once, I've put something like this description as an attempt...

 - (...) varieties of artist in the eternal pursuit of discovering the masterpiece. 

No one knows (também publicado em Poesia do Desassossego)

Os teus passos que eu oiço não têm mais rosto
E os meus olhos já não têm mais cara

"Depois dá notícias" é o breve,
quase sussurrado, apelo na despedida,
e que muitas vezes encontra a resposta em
"Depois combinamos",
com símile vacuidade de resultados.

"Mande notícias do outro lado do mundo, diz quem fica",
volta e meia dança nostalgicamente no pensamento.

Não vejo mais nada senão tudo o que há no mundo
que não és tu,
mas o mundo inteiro cabe em ti,
com todos os seus detalhes,
e por isso encontro-te sempre que te perco.

Sentimos "Everytime we say goodbye I die a little"
numa década como todas aquelas décadas em que o verdadeiro amor era clamado
e de tantas vezes morrer, como fénix, foi ficando imortalizado.

Being a poet is more than being a poet.
He had no freight about death but he didn't want to die,
never yet.

In every day death will peak in,
friends that are gone
and so many people along
all this indefinite duration path.

Where is the sound of the ocean,
where is the poem that bursts like a wave
hitting your heart?

Your voice will be the balm,
and harmony and beauty with which you lullaby us,
will be our garment for this life's atonement.

Falling in love rhymes

Don't change your hair if you care
about the way it blows in the air
and the tenderness you share
with the fortunate that are fair
and get to be your deserving pair.

You said you've never seen that before
and suddenly you felt someone at your door
looked outside and his sight threw you to the floor
as you thought you couldn't possibly love anymore

"I fall in love too easily" came to your mind,
never even realizing his smile so kind,
your heart started melting like a peeling rind

"I fall in love too fast" continued the song
and your face blushing as if you've done something wrong.

There will always be two benches on that street, 
on that park, 
and whenever and wherever it is light and it is dark, 
there will be grandsons and grandmothers 
sitting side by side 
with a tenderness 
that in your whole life 
will never catch again your eye.

Just writing a poem

I will now write a poem.
The poem will be writing it.

Yes.

The End.

God is like those three Mizaru monkeys: blind, deaf and mute.

"society, you're a crazy breed, hope you're not angry but I disagree"

No nobility or character at all among humans
when they do everything for the wrong reasons:
charity, because they need to feel like they're doing something good;
loving and caring because they need what people give them;
putting children in the world just for their own selfish reasons;
apologizing (always insincerely) only because they need people;
and then they just do it all over again and perpetuate it in their prole
as the everlasting unsatisfied superficial people faking all the time
because they were breeded like that in society's culture.

A glance and a glimpse

What shall we stay for?