Friday, November 26, 2010


Every moment of our lives
Is a necessary moment
And all that happens around us
Interacting with what happens inside us

Nothing is for granted
There is one continuous flow
To everything that happens

Like waking up from heavy sleep,
You look around and ask,
Where are we?

The pathways of our lives
Have led us to this very hour
And all that it encounters

Like scenes of every day

Direction is unseen
But binds within our eyes
Subconsciously speaking

Friday, November 12, 2010


In the land of purple, each clock beat to its own march and though each one had its own rhythm and setting, they all shared common space, simultaneously. There was a figured being sitting on top of the gears in one clock sowing threads of a fabric he himself was made of. Though not flesh or of bone, this cotton and wool made the spaces around. Each clock streamed in one dimension and where dimensions crisscrossed so did the distinctions between before and beyond. Everything happened in a moment called now, either you where there for yourself or someone told you about it. And through this woolen thread there were scenes like a bridge to see what he’d done before that he did. Yet this information was only partly received, as what he’d do he’d not yet done so for him there was no certainty. But because of who he was he could only do that what he does, as what one does and who one is cannot ever split, if he’d ever done differently that too would be his. Through the cottons of worlds he followed a trail with a dim of the light and the tiniest spark that upfront still held shine where reality reassembled each time made long journeys like snapshots of life. A dream half-forgotten to one’s awakening state overlapped in beginnings of each brand-new day.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Over the Hill and Through the Mountain

The splashing of the seashore
In ambience with the breeze
Means very little to
A heart that’s not at ease

Well-being starts within
And vision is transformed
To appreciate full spectrum
As connections are restored

Well-being starts in us
Once distanced from our troubles
Oxygen I’ll know
Breathing well is as gold

One can close one’s eyes
And soar on plucking strings
Paint in movements what's yet to be
Something something

But we trust our feelings
And guide them to reveal us
The image of portraying

When there’s a shattered heart
So there’s a shattered world
As our hearts sync back to peace
Beauty is all around, abundantly

Tuesday, November 2, 2010


I believe in a day I'll feel life with soul, like conscience magic, mind manifestation of the “I’m in between the times and spaces”, experiencing overlapping moments of contrapuntal dissociation, when sensation suggests beyondness. “I recall a moment in the future like it happened a long time ago.” Like there’s a streaming flow of time, and then there are bubbles, which know none of that. They belong to different measures and settings, shifting their place of occurrence to a singularity, as a moment outside the moment, or a moment so contained within itself, it cannot be measured by what came before or what comes ahead. The quality of perception is usually underpinned by the emotional content attributed to each given moment we experience. Emotion is often undistinguishable from how the world is consciously perceived, as, for example, beauty and art would not be more than geometrical figures depicted of color, or sound waves varying in pitch could we not signify them emotionally. The esthetical spark that brings out emotion is a blend of what is witnessed and one’s natural reception of feeling one’s surroundings. As receptive sensitivity is enhanced, so is the sensorial experience of living. Given one finds peace in where they are and what they do, substantial elements are based to make our interaction with forms and figures enchanting and profoundly meaningful.

Thursday, October 28, 2010


Comfort when the grains of sand seem to leak in timeless hands. I thought I had a cup, and then I saw the sea. It’s how you move in it that says how far you will be going. And we’re here for the love of swimming. The horizon we will never reach, but we can see what was up front stand below our feet. To look at a tall mountain from down up as we slowly make it go the other way around. And there’s a flavor to just how one makes it happen, we learn with trails walked so that the years can be of one’s great prize, and there are times it takes a stumble to be conquering the heights. As we’re greeted to see all with eyes of new, in realizing this is how we started, testing shapes and combinations, some of which we use to express our senses. There are manners to make art a way of sight, as a walk around the park can be an art form of a kind.

Friday, October 15, 2010


Sound asleep
Drops of time
Will see it all compressed
All go by
Before they sink to soil
In silence says to earth
Slowly now, rise.

And it unfolds
In frenzy ride
Winds and waves
And morning sunlight


Echo persons of the past
Present now before hand
You are a teaching
Of a line of hands before you
And all that’s world revived in you
We breed the chain as it goes on
Where future meets this present spark

Monday, October 4, 2010

A Tie

Torche's way
Lights a flame
On phantom corridors
To open gates

How does heaven
Relate with the path
That leads us to it?

And when we speak of strength
What has it muscle up?

I can be as light as the breeze
But made rock by turbulent seas

Or else it’s just plain evil
Distorting wrong from right

From war there is to learn:
I’d rather have blue skies

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Heart Matters

When the pieces fall apart
Never lost of who you are
And the essence of your being

Circumstances come and go
Trials and tests and shattered hopes
Breathe relief when breaks the day
How you’ve come a great long way

Joy is what you’re here to say: It’s mine.
I fought every trickstone in my path.
Mastered the art of walking this land
To breathe the way I knew I should
With the beauty and love that rivers the in

And if one writes about despair,
I can say, I’ve been there
It has stumbled in my lab
For which I’m resourced to obtain
The cure, the cause and ways of handling

In the fields I see flowers
In the night I hear silence
They tune my body head to toe
A stage of creation starts to flow

Friday, September 17, 2010

Study of a Bighorn

Oil on Canvas 19.7 x 31.5 in / Óleo em Tela 50 x 80 cm

This was taken from a BBC documentary on Yellowstone. There's a part filming Bighorn Sheep and I found this animal to be very interesting. In this scene these are actually about to clash head on in a way that surprised me when I first saw it. I thought it could do a fine portrait and it's a feeling of lightness to have this one posted.

Esse quadro foi tirado de um documentário da BBC em Yellowstone. Tem uma parte filmando ovelhas Bighorn e eu achei este animal muito interesante. Nesta cena eles estão prestes a se cabeçear frente a frente de maneira que me surpreendeu a primeira vez que eu vi. Achei que poderia fazer um bom retrato e é uma sensação de leveza tê-lo postado.

Sunday, August 29, 2010


Weavers of worlds
Ballrooms and lines of punctuation
Textures of a story
Rhythmed into play

How hypnotized
Can blink your eyes
To winter’s opening shed of flakes
Or stirring splashes on the shore
Unsealing winds of evermore

Connection with something greater
Than my eyes could bear to hold
Is like drawing traces between stars
And constellations they unfold

Suspended in a crystalline sphere
Making here a boundless spot
Are the moments that involve us
To uncover who we are
In all that touches our hearts

Thursday, July 29, 2010


Do you want something to play with, forever?
There, you have it.
And because you have it
Nothing can ever be complete
Coz’ then it would be the end
And you want something to play with forever.

I wonder how many times
We open and close our eyes
As where we are is but a book
In a library that stretches beyond the sight
When a page is blank white
Anything is possible

Beyond every notion and reference
Gathered in this life
Just like that it flips to new
As to not even remember
What the other one was like
Rides without finish line

Monday, July 19, 2010

In Accordance

The rain enriches things with meaning. While my belonged state is of peace and tender warmth, one it comes, I know what it means. And I know what it means to leave my troubles behind me. As of present date, I have not been able to tell apart the source of my providence from what has also brought me very hard days. Who am I to question the way things go, only that I know what I am after, and patiently working to have it fully brought about. And when we place a flag over clouds of haunting, the same clouds that shaped our guts, I head straight for rainbow sights, something very complimentary about the meaning of life. It says, “You burn and you are light.”, “You scream in high-ceiling cathedrals and it reverberates to levitate hardship in sublime.” So my knees bend to the ground and I am nothing and it all, a living gesture first of all, amazed by plants and ant trails for a living. I have been here many times, how deep in one’s mind can pathways unwind till we bang on a wall and into questions such as, “What am I, and everything around me?”, the conflicting confrontation of there being a reality in the first place. Sometimes easier in not knowing, layer in layer, we are the surfaced apprehension of something deep in stirring. It’s in the circling of our blood as in air we breathe; there are measures of liveliness in the experience of being. At times overwhelming by the volatility of its energetic content, what gets our heart beating is something to ride on. And just as it is, it wasn’t meant to be kept still, so nature is busy being alive, as are you and I, hopefully doing the things we most like, as clear summer days are a refreshing place to thrive.

Monday, June 21, 2010


Image by Amy E. Fraser

Deep within the layers of consciousness
Lies the building blocks of who we are
These surface like shredded pieces of paper
Like the echo of an echo
You chase its source to another echo

Could one tell apart
Who you are
From what you have experienced?

Every memory you have
Comes to a place, a face,
A language

These bind to impressions
Form and sensation
Perimeter our world

Then there’s the feeling
Of being outside of time
Because everything has happened
Repeated times over
Or you keep going back
To one same unspotted spot

Neither here nor there
Nor a place one could mark
But a state of recollection
More like everything that could ever be
Beyond the shape of my see

Sunday, May 23, 2010


Being happy
Is fulfillment with what you have

Look upwards at what you don’t
And you can venture a whole country

It will sound huge till you find
Someone has a galaxy
Dripping watercolor light
In their backyards

One could climb the Himalayas
And it wouldn’t be quite the peak
Given the sight of a higher reach

As for the experience of it
There’s a limit of thrill the brain can make at a time
It’s the way we’re designed
So that gold medalists can’t proclaim themselves happier
Than kids with brand new bikes

That’s when we learn
There is pleasure in searching
Reaching and trying
As is feeling sand below our feet
Happiness indeed

We are given and we’re taken
Always fighting to retrieve
As our goals and needs
Begin to harmonize
Makes the journey back home
The story of a life

Is finding yourself in what you do