and, matter of course, the July butterfly wheel, once again.
Mostrando postagens com marcador peace. Mostrar todas as postagens
Mostrando postagens com marcador peace. Mostrar todas as postagens
sexta-feira, 7 de julho de 2017
Skipper with an attitude
A natural fierce skipper, with a long sensing proboscis, and an attitude
and, matter of course, the July butterfly wheel, once again.
and, matter of course, the July butterfly wheel, once again.
sábado, 30 de janeiro de 2016
SOLITUDE
When
plagued by excessive solitude,
I look at this picture:
Then
at this one
When
all is well again,
there is this fellow,
who was there all along,
oblivious
to the high emotions of the crowds…
sexta-feira, 15 de janeiro de 2016
Double shadows
A heron
with two shadows
medallion for silence
a bit of peace
Garça azul de duas sombras
talismã pra silêncio
e um pouco de paz
domingo, 20 de outubro de 2013
PROFESSIONAL ARMIES
Professional armies
skin briefcases
to hold their fall,
contact lenses
retina implants,
tricks of memory
-
they did fall
out of the skies.
C.e.os, cooks,
cleaners, speculators and snake oil peddlers
electricians,
magicians
just arriving to
set up their gear
for breakfast
birthday parties;
dark haired
children, hispanicos,
women in veils
and blond
soldiers;
they, the
godless, devout, monogamous,
polygamous,
loving, hating, earnest, alive,
childless,
dogless, motherless, fatherless, humanless
earthless
like bombs
they fell out of
the skies
like stars
like meteors and
mutations
professional
armies
they keep on
falling out of the skies.
Excerpts from
the book of POEMS FOR PEACE
Erica Weick late
in September 2001/ Revisited in 2013
sábado, 3 de julho de 2010
BORDERLINE REVELATIONS
July 3, 2010
Revelations inside the borders of the solar plexus
Life awakening
Still clinging to the dew beauty of dream, once more I wake up to fright, gasping at dawn, once more alone and lost. Pinned to this bed by the gothic ceilings of this caravelle, this oh, so beautiful house.
The gardens of my enchantment and of the butterflies, a country that was a stranger to me and that is now mine. I am a citizen of this community, in the more mundane sense, having sworn to the truth of wanting to stay.
I breathe and from the air that enters my body, the feeling of alone penetrates. I breathe and watch my face, open pores of nose, skin color of marzipan, a hair growing in the wart, the mouth demanding deeper and deeper air to stop this daily ache, in the awakening of my days. Of my aloness, in my body, I breathe, I feel.
On the road, maybe to my end, in this bed made of my own body. On the road I have no desire because desire does not work in this journey.
The insight to feel, to breathe,
so as to be alive, to get over this fright of life and death. To accept, in the awake and in this breath, that ageing is to know how to inhabit one’s own body. In this morning and moment I do not have the body of others as my aim, my own physical body is what composes me.
Of the bodies of others I know they compose music, sex, vibrations, love, the words of art, friendships, marriages, falling out of love, the people, relationships, all that which, in illusion, makes me corporeal.
In this instant, I do not need the bodies of others to be. I do not relate. I enter inside my own body, I recognize a borderline in this morning of mine.
My unique possibility to inhabit my own time and to age.
To have some peace.
Revelations inside the borders of the solar plexus
Life awakening
Still clinging to the dew beauty of dream, once more I wake up to fright, gasping at dawn, once more alone and lost. Pinned to this bed by the gothic ceilings of this caravelle, this oh, so beautiful house.
The gardens of my enchantment and of the butterflies, a country that was a stranger to me and that is now mine. I am a citizen of this community, in the more mundane sense, having sworn to the truth of wanting to stay.
I breathe and from the air that enters my body, the feeling of alone penetrates. I breathe and watch my face, open pores of nose, skin color of marzipan, a hair growing in the wart, the mouth demanding deeper and deeper air to stop this daily ache, in the awakening of my days. Of my aloness, in my body, I breathe, I feel.
On the road, maybe to my end, in this bed made of my own body. On the road I have no desire because desire does not work in this journey.
The insight to feel, to breathe,
so as to be alive, to get over this fright of life and death. To accept, in the awake and in this breath, that ageing is to know how to inhabit one’s own body. In this morning and moment I do not have the body of others as my aim, my own physical body is what composes me.
Of the bodies of others I know they compose music, sex, vibrations, love, the words of art, friendships, marriages, falling out of love, the people, relationships, all that which, in illusion, makes me corporeal.
In this instant, I do not need the bodies of others to be. I do not relate. I enter inside my own body, I recognize a borderline in this morning of mine.
My unique possibility to inhabit my own time and to age.
To have some peace.
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