Simple Things

Simple Things

Most of what we see or feel
is a consequence of
simple
things

happening
in the past; some
are straightforward

as death,       although          the
question

revolving with generations

remains a pattern of
human nature.

~ José Coelho, 2015

Vertical Cut

At the base, the salt

rests as words

waiting

to pop

into one's mouth

      feeling

   the readiness to taste

the nature of desire

at the top, the water

rinses

the fine layer of sky

melting

into tiny crystals

of blue

and white

purges the

in-between surgery

of every day's

life

© José Coelho, 2015

Pheromone Act

Pheromone Act

The music is playing

with furore

a line of vibration -

the exits

the views

the melody absorbing all

notes - written in tune

composing a greater world

as in a balloon

blowing, rising up words

unspoken, untranslated, meaningless

but, though

form within form

dropping insane wishes

let's dare

to be bare

by the tongue

dancing upon your neck

your shoulder

blades swing, hush

and your fingers -

the piano type

take the music

inside

for a navel dissection

of the never

ever

ended prelude.

© José Coelho, 2015

Só

Só

[ Um dia bonito

um jornal feliz

uma empregada simpática

um poema doce

e salgado

uma conversa amorosa

uma refeição deliciosa

um momento simples, perfeito ]

incluindo

sobremesa …

Que raio!

Já não sonho

só, amargo.

© José Coelho, 2015

Neglect's Sincerity

Neglect's Sincerity

(Descuido de Sinceridade)

I love the hours that pass

forgotten

between your pillows

and the distant voices

swarming

out of reach

The idea

as foolish as blameful

that there would be a place

hidden

somewhere, just for being

the ones

love could rescue for

eternity

As well as the wavering feeling

of something achieved -

an immense ocean of individuality

delivering meaning

ashore

and poetry

would

live.

© José Coelho, 2015

Convergent Dichotomies (or A Country's Soul)

Convergent Dichotomies

(or A Country's Soul)

what is it

about the light, the color of

the sky, the ocean

the people's eyes, the

photography

what is it

about the economy, the smell

of politics, the mistrust

in the society's heart, the

melancholy

nothing

just landscape

waiting to be loved

or burned.

© José Coelho, 2015

The chicken that laid no eggs

The chicken that laid no eggs

Visiting an old relative in the lower slopes of the mountain, Ez found the villagers unusually upset – for a quite Sunday - and the reason for such turmoil, as he soon learned, was a chicken that laid no eggs.

Taking the risk of provocation and bearing in mind that he would have to listen back again to the whole story of the aviator who first crossed the Atlantic, he left António and his wife waiting within the owl light of their living room and off he went to the plaza.

Outside it was hot but at least the flies were busy with something else. And he could move!

The narrow streets, the houses - all stone polished by elements, time and maybe some human will, just about where ordering happened, couldn't be more real. As he walked, he could feel the somewhat freshness coming from the cowsheds carpeted with hay. He had no idea what he was going to do, but as soon as he entered the plaza the rabble faced him with a solid expression and that was hard to take.

At the center, on the top of a circle a few feet higher than the ground, which he thought to be the cover of a well, stood a man holding the chicken by the paws. They too, were looking at him. They were about to kill her and since everyone kept staring at him, he could not avoid but ask why?

According to the tradition, said one of the men, if a chicken lays no eggs for a whole month we have to kill her. Being an educated person, Ez was against whimsical traditions and so he asked the villagers to give the chicken a 2^nd chance – maybe she was needing a change of grass or of sights - but this last thought was only his own - and one more week... who would care? After some reluctance, they agreed, with the promise that, next Sunday, he would kill the chicken himself in case she kept the strange behavior.

Needless to say, but I will, Ez took the chicken to the city. He killed her alright, not because she laid no eggs, which she did, but because his flat was to small and hygienic for eggs and chickens.

By the way, he ate her too. That was the least he could do!

© José Coelho, 2015