Posts Tagged ‘outdoors’


Photo credit: hannes-flo on Foter.com / CC BY

caminhei por entre as palavras perdidas

esperei a noite ébria

julguei que te via

mas era apenas a memória

em tantas noites seguidas


é nos momentos de partilha e união

que a lágrima é maior que o não

e me sento no chão

olho as estrelas e a lua

e nunca haverá beleza tão nua

que traga uma luz igual à tua


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Photo via on VisualHunt.com


rivers to cross, numbers to forget, something to quit, face to wet, eyes to close, circles to break, errors to take, nights to wake.

another shot on a grey day, so many pains to dry and no stars in the sky…

let it burn, out!


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matéria e forma


pela manhã, quando me levanto

o cansaço é tanto

que me deito à sombra de mim

e faço um festim

num rio de palavras revolto

um tigre solto

na água fria do passado


saturado da rotina

dessa crítica sem razão pura

baixo de novo a cortina

guardo no bolso a desventura

vou em busca do lilás

fica a neblina para trás

brilha o azul nublado

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Before you go further,
let me tell you what a poem brings,
first, you must know the secret, there is no poem
to speak of, it is a way to attain a life without boundaries,
yes, it is that easy, a poem, imagine me telling you this,
instead of going day by day against the razors, well,
the judgments, all the tick-tock bronze, a leather jacket
sizing you up, the fashion mall, for example, from
the outside you think you are being entertained,
when you enter, things change, you get caught by surprise,
your mouth goes sour, you get thirsty, your legs grow cold
standing still in the middle of a storm, a poem, of course,
is always open for business too, except, as you can see,
it isn’t exactly business that pulls your spirit into
the alarming waters, there you can bathe, you can play,
you can even join in on the gossip—the mist, that is,
the mist becomes central to your existence.

— From Half of the World in Light: New and Selected Poems by Juan Felipe Herrera.

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Fall quercus

cada dia ímpar que desmultiplica a acção consciente

soma imagens e imperfeições

diz mais que um tratado de lições

de vida

coisa que nunca se diz que não foi lida

pois assim nunca terás ninguém presente

à tua mesa

tão vazia, tão suja, tão indefesa

todo o arrojo se dilui à superfície

há um esconderijo em cada passo lento e hesitante 

e nem correndo sem fôlego por essa planície

consegues ser o demais nem o bastante

Adoro as coisas simples. 
Elas são o último refúgio de um espírito complexo.

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veio de tão longe o auge do fim

e quando assim

um dia escurece

ainda mais me apetece

lavrar as linhas vazias

– dirias:

isso são meras vontades

pequenas saudades

que trouxeste lá do alto

a salto


já me perdi num labirinto

daqueles que têm solução

e tantas vezes me sinto

uma partícula da desilusão

e mesmo quando te minto

aprendo uma lição

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by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master;
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run–
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

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