Monday, September 9, 2013


Like a streamer
Rustles the soft silk
against bristled skin,

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
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
Burns her

The mellow breasts
Stiffen beneath the silk
As she paints her lips

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
The hour of the swan

Sunday, July 28, 2013


Digital Art by Ben Heine

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

Tuesday, June 4, 2013


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

Tuesday, April 30, 2013


I saw that newscast today
It has been such a long time
She looks so old I may say
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

Monday, April 29, 2013


Image: Old Lady threading by Ronaldo de Campos Fernandes

A gloomy old lady
With a hump.
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
at each twang

The heart no longer accompanies the clock
It goes at it’s own pace
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
she weaves a reel
to be knitted into the little girl’s dress
a girl who still turns into the womb

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

Monday, April 15, 2013

Boston’s saddest marathon

Flying flags united
At the finish line
Runners run
Their big run
Spring cradles
Happy smiles
Patriotic shouts
Of a city’s day out
Hearts pounce
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
Was not a medal
At that finish line
As we cry for Boston
As we cry for peace

Monday, April 8, 2013


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
No name
Floats on a lake
Why forsaken?
Where are you mom?
No sound, no womb
No happy birthday
Stranger’s arms
And hearts
Flowers spin fast paced
Knitting a blanket
Of petals
To warm cold hearts
To make life place
There will never be a date
Let it be silence
No debates
Little Ellie has emerged
Above in heaven
Let her memories be
Just petals
Aboard a lake

Friday, March 8, 2013

The Alchemist

Why have thou bitten it?
Fooled by your own story
deceived by the phallic serpent

self condemned your crimson lips to sip
distilling poison into honey
to feed the bulging belly

Thou art housing 
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
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

Monday, January 28, 2013

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

Yesterday Santa Maria rejoiced
with those who rejoice
Today Santa Maria weeps
with those who weep

Santa Maria weeps