Friday, 28 December 2018

She had death in her eyes, as she was staring at death's face. 
Window of the soul, all say.
If I fall, there won't be another; if I clench my fist, no one will bother.
I was in vertigo three days in a row and I perished, it managed to finally decide to take me. 
The shadows were no more, the struggle was over. 
No tears were shed, she, death and I, were glad.

Wednesday, 26 December 2018

By the sounds of Juniper Arms

I am five thousand years old and maybe that's why they think I can't die.
They throw rocks at me, break my branches, even when I'm just twigs I still hang on.
I appear in more than one shape, I am short and robust, or tall and determined, or even spread wide.
I am of Christmas or of the desert, I am from the garden or the field.
They bend me and break me but I'm still here. Still.
Maybe I just want to fall asleep forever.
Maybe in those arms where once I thought it was home.

"Trees do not live forever. They do age and eventually die. Some live much longer than others though, and it turns out that some of the longest living trees survive best in the more extreme climates and situations." 

Thursday, 20 December 2018

The best songs always stay, also because they have more than the story told in the lyrics, they have a story of a part of our lives too.

Wednesday, 19 December 2018

Glad only to meet people without borders in their hearts, open up to the world and willing to make others their priority, because the only thing you take out of this world isn't you, it's the love and help that you give to others. As long as there are good people one can remain to fight for the goodness and love in this world.

Monday, 17 December 2018

I do not own any houses, but there are many lost friends' arms out there that once felt like home.
Today is your birthday. Old tales tell that you were my first best friend. I could never show you how deep is my love for you. Only if I could rip my heart out for you to see how the mere sight of you makes it completely full.

(alt. 1st version: "... see how you occupy all of it.")

Friday, 14 December 2018

What if you're gone of this world?
No one loved me like you did. No one was me, melted in silence, bathing in the same dark waters. No other love, no other pain, no other emptiness.
What if you're not on this Earth anymore? You went away and didn't take me, didn't say goodbye, forgot that you couldn't die. All your promises to me were broken. Your love was the most whole thing I ever felt. To be the same, one together, only one in this world. And now no more, Lenore.
No one ever had the urge that you had to see me, to be with me, like we were each other's blood and mind and soul.
It's been 20 years since we connected for the first time and I feel that though you are always inside with me, you are no longer there alive.
Sleep tight, my darkest angel, goodnight.

Wednesday, 12 December 2018

We're all in the death row...
only some of us didn't commit any crime.
(like stillborns... We are all conceived by the original sin...?)
Dragged from the mother's womb,
fallen from the father's piggyback,
the world filled him up with this rage
that eventually will make him undone.

 Who are you when no one is looking? You've had a lot of love made of flesh and forgot to strengthen the bone, now in the sum of your life you see your reflection in the mirror and it's just a self-portrait of sad and alone. 
Old man, turned 98, you didn't win the lottery neither died the next day.

Thursday, 6 December 2018

Can you grab the mist and shape it with your hollowed hands?
Can you ever really mend a broken a heart?
I don't need to wake up tomorrow.
I've got nowhere to go.
I haven't got someone expecting me.
There's no one depending on me.
No one misses me terribly.
My voice isn't someone's favorite sound.

Can you really mend a broken heart
that is always being broken again and again
by the hands of indifference and abandonment?

I had nothing to do. Only what others expected me to.
Society decided for me way long before I was born.
I didn't grab the mist, turns out my hands where always hollow. 

Monday, 3 December 2018

 You forgot how in only one dawn of our whole lives we saw each other, and told and did not tell everything there was to know of our beings. No mysteries were left but mystery itself. You forgot how you had never seen me before and yet you sheltered me from the ruthless cold of the urban jungle of terrors' icy night. Your in-building home and another rescued animal. From a naked street bench to a fluffy nest bench created by you for me. So much generous tenderness you gave to us rescued, it almost made our abandonments distant. You forgot how you presented me the biggest gift in that year, a couple of years back, the song of thousands of synchronized swallows in the bright lighting emerging free, Aurora, because if there's one thing that can creep into you is dawn, but not then, for then was the crystal dawn.

Saturday, 24 November 2018

There is someone searching for you
There is someone waiting for you
Though you probably will never meet 
Know that your connection is the most deep.

Wednesday, 7 November 2018

Joy Division - Unseen Lyrics Of Ian Curtis

 I walked out and thought for a time I could see no defense, and I thought for a while you were me, we were wrong, in our time, always down, out of line. I relaxed from the days filled with bloodsport in vain, and returned with the knowledge that we're two the same, two in Hell, two set free, too alike, you to me.

And we watched everything pass us by in due course, always tied by a mutual feeling that lost, we were two, two in hell, two set free, known too well. In the back of my mind, all I feel is mistrust, in the back of my mind, all I see is the dirt, segregation of thoughts, ideals turning to dust.

Where some houses once stood, stands a man with a gun, in some neighbourhood, a father hangs up his son, in the back of my mind.

Don't think I'd have stayed just for one more day, it seems so much like home, no room to go astray, don't think I could watch - with mindless, empty tasks, intake moving in, forced to walk a lonely path.

Pictures all around, of how good a life should be, a model for the rest, that bred insecurity, I walked a jagged line and then came back for more, it's always in my mind, an institution with no law.

I can see a thousand wills just bending in the night. And all the pretty faces painted grey to match the sky, from a distance seeing friends just washed up on the shore, a picture in my mind of what's to come before the storm.

In time, we don't belong in our own lifetime. I can hear the voices lost in echoes as they build, new homes to hide the sadness that the search for more had killed, from a by road seeing friends just washed up on the shore.

Picture in my mind of what's to come before the storm.

In time, we don't belong in our own lifetime. I can feel an emptiness and see heads held in shame, trapped inside a legacy of everyone to blame.

In the distance see myself just washed up on the shore, a picture in my mind of what will come before the storm. In time, we don't belong to our own lifetime.

We won't crawl and never show our faces, we'll stand firm and never show the traces, of the fear we knew but always could disguise, of this sinking feeling hid behind our eyes. Nothing seems real anymore.

Even the flames from the fire seem to beckon to me, drawing me into some great past life buried somewhere deep in my subconscious, if only I could find the key..if only..if only. Ever since my illness, my condition, I've been trying to find some logical way of passing my time, of justifying a means to an end. He desires love, in some special way against all perversion, fed with fruits of decay.

He remembers, how the guilty have seen, all the pure but selfish, buried deep in his dreams. He sees a vision in the sky, looking down on him, calling him by name, yeah he sees faces from yesterday, of what might have been, but the past must still remain. He desires love, not some perfect affair, in hotels of steel and glass, just to cross on the stairs, but he can still see, all the angels in time, as his dreams of ecstasy, turned to nightmares of crime. He sees a vision in the sky, looking down at him, how the past will remain, yeah he sees a vision in the sky, staring down at him, he'll always see the same. Sure I'll see you down, you do for me I did for you, cure just takes you down, we're down for good that's understood.

Door slides open, Johnny laughs. A view from above sticks his head out of the window and dries his eyes. I remember a winter sometime ago, angular patterns formed deep in the ground, where someone once stood. White on black, white on white. Echoed voices bouncing off the buildings around. A ramp to the trees and trees all around, I remember a tear, frozen white on white, I remember nothing.

A grey saloon, Johnny sighs, winds down the window and stares at the road. Some things never make sense, crouches shivering in the corner, blanket 'round your shoulder, hot then cold, cold then warm, pulse is racing, slowly racing - stopped. I remember nights listening to until dawn, I remember nothing. Some things never make sense, a fear of stepping out, Door slowly opens, Johnny sits on his bed, lays down and dies.
A wider alliance that leads to new roads beyond the limits, holding hands, jumping off walls into dark seclusion, cut off from the mainstream of most intimate yearnings, I left my heart somewhere on the other side, I left all desire for good. Clinging to naked thought, impossible tactics worked out for impossible means. This is the final moment of respite. The final page in the book. A bitter challenge between old and new, with one last warning.

Monday, 22 October 2018

All of me is death, from up to bottom: the lifeless hairs, twisted, that no longer yield to gravity as should all existing things on this earth; the dried up chest, the lines and wrinkles on the belly, the arid deserted sides of the buttocks, the shrivelled skin that no longer feels like living and the dark grey veins that stopped pulsating a long time ago.
I am the dead man.

Monday, 15 October 2018

What you see is what you are: reach out and touch your reflection.

Saturday, 29 September 2018

I'm losing you all: each finger, each hair, each nail.
Woman, woman, woman, what's up with you now?
Well the priest has come to bless you and the nun has come to smile at you.

Stop picking your eyes, or they're gonna fall too.

You're all legs now and they've gone away.

Thursday, 2 August 2018

 I remember when we were from the deepest sea, from the darkest corner of the ocean floor, the resistant starfish feeding all the time. 
I remember when millennia afterwards, feet on the ground, we became almighty rockstars that thought of changing the world. 
Somewhere along the path we lost our memories of when we were eagles flying above the sky. And the obscurity of tomorrow never brings more than you can see with an eye.

(in 2017)

Monday, 9 July 2018

Get a hold of yourself 
being lost and confuse 
believing and getting disappointed
such is life 
when you're not anointed 
who cares 
if you're not a paradise
I don't 
I'm done.

Wednesday, 4 July 2018

Life to Death, 
you're all white lies and dark secrets, 
fake smiles and obvious mysteries. 
I will no longer wait for it
I will no longer stay for it
I will no longer pay for it.

Sunday, 24 June 2018

Let the watercolours spread and blend into the liquid of your heart made of tears and keep on hoping that one day it will hurt less.
The way I loved the people that I loved, full hearted and overwhelmed soul...

Friday, 15 June 2018

No more dark angels here, just lost creatures living in twilight.

Thursday, 7 June 2018

Remember how happy we were so many years ago by the sea shore,  laying down on the beach, feeling the warmth of the sun on our skins, hearing lilac wine and feeling that the moment was perfect.

Saturday, 2 June 2018

There will no longer be death
when someone dies and a part of me breaks;
for my elder will still be sitting on the same bench
and my friends of my age will still be travelling the world;
and if any child falls into its claws she will still laugh out loud. 

Friday, 18 May 2018

You move me
like the waves in the ocean slowing down in the sunset
and the skinny rain giving a nostalgic colour to everything

It's like the blues when the guitar is swinging slowly
and the light caresses that your hands do to my hair
and through the dawn the music we hear till daylight

You make my heart mellow
with the beauty of your verses
and all the nights that I spend
remembering that one and only time
we sat by your window
watching the swallows fly. 

Tuesday, 8 May 2018

Like water, shapeless, 
I float in the ocean;
Like wind, wild,
I roam with my mind;
not ethereal, nor underground,
not in a limbo, not in a merry-go-round
but just invisible like sound.

Sunday, 6 May 2018

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

If the purest of persons would come over, certainly the wilted roses would bloom again.
But in this world there is no such person.
It is the mysterious adventure of a blind man who dives in the ocean, the man without arms and legs that skydives and the deaf man who goes to a concert.

Saturday, 21 April 2018

Depression Major or Major Depression...

Life got me longing for what I've lost before I've had even found it, but not only that...
also left me sad like a guitar that just lost its last string.

Friday, 20 April 2018

Here's to being a sad tomato and eating ham on rye...

The perpetual lost and lonely children

On and on, through the history of mankind,
people are fabricated to be lost and lonely children.
It is a factory of unconscious existence
producing them,
these abandoned drifting beings,
generally roaming in the insidious nights,
drunken dawns
where the likes of Rhys and Bukowski meet,
they all suffer of extreme awareness
and do everything to numb it
in the struggle to survive another day
in a corrupt and rotting society
without knowing exactly why and what for
We are the defeated, the demented and damned
hurt from the start by our creators,
so complex and everywhere
but never able to be found.

Sunday, 15 April 2018

Pictures on the Wall

Will you remember me when I'm gone?
I am the man who watched over you,
Stayed by your bedside singing a song
And never saw that your love was true.

Now, I know that I'm not on your mind.
The times has passed and you are gone.
I'll never understand why you left me behind,
But surely I'm just part of what went wrong.

The ghostly visions of you make me tremble
Like the images on the screen so noisy,
Something tells me I'm not on your photos,
The ones you collect so eager to handle
They're proof of how meaningless I am to you.

[in arroja, 26/20/2017]
Do you recognize my handwriting? Do you know its curves and swirls? Does my writing inspire you to create, to dream, to paint, to scream?

Each letter is drawn unconsciously: in my odd way of holding the pen, my thumb hugging it and the rugged feel resisting my grasp, I let the ink flow and suddenly - less than in a blink of the eye - the words are aligned with the atrophied thoughts that come down the brain through the arms and the veins, rushing ink elegantly on paper.

[in arroja, 26/20/2017]

Saturday, 14 April 2018

Anatomy of Decay

The brain has mines taking the neurons place, my head has death taking the once black hair's place, my mind has jazz cymbals perforating the space between my ears.

My neck is filled with nodes strangulating me, my chest is a festering putrid place where my bronchi and lungs where replace by webs and the heart is no longer, my stomach is permanently on fire burning every emotion to ash, my womb is boiling with stillborn creations.

My arms are now similar to ropes that hold nothing, my hands are melted butterflies that won't fly anymore, my fingers just the bones that once held the tips of the angel's wings.

My legs are walking sticks of the oldest man on Earth, my feet are made of coal and their toes no longer touch the ground. 

Monday, 9 April 2018

You were everything to me, just like Spring is to flowers.

Friday, 30 March 2018

Did you read the poem that I never got to write you?

Swinging between everlasting dawns
and reminiscing about the lost sweetness of that one crystal dawn,
I hear the musics that you add each day to your playlist,
I've got no more inspiration to life than this.

As meaningless and pointless life is
As vacant my inside is
As empty...

Did you ever read the poem I never wrote you?

Thursday, 22 February 2018

Fruit of the West and the East, nor white neither black skin, unrecognized, put down by both parts because I'm not one of each of them entirely; I'm just a mix of opposites that sum up to nothing. Belonging nowhere I am lost and not able to be placed. An eternal war internally and in the eyes of those struggling to see me, all the centuries of military generations contrasting with centuries of peaceful meditative generations, my Western blood and my Eastern body, my golden skin that is no treasure and alien mind that is no leisure. 
The impossible coexistence of the halved being. 

Thursday, 15 February 2018

In any day now you can find the turmoil on the busy streets filled with tourists in the industrious cities of humans consumed by a hurry of life; you can hear sound wings of seagulls and swallows, clothes flying on the lines, pigeons on balconies, but no more phrases launched with character from locals, no more chords from the Portuguese guitar, but you can count with the longing overflowing in your chest and always the river, always the river.

Saturday, 10 February 2018

If they knew my woes, they wouldn't be my foes;
my everyday's battles announces by a snake's rattles;
because I'm like a man of war but with no conviction anymore;
and my weary spirit wanders through the dreams life tore.

Monday, 5 February 2018

 In the moments of each departure the ocean's rythm slows down, each wave in slow motion, like a gentle caress remembered eternally and a tale passed on around the bonfire. 
Sticks of potatos fried 
and ketchup on the side;
Countries' capitals 
and countries' currencies;
A last haircut with scissors 
Hiding vile eternal secrets.

On the shoreline she stood, 
As the waves broke on her chest
She didn't have any time to rest 
But the shiny sea made her look

There was a missile alert in Hawaii 
That turned out to be fake
And here there was rain and cold 
And a life it did forsake

Do you feel a tad broken, 

Do you feel completely shattered? 

Tuesday, 9 January 2018

I'm swamped by the powder of the charcoal destruction that covers my hands 
There's no place more empty than me

And all I can think of is that I need to black out in your arms for as much time necessary to be brought back up again or never to return.
Tired of tales of woe and sorrow, still I know there's no tomorrow, but this emptiness lodged in the extent of my chest, sucking my inside into a black hole, doesn't mind anymore  about anything and I just want it all to disappear. 
Walking through broken leaves they still shatter underneath my feet 
Making noises like crunchy chips 
Like the darkness that shows up deep from the crack of my smile so does the desolation of the melancholic autumn season creeps behind the golden red and brown beauty all around.
The falling leaves, those trees tears, come swaying slowly like all my fears. 

I cast a poem out of the gentle yellow breeze into my persistence and courage before winter comes and makes them freeze.