if something is open
it is an umbrella… as you all do and know
i can choose sundry ideas and movements
can i open it? can i break it?
in many, so many pieces
because i had, i have so many options
i choose to break it
to collect the pieces
it is more cooler for the soul and fun!
i bet tha this moment i can win
from all of you…
they are coloured, a miscellaneous of shapes
i can understand all of it
so easy to keep when falling over me
but not to forever, i know
but it is good…
i am used to it
it fills me anyway, for seconds or milleseconds
i prefer to dash it into a little fractions
as into peaces they are
but i can achieve the pain
the before pain….
it is like a commons rain
any color, any predictable movement
the touch, the invisible is raining over
i destroy the umbrella and firmly believe
I do not have other way
as addicted i am
pursuiting the rain
Do i have one chance?
such beautiful caos!
it seems i am back
about two years,
again, stumbling into words
because it should be The touch but comes out The man
as if they were even
in weight and value
it depends of the hunger
i am really back…
Dead diminish spaces
but not desire
And because i know that time always deceives us
that it is never perfect because time always fails with us
and, therefore, it is little, it is time, it is few
that our words do not complete us
our sight do not reach us
I to you, you to me
So… i am Lunar… I have to be
because i seek a pattern
i need … The soundness of your look
that lies within our absence
and that fills each one of us with nothing
And because you are Intention
You rule the seasons
sometimes warm me, sometimes you are my solitude….
the little, the few, the nothing you gave me
runs through the lunar cycle and back again to warm me up
and i love you for that
I think it’s time to write
I think speak directly interfere in something more sublime.
Our silence. Our medieval melodic line.
We need to respect
The pause … between our breaths.
Restoring the hearts to normal beats.
When possible! If possible!
So when we do not talk , when in silence and in solitude is allowed to us
an intense feeling….
inside the restlessness and the remembrance
ours minds flow loose.
All is revive! Sudenly!
And how we are simple, and naive, Love silently weaves its dominion over us.
But we do not know it.
We are concerned to hold tied the strong beats
and avoiding to listen the melodic sound
and avoiding to fell that little pain, that charm that have remained for so long.
Those who fall in love, usually need to apologize for the long silence that is established between them. But the silence and solitude ennobles us . It is the pause and the slow pace that precede a high feeling.
If love can be in that way. Innocent and simple. I think we love each other!
tonight the tide is so, so low
and i , numbed by the silence
by that comes and goes
so dull and shallow
less than the moves of the waves
it is one soft touch, a rustle in my year
in my senses!
sliding over the grains of the sand
all in the beach was dead and quiet
I did not dare to move as we were patners tonight
as we were salty and predictable
low tide, flood tide….
I just ventured to inhale the woody perfum
a scent of solitude it was allowed
not just to me
but to us
there, in that moment….
as my heart aches one Big Sky
appears to me
but unchanged as it is my will
in that night, in that Bay
just across the stillness of the world
and an anarchic glow in the sky
I could remember you
But It is summer night in Búzios Bay
i dont know what i hope for
when i search for your hidden face
and i count
the few words that were said
if they come to make me equal
if they are spoken just
to confirm the loneliness
what i really know is that
in the domain of silence
does not fit all
does not contain all
things keeps running in my hopeless ambition
the bite of the lips
the look of love
the hands shaking
whom could you be
The language of your distance hurts me
and it comes in odd & even days
to be sure
that i am still crude and uneven
Into the bad night
i mourns over your body
and i lit two candles
I received the clear message
of loneliness …
Sealed on me just the memory
melted and burning my hands
when i was tired
I blew on your candles
and l lighted others
These, The Wind Alone
I had no pain or burns
treacherous and dreadful way!
I just took care of my hands
How i am brief!
So you know….as we were talking days ago
i was interrupted by the time
so short between us
I tried as you tried…one, two and three
Be happy it is not for poets
I dont give up and i think you don’t gave up also
You just was carved in marble…
I had no time to look and say goodby
But lies above …as a shadow , as a cloud…
Full of rain, and lightnings….heavy
Mixed with my feelings
As a second identity of me
You… a ghost living at the third floor
Of my unconsciousness
I like bees…the hum …you know
Bees are so so fat and noisily fun
But not a box of bee
They are dangerous and they aren’t for us
I discovered through you
We try because of others
When we absorve the others shadows
Becoming dark …their darkness melted in us
So many wishes… who is the owner?
becoming a reflection of their desires
constant splashes on the river bank
The mirrors ..you know
But must be a place
to hide …maybe to rest
and i ask to myself if there has not room
without solitude, without cold
And no heaven, no hell
at least… not a shortcut… nothing so fast
maybe God will build
a silent spot… you’ll sit, i’ll sit
to watch….silence and move
as you see my dear friend
I am trying as you tried
be happy…it is not for poets
The Minuano blew hard these days
while I was still breathing warm
~as the cold ~ always precedes the cold and win
~It went away~ taking my little steam soul
undulating in the air, losing herself in little drops….
in a boiling kettle
just whirling in the air
tasteless and odorless
Rising ~ capriciously ~ to pour into rain~
Minuano or simply minuano Wind is the name given to the current air that typically affects the Brazilian states of Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina and Paraná. It’s a cold wind of polar origin (Atlantic polar air mass), occurs after the passage of cold fronts of fall and winter, usually after rain. Wikipedia.
Vivienne Westwood Photo Juergen Teller
morning now my love
is for ~ to fix when I was ~The Aurora~
a kiss without tongue
and lips of mint
lukewarm coffee to Sip
a touch of short duration, a distance look
legs still humid
and “One” see you soon