The Density of Foam (Sunday Scribblings)

The lack of grip
And things to hold
Have brought me to
A world unknown

So very far
From what was grasped
A flaming road
To nothingland

Where all is great
And glooming sad
For what may come
And never has

We’ll ride the slope
And sink with fire
To face this trench
Its cause: desire

Yet there is hazard
In the art of being
A fragile mix
Of pulsing light

Exposing will
In anxious needs
To burst expression
Or swallow dry

How one must squeeze
The bending notes
That bounce off walls
Like fleeting ghosts

Then die away
Amidst thin air
As if their sparks
Had not been there

It’s not about
Their short-lived sing
Nor what could make
Them come to be

But that they were
And were with passion
For notes that ring
Are notes set free


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Expanding (Writers Island)

With muscles sinking into bed
We’ll ride a train to slumberland
Where all is what the mind evokes
An incoherent maze that holds
Free journeys into wonderlife
Its puzzling sea of endless mights
Holds depth to those in it immersed
An altered state for which to yearn

The crossing of a limbo
That one place in between
The realms of our awareness
A portal left unseen
To float straight through the ceiling
And sail on soaring clouds
The sky is not the limit
If one knows not the bounds

-

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Award

Thanks Clare for such a beautiful award (love the picture by the way). It was really kind of you to pass this on and it feels great to be receiving such an inspiring award from such an inspiring person. I do intend to pass this on as well as soon as I have a bit of time to step foot in blogland again. It’s a great honor, thank you!

Sunbeams

While most of you are eager to enjoy the blooming onset of spring, down here in the Brazilian coastline…

The heat of day
Is cooking me alive
Sedating my mood
And tanning my thoughts
While they melt in an oven
With dripping vowels
On crispy rimes

The clock’s in
Slow-motion
A lack of emotion
When time decides
To take a nap
Beneath the shades
Of compact steam

There’s a sticky atmosphere
Where I long to disappear
As summer takes its toll
In making me feel tired
Sleepy and worn out
Fatigued below
A leaching sun

Nurturing the Unspeakable

Feel the wind
Blowing void
An empty touch
Caressing skin

I spread my arms
And fold my soul
While hugging streams
Of oxygen

As lightness floats
These waves of sighs
Are bound to fuel
A finer high

That smiles in warmth
And teaches growth
By twitching flesh
And clenching throats

When showing us
That a fine tool for strive
Involves us feeling
Dissatisfied

Self-portrait in Switzerland / Auto-retrato na Suíça

No, I’ve never been there, but would like to go someday. This is my first work on canvas, and I think I’ll stick with them from now on. Manipulating paint seems much easier with the proper material. Painting has always been to me a reflection of how I feel about life, and as my feelings change, so does the artwork inspired by them.

Não, eu nunca estive lá, mas gostaria de ir algum dia. Este é meu primeiro trabalho com tela, e acho que vou ficar com elas de agora em diante. Trabalhar com tintas é mais fácil quando se tem um material apropriado. A pintura tem sido pra mim um reflexo dos meus sentimentos sobre a vida, e à medida que estes sentimentos mudam, também muda a arte inspirada por eles.

Waterfall / Cachoeira (Sunday Scribblings)

Painted in December 2007 while visiting some friends in the countryside. / Pintado em dezembro 2007 enquanto visitava alguns amigos no interior.

Rocks turned into
Soft pin cushions
Massaged beneath
The frosty streams

Of purple shades
And hidden thoughts
While memories glimpsed
A twilight dream

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O Acaso

Samba que samba
Na beira do rio
Sem medo de água
Sem medo do frio

Na vida, uma risada
Curiosa caminhada
Surpreendem-me os destinos
Desvios contínuos

Mostrando-me bem de perto
Que em controle não estou
Tenho força, tenho vontade
Mas me leva uma correnteza aparte

Silenciosa em seu percurso
Lentamente impondo um rumo
Suspirando que pra tudo existe um lugar
E que existe um lugar pra tudo que há


*This poem is about the silent power of chance (if there is such a thing), how we can never be in complete control of our surroundings and how we must not fear the unexpected, for the course of nature leads all things to the places where they belong.

All That Comes to Be (Writers Island)

From where things start
To where things stop
Connecting life
It loops and dangles

If you choose your view
From a certain angle
A pile of shit
Is life on hold

A book with stories
Waiting to be retold
It feeds the earth
That feeds the plants

That feed the animals
That feed me
We’re all attached
To a soil that breeds

Just like the period
At the end of every phrase
A droplet of what drives us
Is much of what remains


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Chlorophyll

Do plants dream?
Or ever sleep at all?
And if I were a plant
Breathing to the pace
Of glaring moon and sun
How would life seem to me...
More or less of what?

Sonhos

By Dancing Fish on Flickr

Certo dia, acordei eu e percebi que a noite havia me mudado. Estive tão perto e tão longe das minhas circunvizinhanças, mais pra lá do que pra cá como alguns talvez diriam. Conhecendo a oscilação das ondas e o balanço dos ventos, e tentando usa-las em meu favor. Em verdade, eu não sei da onde eu vim e nem sei pra onde eu vou. Um conforto desconforto desgarrado destrinchado deplorável... agradável? Não, não. Por aqui nada para, nada fica, tudo muda, muta, mutaciona, sendo o conforto um privilégio da terra dos estáveis estacionados. Entrego-me a lutar e luto pra me entregar, suspirando na fadiga de uma tarefa bem-comprida enquanto procuro outras para executar.

4 x 4 Poetry Meme

Clare at Clare's Sunflower Sky tagged me to do the 4 x 4 Poetry meme. One is supposed to list at least 4 things you think a beginning poet should attend to, and 4 mistakes you think a poet should avoid.

I bent the rules a little to get a nice chance in saying all I wanted to say (hope that's not a problem) and stated five pieces of humble advice on poetry writing (what you shouldn't do is implicit in them as well). Well, it was fun to write, so here it goes...

About Poetry

-Even though without them a poem cannot come to be, the finality of a poem is not in the words themselves, but in what they mean, so picture the words you use as an instrument for expressing some greater thought. Let words serve your ideas, and not the opposite.

-Being objective and subjective at the same time usually causes the effect of depth in a poem. Good poems don’t exhaust their content easily; rather they allow themselves to be rediscovered through time.

-Examine yourself and the terrain in which you step in, the things that cross your mind. If you understand yourself, chances are that others will too.

-Let feeling guide your choice of words. Poems are especially good because of the feelings that they can recreate in us, and a poem that was written with feeling will most likely be a sensorial experience to those who read it as well.

- Poems can be magical but they’re not usually created out of magic, in fact, most times a good poem is very hard work. So give yourself time, respect yourself and the poem your writing. It so happens that the words you’re looking for might be waiting for you in the next corner!

The Mystery Of Bulgarian Voices

I’ve been scanning the web in search of tunes. Music is that one thing cultural expression that can be found all across the world, yet, even though there have been many advances in communication means, we seem to only have contact with a farley small share of the variety. The mass media have many effective ways of making a whole bunch of people listen to the same records and jump to the same songs. And that would be ok if I didn’t make me feel so irreversibly bored. So it might not be a bad idea to try to relearn how to listen and appreciate music, so I can be open to whatever touches me. This one video I found on youtube touched me and made me think of depth, soul and the beauties of the human voice.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5_f2E22MPI

Giving Space (Sunday Scribblings)

In a hospital
Empty corridors
Meet crowded alleys
Silence, death
Joy and birth
A world of contrast
Of pain and grief,
Relief…

Some battles won
And others lost
By those who struggle
Those who quit
Those who fight
To breathe for one more night

And life’s put into question
Coz’ between
Exhaling and inhaling
Our planet counts
Another spin
With an untouched chapter
For which to start
And start again


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As High turns Low

By linlin (away) on Flickr

Pause,
Is a button worth pressing… sometimes
So we can give ourselves time
To rethink the scheme
Appreciate silence
Breathe…

A load of fresh air
Embraced in my lungs
Comforts the mind
Where senses can meet
And vague uncertainty
Makes my heart beat faster

Like the incoming scene
Of an avant-garde movie
Emotionally packed
To make us aware
Of what we’d rather not know
And would prefer to let be

I chose not to fear
And neither to forget
That life is a novel
With pages of storing telling
And appreciating the sheets
Helps me write while I read