Rio de Janeiro photo and poetry

Because why not?

Atlantic Avenue - Copacabana

He walks the street with cloth outspread,
Christ on his back, arms wide ahead.
The waves applaud, the sky turns blue,
Rio unfolds in every hue.

A walking prayer without a sound,
where sun and samba spin around.
He carries faith, he carries flame,
and sells the wind in beauty’s name.

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Escritó RIO

A tent on the sand with no chair inside,
Escritório written with coastal pride.
No desk, no phone, no boss to obey,
just sunburnt feet and the start of day.

A joke in plain sight, a coastal reply,
to cities that live in suits and tie.
Here, every job begins with a tan,
each task is measured by waves, not plan.

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Calçadão

Stone by stone, a sea was laid,
in black and white, the waves cascade.
A walk becomes a quiet song,
beneath the feet, the curves belong.

Designed to flow, designed to stay,
a tide of rock that won’t decay.
While oceans shift and years will run,
these waves will dance with morning sun.

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The line

A single wave cuts through the light,
dividing green from frothy white.
One side rests, the other runs
a sea that hums beneath the suns.

Two figures float, one line in play,
no wall, no rope, just salt and sway.
No borders here, no rules to name,
just water dancing all the same.

---

Copacabana

From Leme’s rise to stone-walled Fort,
the tide performs a soft report.
A rainbow hides beneath the wave,
a quiet arc the waters crave.

The skyline leans on hills so steep,
while Copacabana hums in sleep.
Each swell, a song, each breeze, a chord,
where city, sea, and light accord.

---

Ipanema Sidewalk

A single leaf, a shadow cast,
on stones where present meets the past.
The sidewalk bends like ocean’s sway,
but holds your step throughout the day.

I frame myself without a face,
inside this tiled, hypnotic space.
No need for pose, no need to speak
the ground remembers who you seek.

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Palácio Tiradentes

She holds her scroll, she grips her throne,
the marble cold, the silence grown.
A mother cast with lips kept sealed,
where truths were tried and lies concealed.

The curves invite, the columns blind,
debates decay, and time won’t mind.
Though justice stands with sculpted grace,
the power shifts, but keeps its face.

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50/50

Guaravita starts the day,
sweet and cold in its cheap way.
Lucky Strike comes right beside,
burning fast to match the stride.

Fifty percent now sets the game,
a tariff driven by shame.
Guaravita is now a dancer,
Amidst the package of cancer.

They call it smooth, they call it light,
but every puff picks one more fight.
An unlucky strike box dressed in blue,
no joy inside, just profit and revenue.

We send out rhythm, Sun, and grace,
they send us smoke to stain the place.
We play chords to warm the night,
they search a reason to spark a fight.

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Phew. I hope you enjoyed this, as it took me a while to create. In the interest of responsible AI usage, I should mention that I used generative AI to support the process. I want you to know that around 90% of the content was written by me, and the AI was mainly used to help find context-appropriate synonyms. For instance, when I needed a positive word that rhymed with “cancer,” it suggested “dancer”, or “hue” and “blue”. That’s the extent of its contribution.