Barão Reports – The people

Barão Reports – The people

Half of them are foreigners, showing off

a dream, a real white sandy moon

in one hand, a lint disguising golden attributes

in the other

Some are passengers

moving along with time

caressing faces which

makes them believe

they: becoming oranges

can inhale it for a while

and forget their

birth

Then, there are the

Trees.

Which are more than

trees; they are the soul of these

men. They are the roots connecting

generations of cultural identity

maps of human geography.

They flourish and fruit

the words of their language

year after year

As words feeding in my mind

continuously asking to be spoken

or painted

white, watered, written;

I shut them down!

often it’s better to let them rest

between the beat of two thoughts

before

Trees, words, men

all cast together

under the same sun

they are

like earth

waking

to read the wind above

its leaves.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Barão Reports - Of Dubious Fridays

Barão Reports - Of Dubious Fridays

Open

This curse, in search for definitions

Like blue, shelter, onion

(Bizarreries)

I started this book last year.

The metric of time beating slow or it has been avoiding

me, a bad reader

searching for the next Friday

which never

happened

As the book

I kept missing the read, the integral

sound of dumping it

into the water

after knowing what it was

made of

Eclectic furniture of multiple characters

But the book fell steep into

dubious Fridays -

might be that I’ve stumbled upon

myself?

Real musty signs.

Ambition of becoming

the embryo cell of future

possibilities.

n-uplicated scenarios twisting time

into a humiliated Moebius ruler

Close

to this stone  

where I envy the landscape

present becomes thicker than

normal

allowing another Friday to

finally

settle in.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Barão Reports – The House

Barão Reports – The House

The house is simple, in the real sense of the word, simple as sand waiting for tides to get washed or under a burning sun. There are no additions! The walls stand solid against the bleak of the day,

their skin enjoys the touch of a hand, a leg, an eye exploring its whiteness dimmed by wood twisted shutters, inviting for meditation while the body vanishes into plenitudes of salted water. The floor, made of antique terra cotta bricks, feels like a permeable membrane connecting us to the ground.

The rooms are small. My bedroom has a huge bed which fits the room. No door, no nightstand, just the bed. I enjoy it a lot! Lying on this bed and looking into the light that comes through the single slim window opposite to it. The window stays always open, with the blinds half shut; works as a sound box, collecting every little sound generated in the close neighborhood, to be reinterpreted in the shadow of the moment.

Once we bought a bench, all wood and rustic like, strong. There was no place for a couch, so this seemed like a real alternative. We placed it in the biggest room and in the warmest nights we move it outside so we can enjoy a fresh breeze.

It seems this bench used to serve the slaughtering of the pig.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Barão Reports – Coffee And a Mosquito

Barão Reports - Coffee And a Mosquito

On the way to Lagos

just the usual Saturday visit to the

big local city market, the road

suddenly

became wet.

Despite a fairly grey sky, the

temperature was warm, the air

dumping scents of fennel

curry and rock rose – my favorite!

a must have I collect in bunches for later

re-use, just in case a big cozy hug comes in hand.

Parked the car at the right spot, family

out – we love returning to the same places

including same people

their fancy habits, improbabilities

the expression in their faces slightly

changing but keeping the soul

year after year

makes you develop something I would call

attachment to

frenzy of staying;

and then the rain fell

hard as it does

seldom, for less than a minute – we could hear it

smashing against car roofs -

that’s it, was gone

no regret or compunction

showing.

Now the rest is up to you

grass, good and bad weeds

marigolds, poppies

raise your wild beauty and leave us

dreaming of more.

On the way back, more or less at

the same mile, the road became dry.

The pleasure of eating fresh shrimps with salt & lemon

makes me think of nothing.

The tuna steak in onion sauce

was savored and swallowed

as if unique.

The owner of the café approaches smiling with coffee and a mosquito; he assures me

It never rained here.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Barão Reports – Café Central

Barão Reports – Café Central

Like earth

smelling the wind -

auscultation

At Café Central

the announcement of tomorrow’s rain

leaves everybody indifferent

with disbelief one lady says:

no way, not around here!

I tell her about the weather report.

Useless! They won’t by it.

That leaves me confident that tomorrow

is going to be just another

normal day.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Barão Reports – Killing Latitudes

Barão Reports – Killing Latitudes

The sun has been running higher than normal

along the slopes of buildings

killing latitudes.

I’ve stretched an old canvas awning across

the alley at the back of my house

but the shadow remained a thin

strip of dubious measure.

Around noon, while I grill fresh fish

drink beer and elaborate on a thousand

ways to repeat this fantasy

tomorrow and after tomorrow and after, after tomorrow

no beastly sound

denounces my earthly location

only my neighbor’s windmill

gearing its metallic litany

keeps mapping me to the ground

So far, no body complained!

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Evolution

Evolution

He had to readapt his way of thinking because he decided to start living on all fours

Readjustment came into every aspect of his daily confinement; some objects had to be moved onto the walls in order to meet body necessities

His vision of the world suffered a rotation of roughly ninety degrees

Which in fact created the illusion of having landed on another planet

Mastery of this new spatial relation was not easy It took him a few months to decline on historic impulses

Finally, imbued with a sense of realization, he jumped for joy!

© 2014, José Eduardo 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

Something To Say

Something To Say

I write better when my nails are short

and clean.

The sound of the keyboard touching

the skin of my finger tips

entices my brain, digitally, as wheels gliding on

iron-made-skies.

I write better when I’m not writing at all

the words flowing, wired

between the subject of my desk and the pressure

of my un-thoughts

dripping.

I write better when I’m dreaming

your summer nights spent by or in the realm of

secret northern lakes

never filled to

fulfillment.

I write better when my eyes merge

into the thickness of solitude or even just gauging

the milky consistency of shells

suspended from the ocean

of time.

But it strikes even better when I’m mentally under

the urge to thrive

emotions as days, hours

a craving for a fleeting

certainty.

Yet, I write best when I

have something

to say.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho