be your present.

Learn from the brave, from the strong,

From who doesn't accept situations

From who will live in spite of everything.

Think less of your problems

and more of your work.

Learn to arise from your pain,

And to be greater than

the greatest of your obstacles.

Look at the mirror of yourself

and you'll be free and strong

And you'll stop being

a puppet of circumstances.

For you yourself are your destiny.

Wake up and stare at the sun

in the mornings

and breathe the sun of dawn.

You're part of the strength of your life now,

Rise up, fight, walk, be sure

and you'll win in life.

Don't ever think of 'fate'

For fate is the excuse of failures.

photo by Tisha

The Orchid

Delicate, one-day wonder

Photo by Tisha