Tag: my poems

The Visitors

It wasn't like this before. We were never modern or trendy only feeding off old glories of dead sailors and football stars. So we liked having you here: the wealthy relatives who never held us in any regard. But now you come to visit all the time. There is no more sitting outside with a ...


The eyes In my mind See all the skies I've crossed Since they were left behind Can you see All the seeds you left Inside me How they grow Do you know It is all you I am turning into.


It breathes ancient, this thing. It stirs and it rings and pours out of my skin. There's a tempest within. I should hold down the lid but can't sail this ship while lost drunk on longing. The sails rip at the seams. My lips holding the seeds I can't sow - for now. Can the ...

Bag Lady

Too many bags with too much baggage back from when your heart was savage and oblivious. A bag of lights A bag of doubts An empty bag on where to shout. The bag of tricks you've since collected - their smoke and mirrors have now deflected. So pile it up and build a pyre Make ...

74 x 34 x 60 mm

Dimensões conservadas. Discretamente heterogéneo apenas. Linha sem alterações intrínsecas. Septação fúndica já conhecida já alvo de intervenção. Cavidade virtual. Pequenas imagens líquidas infracentimétricas simples. Visibilidade anexial direita mais satisfatória do que a esquerda. Douglas livre.

Tony Cokayne: an introduction

Tony Cokayne lived up to his name. (It ran in the family He wasn't to blame.) Where there was demand, he’d supply Except for wise ass kids Wanting to get high On any shit they could buy. Tony Cokayne felt no shame. He wasn't one to hide (Only, maybe, from time to time When the ...


it was someone else's book (one still on the shelf) and all its shades of blue poured in at twelve there were waves along the sideway our underwater promenade a bit like Moses a bit like swimming all while asleep under the linen.

Down the spiral ladder

Down the spiral ladder Your pet demons’ visiting hour. (Can you truly hate them when you’re their mother?) Can’t you tame them When light shouts louder? You know better. Being born from the water and all The mysteries you claim to know. Just go under.


maybe I should take up songwriting again though I never could play any instrument well enough to satisfy you melodies in my head.

Sylvia’s tree

Only the branches seem to grow and multiply - like Sylvia's tree. I should not depend on the wind as guide - it changes all the time. But the speed with which I need to grow (do I?) may well be the death of me. Shallow roots grow faster but never hold.

the miner

Watch your step as you tread through the depths. The surface is always safe - all lies rest above the ground. So go ahead out the cave all the way down. You may not even be afraid of the dark or damp dusty tunnels you'll need to cross to get to us. But make sure ...


Autumn's mist and Sarah's Sea I'm back to the months when I longed to see what I've since met but have not seen yet.



You have been carried for years on someone else's lips (you sound good on paper) with your island descent and abyss ascent and all the spectres forever loyal. I have not met you but know your women and tangled tales (I know far too many details) of you the shy ghost who never shows. We ...


  Me, the ever restless twins Fast as wings in Hermes’ heels You, Apollo’s racing car Know what is a cinnabar. From chemistry to alchemy Astrology, astronomy An orbit of the highest Eccentricity Coulomb interaction Semi-neurotic reaction To bad grammar and bad spelling That we both find so repelling. You know the capital of Nepal ...

old tales

Little Princess Little Princess, I declare There's nothing finer than your hair Its perfect waves and perfect length And how it seems to give you strength Little Princess, how you stare!, Into mine eyes I cannot bare As if once lost and by me found Your tiny feet swept off the ground Little Princess, do ...

Cosmology (pt. 1)

I. Light light said the Word was there not Spirit before Matter came, though they say the clay was molded first? Light life blew the Breath that condensed to make flesh from the breast of the Earth now the Mother of all birth. II. There is always a serpent hissing up your spine all the ...

it aches my love

it aches my love it aches your silence pressing against my chest my flesh ripping open wounds tiny and big closing and healed it burns my love it burns flames and heat scrapping the surface of some inner organ the hidden place where pain is felt and I try my love to keep my love ...

Isidora comes of age

Black sunflowers are but red. I am not darkness a Lilith moon calling out beasts and demons to roam the woods and minds of dreamers who step down the steps to the cave where they store what they hide. I am a different cave: where every creature goes to digest what it feels that harbors ...

Isidora’s Birth

Black phoenix born anew (hatches, hatches) orphan bird tries a flap and then two.

um dia beijo-te

um dia beijo-te ao som do vermelho tinto que trazemos no sangue mesmo que não sintas fervilhar no teu os meus lábios dir-te-ão mais que as palavras e juras que carrego nas veias. um dia beijo-te ao chegar a coragem de dizer sem versos as rimas que sinto na minha pele ansiosa pela tua de ...


O blog também fez anos e, em tom nostálgico, reproduzimos aqui o início, agora com foto a condizer. princesas a ervilha que eu temo és tu quem a sente? se eu assinto a escalada dessa pilha aclamada de colchões.

it is quiet

it is quiet my love I do not float away at your sight at your words at your matter of gray it is rooted my love like the ancient cool stream your reflection so close to the one I have seen and they're crappy, my love these words and the rhymes as it's born in ...


os pontos soltos que fui criando e dispondo por mim como uma constelação à espera de ser formada pequenas luzes dispersas que me lançaram na queda por não terem rectas que me guiassem encontrei linhas com laços e nós desfazendo-se sempre entre os dedos ansiosos agora calmos - ainda nus que apontam os pontos que ...

a cave

deixava todos os dias a minha voz debaixo do tapete de entrada tu eras a cave eu a janela no espaço vazio cheio de ti cheio do meu medo de quem desceu aos infernos por lá ver centelhas. se havia palavras ficavam nos cantos e esquinas da sala no meio de tantos ais que sorri ...

(sem título)

lembras-te, irmã das cruzadas desertos onde amámos a solidão e o silêncio e a nossa pele se tornou pedra com as areias que ninguém sacudiu das nossas pálpebras.