A Trivial Pogrom

A Trivial Pogrom

At a steady pace, frescoes

fell, inscriptions were scratched

leaving a naked

dome, staring, cold

into a night of

crystals;

her words - a dead silent

hiding spring within syllables-

caged angels

for as long as heaven's

broken fantasy

dwelt in

hell

and he

became meaningless

consuming what was left unburnt -

landscapes of human transition

seraphic jewelry hanging

from fruitless trees

tongues mouthing no more about

breasts

but machine guns

teasing

fucking

filtering improper, filthy scummy sand

from skewed

mouths

(

what is the color of red? When red

is all

you see?

)

Years later

we will ask, How was it possible?

They will and we

will!

and thus it is written.

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Concurrent Lines

Concurrent Lines

Don't look for the moment

just be aware of its existence

close your blinds and

wait

pray that it shall cross your life

once, only once

for that will be it

and you will know, then

breathing, dreaming, loving

will mean nothing

unless you fully

give yourself genuinely

when time

comes

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Amid Strings

Amid Strings

You'll have to look amid strings

friends, believers, writers, readers

the strings of composition, the ones

that hold the pieces

together

while your body rests and mind

sleeps, slipping through

eternity - way forth and back -

whirling life's mess -

a pudding you lick

alone -

until exhausting flavor

and memory of light, becomes

day, astoundingly

you

you shape the horizon

to match God, so thin, untouchable

yet always there

as a destiny, irrefutable

to the blind

excruciating to the eye

that looks and sees

sun's piercing rays playing

the same act

as a fool, killing nonsense with

food

day after day

amid curse and bliss

you'll have to, if you

want to

enter heaven or hell, but enter

and be

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Moscas

Os campos e os corpos

preparam-se cortando neles

os excessos

As barreiras de silvas deixam

marcas amorosas, na pele

de quem as corta

Anos de geometria

concêntrica, exuberante, vertical

claudicam na rudeza

metálica

de peixes-espadas

arvocidas

Sem Kyoto, somos todos

desperdício

errante

moscas egocêntricas, fulminando

ilusões alheias

Mas, o universo, é grande

e não dará por

nada!

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Mariolas - Um Poema Prometido

Antes da viagem, anuí

na dispersão dos elementos -

calcite, cânfora, licra -

e reuni

as várias madrugadas;

os pontos cardeais já

lá

estavam

As abelhas e outros polinizadores

fixaram

uma ténue nuvem – em forma

de caravela, alada – e as

mariolas

desenharam troncos, bustos

perdidos em equilíbrio entre giestas

a popocar

direcções

Das fendas da terra e da rocha

apenas um lobrigar

de estados de alma

a desorientar os sentidos – não

mais que musgo

seco

e lagartixas

mortas

de sede -

enquanto passamos

e depois, depois o silêncio - que esmaga

e ofusca

a luz

ainda, ainda, ainda -

penetrando a rugosidade das coisas

avançando

até ao pináculo.

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Ler poesia

Ler poesia ao entardecer

pode ser

desconcertante

a injecção de nebrina na doce inconsistência

dos membros flácidos

extenuados

pela viagem aos antípodas

da alma e do corpo

que vagueia

subtil

entre as margens do negrume.

E escamas passam à beira mar, enquanto

tudo se desfaz

com o tempo

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Walking Naked

Walking Naked

An exact finger

closed my eyes

as hers, minutely

were

driven out of her body

commingled with what was left of night's

star dust

I wasn't scared – there was no space

there was no time; in fact

there was nothing

And so it remained

literally

a border of voids

until the next winter

an exact finger

pointed hungrily at three

but irrelevant facts:

a window was missing and I was cold

I didn't walk naked for a long time – and that

had become an habitude

sheets of paper laid

spread on the table, a blanket hung on the chair and I

was sitting, mercilessly

writing

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho