Paisagens Rúbeas

Paisagens Rúbeas

Sentir aquele prazer infantil, de nada

ter de fazer, senão estar e observar

uma dormência que desce pela espinha

o quanto, apesar de inúteis somos

queridos, presentes, constantes como

peça de joalharia fina, ao pescoço

brilhando, escondida

Acerco-me desses dias apenas

vagamente induzo propriedades quentes

que acredito residirem algures

dentro de mim posso

acordá-las e olhá-las com a inércia

da saudade

Depois há os mapas, que digo

serem de cidades, mas em verdade são

representações das almas que já

amei e amo

Habito-as a todas, ensino-as

por quadrantes e linhas respeito

cada casa, cada parque, cada rio

memorizo seus cursos

até à foz há-de ser

oceano.

© 2018, José Coelho

Horizonte

Que olhos

mornos, pingados

poderiam

dobrar o meu esquívo

horizonte tardio

e fixá-lo

por aí

num porto de mar

ou de rio

?

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Colorless Spirituality

their life is not much, though as much as any other, cuz they, the children of São Paulo, Santiago, Lima, Caracas, Rio could be kicking you and your smugged SUV or nose in any other city, south or east; fine to see how they make it through: abjection, home, disgust, bed-time, ugliness, story, bananas to eat or sell, dress up or dump among trash spread glories over such wides of sea most people wouldn't imagine to care what happens then, after all the pleasure, beauty, cleanness is gone or doomed inorganic.

So these other children and women take on the task to patrol and keep safe the remains of fast society, where life is made of shorts and ignominious where value was traded off for something else no body knows what, but the thing, it, keeps growing and in fact there is no stopping or aching

in fact these children, women, feeble men are the rest of us- shadows unifying human material dead and alive into one big, thick river.

...the river of colorless spirituality.

© 2014, JC