Tag Archives: portugal

Fishing boats by cliffs (Salema) / water colour pencil

Fishing Boats (Salema, Portugal)
Fishing boats by cliffs (Salema, Porugal) / water colour pencil

Fishing Boats (Salema, Portugal)
water colour pencil (undiluted) on paper
2005

Fig de Fox Garden (Portugal) / acrylic

Fig de Fox Garden (Portugal)
12×16 acrylic
2005

Remembrance Day with Vasco’s Bones – Postcard #63

Remembrance Day with Vasco's Bones

From an olden church and (otherwise vacant) cenotaph at Fort Cochin, Kerala, India, Dave O – acknowledging an extended medical and death related hiatus – discusses the local history of colonization by Portuguese explorers, Dutch traders, then British Raj in the context of the colonization leading to exploitation, conscription and war with no meaning to local populace. Plus the meaning of reparations and the conflict of peaceful resistance – evidenced my Mahatma Gandhi beach a stone’s throw away – contrasted with continued wars throughout the world, shadowed by disposable tourism, economic and racial caste systems.

Recorded Nov. 11, 2016, Released 11:11 Nov. 11, 2017

Gather Round for Remembrance Day with Vasco’s Bones – Postcard #63  (37:11, .mp3, 192k, 58MB, stereo)

Also of note: Vasco da Gama’s bones, black knee-high socks, French generational losses, siege of Leningrad, Churchill’s mishaps, lost human potential of engineers, poets and lovers, MacArthur’s folly, Australia’s vulnerability, the emergence of regions over nation-states, Brexit for British Columbia + Cascadia, Catalonia and Scottish successions, work of raising a child, trappings of hubris, death by disease and guns, aggressive use of intelligence, forethought and diplomacy, and unfiltered view of sacrifice and life.

Cover art photo: By Dave Olson at Fort Cochin, taken by Lomo Sardine can camera with expired B&W film.

Atlantico – Freeverse cycle

Henry at the Edge of the World

Why Henry,
Why Henry,
why did you leave the tranquility?

Navigating into nowhere
speculating on something
better than perfect
prince of confusion
or driven by pride?

Please tell me it wasn’t for greed, spices or pope
just to go!
The cove protected heavy ships from plunders
the point at the edge of the all anyone knows at this moment

Why didn’t you turn right
dancing with Galacian girls
or left into well enough

Now it’s the ghost of you and Cristobol
me and two earnest Germans
watching everything heading into somewhere
no longer new

The wind blows the same
sometimes we wait
in Aljezur
patching holes.
sometimes we make it nowhere

Navigate elsewhere Henry
maybe draw me a line
to divide something
and don’t compare hard

Portuguese Snapshots

Red roofs falling cliff high
into foaming waves
the signs say no tractors
or this way to ferries

Old man watches sheep
who don’t seem to mind
wondering where atlantico
turns into the inland sea

Brick stoves & clay ovens
widely shown
the man with the donkey
wanders by

She’s happiest when moving fast
and straight
or eating small tasty thing
with sauces

“You are saying these strange things to me but i don’t know why”

Concrete poles
houses thick and white
red clay courtyards
wrapped in blue tiles
guarded by saints with forgotten names
protecting palms and blue fired tiles
melted bold yellow walls
churrasqueira in empty yards
wood cut even, stacked in jumbles

Posters of singers and toros
workmen piling into tipico
early lunch, dried cod
chicken blood, sardines

Waving, she doesn’t watch
crossing shady lane with tiny cars
the dog with the shortest legs

Adieu Karol in color
Cerverjai dark, vino blanco
she opens it cold & hands it
sits down.
obrigato

The swarthy one points us
Saint Virgilio of Figuero de Foz
who we call Jack for Joaquin
Patron of wanderers, spicy clams and cold sangria
eyes like grutas of secrets
grottos holding reflection of monoliths
and winters lasting into spring

If i recall from the haze of the sangria night
Virgillio of the soulful eyes,
the fatima awaits
maybe we’ll see it past the horizon
clambered up the gates of treachery

Like the nice boy told us
use the Sud towards the 15th of April
i’m not sure they might be trees for figs or nuts
squat on fuzzy gnarled hills

I’m not really sure
just keep the ocean to the right
i’ll watch for antelope or impalas
past the grutas with
the piney amnesia smell