Silk

Like a streamer

Rustles the soft silk

against bristled skin,

Thrilling

Naked body

Under Crimson silk

Languid as a butterfly

lays Leda in sweet sleep

Awaiting the Swan:

Silken Skin

Seduced by soft senses

Leda jitters in solicitude,

in feathery thirst

Silent sweet Leda sleeps

involved in moths cradles

intoxicated, attracted

by the lights of many colors

shed over the veil

of her bare skin

A boiler bubbles

Innocent, the dormant cocoons

sleep

unaware of their boiling fate

Leda swaddled in silk

Dementedly perjures

The cruel saga

written in threads

Leda immersed in delights

as Zephyr furiously

invades the window

in icy blasts

Licks

Wings

Burns her

The mellow breasts

Stiffen beneath the silk

As she paints her lips

Scarlet

Leda sighs

At Zephyr's whispers

Awaiting time to rush

The caress of the silk

To finally dull

Her sensitivity of moth

For the inquest

Embrace:

The hour of the swan

Retrahere

Digital Art by Ben Heine

Moments
Nuances and traits emphasizing differences
The white enlightening the black
The black shading white
A piece of a bank-less river
A mighty river
A black hat
A white feather
The mouth, full lips in black
A black that evokes burgundy
The black swimsuit on the slender body
The white towel lining the chair
The little girl holding a white duck
wearing black shoes
Her hair is black, the headband white
A grandmother blowing the flame of extinguished fire
A grandmother with white hair, black dress
Frank smile
A man of black mustache and suit
A white handkerchief on his pocket
A black briefcase. Where is he going?
Inside the white papers are hidden
on them the black calligraphy tells in ink dark words
The grandfather's glasses framed black
The teeth so white telling happiness
The black parrot on the shoulder, over the white shirt
A white sky
A black airplane
The bride in candid white
The dapper groom in black.
The baby wrapped in white blankets
The widow wears black, black umbrella
On the chessboard black and white
Dance figures in the old box of pictures
As a puzzle awaiting for the checkmate
While the movement of other eras
Mix inks insinuating shadows
Ashes

Hicup

Chic chic chic

An itty bitty chick

with a hic hic hicup

- Fluffy Bitty

sip a bit

to better the hicup

- What? chic chic

- Water Bitty!

It's good for hicup

- What? Chic chic

It wasn't my Bitty

What was quack

my duck had hicup

News

I saw that newscast today

It has been such a long time

She looks so old I may say

Five?

Six years?

The same old news on the tv

And wrinkles aging a face

So hard to see

How this time came to be

The scene moves in a flash

As the mirror reflects

Versions of me

Reel

Image: Old Lady threading by Ronaldo de Campos Fernandes

Longing

A gloomy old lady

With a hump.

Wrinkles.

Threading on the old spinning wheel

Bony fingers still dexterous

but slow
no hurries

signs of past times

From the window at the high tower she watches the clock

in constant oscillation

startling
Bang
at each twang

The heart no longer accompanies the clock

It goes at it’s own pace

Misplaced

The wheel, the clock , memories

rotate with the earth

in a centrifugal universe

Those whom watch from the light won’t see her

She is mixed in the grim darkness

in yellowish earth tones

in the shadows of yesterday

The veil of cataract does not hide completely the light

As she gazes from the window the colors of extinct days

She is longing

since the womb longing before,

a constant gaze at yesterday

memories marked in a pendulum

of a constant time

The old lady glimpses memories,

where time is always present

she gazes from the darkness

A long absent yesterday

The mother scolds her scraped knee

The red ribbon

Felix,  the kitten buried in the backyard

Blushing yet the memory of a kiss

Ecstasy still the inebriating images of love

The thread falls from her hands

entangled to the possibilities

of what might have been

of that yarn reel

The old lady pulls chunks of cotton

insidiously turning the old spinning wheel

rotating forward

continuously

she weaves a reel

to be knitted into the little girl’s dress

a girl who still turns into the womb

dormant

The piercing squeak of the spinning wheel

follows the black hole

within her chest

swallowing to permanent darkness

the nebular spark

of a longing dwarf star

Boston’s saddest marathon

Flying flags united

At the finish line

Runners run

Their big run

Fast

Spring cradles

Happy smiles

Cheers

Patriotic shouts

Of a city’s day out

Hearts pounce

Fast

Trying to reach

That finish line

Only to find at last

Just a blast

A globe of smoke

Colored white

And instantly

The colors

Flush away

From faces

By the monotone

Of sadness

Peace

Was not a medal

At that finish line

As we cry for Boston

As we cry for peace

Fate

It’s already too late

To wrap, to cuddle, to love,

To cradle

She was found on a lake

No cry

The silence screams

Wilting the new born flowers

She won’t ever bloom

She has crossed the gate,

The Iron doors of fate

Alice

Mary

Kate?

No name

Floats on a lake

Why forsaken?

Mom?

Where are you mom?

No sound, no womb

No happy birthday

Cake

Stranger’s arms

And hearts

Ache

Amelie?

Flowers spin fast paced

Knitting a blanket

Of petals

To warm cold hearts

To make life place

Sally?

There will never be a date

Please

Let it be silence

No debates

Little Ellie has emerged

Above in heaven

Let her memories be

Just petals

Aboard a lake

The Alchemist

Woman

Why have thou bitten it?

Fooled by your own story

deceived by the phallic serpent

Woman

self condemned your crimson lips to sip

distilling poison into honey

to feed the bulging belly

Thou art housing 

Shell

endoplasmic reticulum

Root of splendorous tree

extending majestically upwards

as you are buried deeper into the gloomy soil 

towards the flaming heart of the Earth

Woman who glazes at your punishment

resting into the cradle of creation

With such grace of affections that you break

into rain of salt

Thou salts the Earth

from the insanity of foolish insipidity

Your emotions

Flowers

poems of divinity

that reflects on the pearls of your teeth

Woman that bites again and again

the juicy fruit under the stare of the enchanting snake

Just to live again the embrace of the meiosis

The weeping of Santa Maria

Santa Maria cries.

Oh painful tears
What now?

The whole world at the sight of Santa Maria

Also puts on the black veil

Silent hills in the distance

Embrace her in fright

before the lips muted from songs

Santa Maria cries with no consolation

the acid cloud that wilted her flowers

the feverish heat sowing this pain

Santa Maria is crying the children

Cries the parents, cries the girls

The empty rooms

The gap

Sobbing in choir so many mothers Marias

A black stiletto lays on the scorched ground

witnessed the rush of Cinderella in reverse

Picks, axes, broke the wall

trying to appease the thirst flames

a hole torn from despair, crossing

to the side of the winged ones

Santa Maria weeps

Her happy children now heroes

sadden with marble memories

(Sobs)

Yesterday Santa Maria rejoiced

with those who rejoice

Today Santa Maria weeps

with those who weep

Santa Maria weeps

(...)

Tribute to the victims of the 01/27/13 fire in Brazil, city of Santa Maria