Ningxia

Ningxia...

My desk sucks

organization swept by a farm

in Ningxia the sun

                  fearless engine

is off for the night

peasants' shift redfully laid down

dig for their bloom

                  prescribed

among berries cropped

in the late of summer days

some rufescent

                  vain bouquets

remain hanging

in self inflicted delight

semen propellers

                  from trees, the birds

approaching

scanning for strategy

pinching

                  squirt delicatessen

the soft peel

of my brain begs for

uv-seed aegis

                  whirling

the remnants of our

global communication system

echo

                  the sound of a pentium

one third

of a full earthly rotation away

from my desk

Ningxia... I can't hear you!

JC, 2014

Iberian Plateau

I confirm that her hands
were real
mapped into mine
sketches of skin
or saliva semantic gulps
palpable tulips
in red through the squeeze
of the moment
I confirm the savoring
of an aged ocean
bathed fingers in the bulb
the bulb uprising she
salty and the gif
the gif we never took
keeps broadcasting
memories across framed eyes
lids, hair, lips
breakfast for two across the Iberian
plateau of
effusiveness -
you should have met me
in Lisbon.
JC, 2014

Hugo

Hugo:

tall, friendly

sharing hearts on this and that

lacks space accuracy

speed coordination

all balanced with

huge will to beat

misfortunes

a source of patience

commitment

able to walk long distances

daily

've been trying to teach him

skilling myself to

overcome this winding task

help him jump the rope

the proper way

one end at each arm

forward rotation, feet up

he's ready to fly

Hugo:

the 2nd chance of Daedalus

born from dreams of feathers and reeds

in a strange new world

                                    unknown

fights to unravel his delicate web of

salvation

destined to perform myths

© 2014, JC

Confessions 1 – a dialogue

Confessions 1 – a dialogue

Am I a writer?

So they asked me if I kept painting, I have no time, neither physical nor mental space, Don't you miss it, well yeah but this was the course of life and although I think of it, it's not as if I have waived it, it's still with me, keeps pouring every day, disguised, wearing the logic of certainties and haziness of language; They looked at me in oddness and I knew it was going to get worst.

Are you a writer now, Indeed... sort of, I sum up instructions on a Turing's machine, lines of code streaming out of my mind, spaghetti like, get evaluated and try passing the test. When they do, you can call me a writer!

© 2014, JC

Reminds Me Of Love

Reminds me of Love

on Mondays

the shadows of scattered

clouds cast above me and the earth

reminds me of love

as I wait

on Tuesdays

the water engine fills the weekly

depot, strange birds cross the skies and

leave freely

as always it

reminds me of love

on Wednesdays

a dark sun strolls over the

horizon, heavy rain drenches the fields, our

skin gets all wet, the grass grows over 5 inches on

behalf of

and surely it

reminds me of love

on Thursdays

I travel, which means walking,

buses, trains, pollution, diversity, fulfillment

of sources, sharing of, enjoyment, nuisance,

achievements [...]

on Fridays

I enter zeppelin mode and fly

in reconnaissance spouting pine trees, rocks,

vineyards, farms, creeks, orchards

with my morning vibes

I'm home. The week has slithered by

and no sweet love to die

on Saturdays

we make love

the one

born along milky valleys

mad-tempered

imbued in the sweetest

of nectars

the one

rolling down black holes

bursting supernovas

banned from paradise

on Sundays

we rest our love

in newspapers and coffee,

toasts with jam, eggs

and orange juice

This routine

reminds me of love

Is this love?

© 2014, JC

The Time Conviction

It's very easy

we come up with

                     concepts

of things we

observe

or that we conclude from

observation

of things

that have a pleasant or

unpleasant

effect on our

daily life

and

                    definitions

that is to say

                    our evolution -

yes we do, like

my grandma, she did

not think of life behind

a screen, social-friendship-community

all in one concepts-as-tools that

we start playing with

for free

but molding brains

ours as the habit

dresses you

as hammers and cement

and guns and bread

they all enkindle physical mental pictures

ours just out of

consequence

stagnation

repetition

                     - our mind's evolution is

taking place

in time

now

as I write this here

expected somewhere else

disrobing my daily figurine

in pristine manner

realizing that somehow along

that line of

evolution

we must have induced

                     the time conviction

as a ubiquitous tool

for mankind and allkind

for past and future

all

I ask my self

was there any time before we

will there still be any

when diluted in time

our existence perishes

in eternity

© 2014, JC

Poesia Vespertina

Penso em poesia

e rendo-me

em malícias

vespertinas tentações

na gota de martini que escorre até

ao meu dedo

adocicam-me a concentração

voraz esqueço

e admoesto os teus contornos impenetráveis

numa frase mais ousada

junto à empregada

limonados os teus seios

refazem-me de ideias líricas, plenas, sincopadas na

degustação manual de beijos ciciados

que sorvo em exagero de ruídos

palhetados nas carícias carnais

de mil e um versículos

mastigados

Penso-me poesia

neste fim de tarde esgotado

em luz de coxas

anguladas

revolto

mecanizo a volúpia e

penso em poesia.

© 2014, JC