Irremediable Condition

Irremediable Condition

The few times I have seen her

her exuberant hair - long curly

waves conquering her back

wrapping her serious smile in a

dark silver cuddle - persisted

as a symbol of our hopeless

love.

© 2017, José Coelho

Temporary Express

Temporary Express

- My sayings are dirt

so you can weep them off

She didn't say much -

what the fuck -

we touched and pressed our hands

softly, first

The landscape was dark

and immense

and the stars vanished

or they had gone wild

temporarily

that, I know

cos when we got cuddled

a glimmer of light kept playing

on her back

© 2017, José Coelho

Whenever The House Is Dark

Whenever The House Is Dark

Of her loss and how sadly nature fell

I realize now, the dimension, eagle-like
plummeting into mother's crevice

just once

that ever lasting

once

when honed edges cut

the word   draining away   breath

skin, flesh, bones

memories like fall trees

walls, ground, horizon

S O U N D

- look

straight ahead: the house, existing

simply covers the night. The sweet bay

tree, behind, hints at  the stars  and rhymes

alone, all by it self

against the freshness of wet

mint   and breeze

the silver light hums

no answers, no questions

nothing bears nothing, within a certain

interval    because

shadows

evaporate with warmth – earth's

warmth -

hers'

Whenever the house is dark, the moon

is lit

and I go out

© 2015, José E.T.M. Coelho

I am looking at sound

I am looking at sound
Imagine yourself
wakening
your eyes are open, but you don't see
there is no color
not even dark
your mind starts searching
for references
inside
the solidness of your past compositions, melting
for a tiny second the notion of
you
is swept into this black hole
of memory
lost in loops of anxiety
Imagine the fear
as you never thought of it
the real panic that
suddenly
nothing to be named, is there
no meaning of plural I, exists
around what?
in a last futile attempt
you scream
                   a long convulsive cry
I was able to see you
then, but
it was too late to
have you
back!
© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Missing shadow

How I would like to have said that
sometimes,
at noon,
while walking through
the streets
of my city,
under a dark burning
zenith-sun,
my eyes
get tempted
to unravel,
my hands
get thirsty
of touching,
the missing shadow
under my
feet.