Alboran Sea

Alboran Sea

I would love to measure the distance

between us, an unthinkable Alboran sea

Birds' cries are heard, south and north

mirroring the unspoken alphabet

only we shall come to speak

At this point the feeble laps against the boat's hull

became stronger as another ship sailed

up the river; I raised my head before this

warm incident

to see you, let's go beyond the idea of

drainage – that could take eternities and

my faith is an ephemeral

element

People get familiar on water, as if back to

mother's womb – they wave and smile at their

own illusions – the same within the

diaspora.

But you, are not a mere illusion

in my dreams your blood clots the strait between

both pillars.

© 2017, José Coelho

Aseptic Tragedies

Aseptic Tragedies

On occasions I am

reminded of its flavor

and as a bile duct, serving

merely as a vessel

of transmission

I convey

The idea of the blade

surgically

cutting tissues

The touch of hands

against

the rugged wall

The flavor of blood

deluging

from within

and still the feeling

of live flesh -

mesmerizing images

(everywhere)

As I said, only on

occasions – maybe

there's no proper composition

to describe it -

they become so harshly plural

arrogantly sick

standing full of them selves

like waves

engulfing the sea

pretending to believe

their heart – a germ-free

empty room -

will hold the sparkling

truth

But then, I see

the shrinking of human

qualities

into debris like

elements – a sculpture of once

living things

dying

for life

And all that nonsense while

waving at each other

goodbyes; looking ahead

it wouldn't defy any

ethics

to wash my wrath

anew with

blood.

© 2016, José Coelho

Faith Meets the Elements

Faith Meets the Elements

Lord of the stone
patron of seamen & women

I thought I saw you
but it was only the light
descending heaven’s sorcery

Far beyond our wisdom
a primal hunger, feeding on angst
laid down the stones

between Ocean & Earth
the place for anchorage
awaits humanity’s return from
eternal wander

defying the elements of faith
with the flesh of his flesh
and                profanity!
his blood feeding the fire
that keeps our souls
in despair &
temptation

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Traditions

Traditions

The grass on your face

your scarf, your hat, flowers:

       that’s not close to my desire

I want the lines in your dance

the loathsome sensuality of your attitude

the ungracious danger you so well defy

I want blood

seeping from your injured flesh

throbbing between two iron strokes

                                                      of my vanity

let me taint it all in orange powder

and throw it back to you as

humble as a grass

leaf

My blood is precious

Yours’ my victory!

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho