Bubbles ~ inside my chest~

And the bubbles ~ still acting and doing your job~


with all their colors ~ reflected by the sun~

or not reflecting hardly anything


they are just tiny bubbles in a cauldron

~fleeting~ and sometimes useless
For Someone that see …They do that with a distant look or maybe because is beautiful to see and easy to flee
For me that blow it up and cast it in the air to everybody see

OH! No, they are  not indifferent feelings….it is despair
there was not a study for small and colorful bubbles…loose in the air


I think it  is because there is not time to sort them, measure them and finally label them….
So they are out there….Free and unknown
~thousands ~ inside my chest

Unfinished Love

while my Guitar Gently Weeps - partitura

She has a strange name
that initiate a spark

(ensures peace to his unending love)

unknown hands strum
a desirable body

(always in disguise…a love surrounded by )

leaving inside her heart
heavy words ~ fighting ~ to keep himself away

for not appears at the surface

that is what lies down by your side
at night, alone ~when you think~



Where Poetry comes from?

From where ?
I am thinking about that…since you told me ” how much”.????..So you obliges me to think…it’s too much reality to me my friend….What i know that is not something that i posses and arrives as the same way when i cry…never knowing why?

My company is always the doubt , solitude and  some sense of aesthetic …. inside me, deeply, has a cauldron…like the witches have….bubbling and brimming…. sometimes rainbow’s colors sometimes poison… That it is not fair…knowing anything…explaining less and bubbles everywhere….

My Poetry rules myself with such nonchalance …demanding from me a secular and monastic  posture… as religion …i can not be poetry if not all moments in life..changing without explanations… feelings captured from others becoming my….
I am at autumn’s age, still finding myself in many ways, colors, sorrows..
So i have to give up to think ..it is not so important…since i still preserves the bubbles inside me…. and i am releasing them slowly ….. thought sometimes i need to overflow.


The Witness


give me a little of bright light
a subtle shadow from your curves
did i mention the eyes? They are mine
despite the good and evil that i sawwitness
my gift to see through all  human’s souls
and that sustain  all my affliction
i need to    demand to you again
Give me your shadows and curves
to soothe my soul and drain my addiction
because i have to see….that is all that i know
but is  not my choice to reveal
My eyes and heart frozen
in a flash  ~so many times~
 muscles sore in   pain’s nights
alone and witness from other’s  fret
I  need a love to redeem
my eyes ~for  what they saw~
my heart ~ by the constantly disordered  beats~
as  you bless me and i stop ~here~ just to see you


What is Erotic? By Rubem Alves


”  No wonder that Adelia Prado said that “the soul is erotic.” They are wrong who think that  erotic is the body. The body is only erotic by the worlds by walking on it. Erotic does not walk according to the directions of the flesh. She lives in the interstices of words. There is no love that resists an fantasy empty body . An empty body fantasies is a dumb instrument, which does not leave any melody”.
Rubem Alves

That Damn Flag!!!!


I know … you’ve tried everything … but it did not work …. I also tried hard but

nothing worked so well…. and here I am …. in the middle of this path

 Misty .. with a desire … full moon or waning moon … taking advantage of solar rests … not begging … but just feeling … Oh! in my flesh ….sincerely…..
and waiting …. waiting on this colorful heart …. that looks like a flag flying

 not …to the wind … but on your will ….
then you blow your desires …. blows …. and wills … but i Recognize this wind … again and again …. is you knocking at my door ….
are we talking or am i talking alone??

Blows, blows the flag My flagthat never will come