Poemas
Faux Dark Lady Sonnet
Whose wantonness is far and wide divulged,
To my bosom and wit stand’st such a gaoler,
That in my blind eyes all thy sins be purged.
Thy love I seek not; great fool else were I.
But to keep in the private parts of Fortune,
Thy favours enjoy and never belie,
Contents me, whoe’er may thee importune.
Thus am I in rough terms with Reputation,
Chasing none but lascivious Lady Lust.
A guilty delight’s all my compensation;
Still, indulge in foul sin I simply must.
´Tis sterling tender in my witless reckoning
Like those I give thee at thy very beckoning.
Anti-Shakespearean Sonnet
That mankind thriveth not but by conception;
Think thou though, be not so fond and unschooled,
Any rule is deemed to have an exception.
Thy grace pitifully wanteth the means,
She aboundeth in years that which thou lack’st;
Pity the very babe’s future’s dreams,
Roughly denied for years and decades next.
The sands have not flown back and forth so much
Desperate measures are not in your hands;
Desperate ills must be addressed as such,
And Scripture breaks not thus but merely bends.
Thou deserv’st much worthier babies;
If not mine, then a worthier lady’s.
Rough Seas
Are thus vex’d with ill drifts and foulest weather
Sailor and lover turn to gods above
Still they are tossed and tossed such as a feather
Shall safe harbour be ever hit upon?
How many shipwrecks might one soul survive?
Is there any lifeline whereto hang on?
Can one swim to the shore and one day thrive?
No more than Neptune’s and Venus’ playthings
We lose vessel, goods and our petty labours
Yet we long and crave for what Fortune brings
Knowing full well she decides whom she favours
Is it silly to live in this hope, so?
Guess not, all men that live, I hope, live so.
Alas the day
I, for one, give thanks for a bitter lesson.
Henceforth must we our several paths go.
Solitude will be my only profession.
Fool I was to trust those black eyes, or mine;
To construe ev’ry gesture to my pleasing;
To seek a poison’d bloom and hurt in brier.
But my suffering shall not be unceasing.
My naïveté will give way to callousness;
Human affairs I shall forswear for art;
And live isolated in my own counciousness.
Such another endeavor I’ll not start;
Until perchance one true to speech and act,
Constant to a feeling, might come to fact.
Brightest star
Shine forth O thou brightest star out of reach!
Fancy
Two yet unknown saints did argue their cases.
The respectful yet fiercest of adversaries
In human affairs contended their places.
Saint Everlast still boasted of his order;
While Quicksand would praise necessary change.
Quoth one, ‘what is must be, there is no other’.
Th’other, ‘stability to man is strange’.
‘Plato aids me’, cried one’s exasperation;
‘Truth holds above this illusory world’.
‘All is becoming’ was the protestation
Of him who Heraclitus would unfold.
Thus woke I recollecting my impressions;
Convinced I was that time mocks human passions.
Anatomy
To extol thy unsurpassable grace?
That of flower, angel or such a toy,
Never to do justice to thine own face?
No! None but thy living self is my subject;
And my poor pen must praise thy ev’ry part.
No offence in the matter thou’lt object;
If any, blame the muses, ‘tis their art.
Those deep dark alluring eyes mine so crave
Are set within a frame beyond dissection;
And thy auburn crown rests ever so brave
On the daintiest neck since world’s conception.
Thine are gorgeous arms and delicate hands;
And since mine touch’d thy fingers I won’t sit.
Upon marble columns thy figure stands;
Vulcan with his skill would not forge thy feet.
But beyond all that, anyone can see:
Thy gracious smile is the best part of thee.
Upon Request
When no long road would stand between us twain.
And thy fair bud I would eagerly seek;
A dark cloud of pleasure would ‘gin to rain.
Will that ever be so again, I think?
Time, place and circumstance in agreement?
So thou with thy lips lead me to the brink
And I watch thy explosive fulfillment?
Let me not think on it, it must be now!
No impediment must be an excuse.
Love’s thrice repured nectar shall stain thy brow;
And a joyful rest will our bodies fuse.
Oh, but I dream: thou sleep’st in a strange bed.
Maybe we have spent all that could be had.
Bold as Love
Who dares do more is none’, said fell Macbeth.
And I shall go not a jot further than
Thou dost allow me, upon pain of death.
Say the word and my forces I retreat:
To suffer was my fated lot from start.
But if I read thy looks they do entreat
To heal the wound where an arrow did smart.
‘Tis such a conundrum I put thee in;
No easy way out is to be contrived.
Think’st not thou that to think of me is sin;
Think rather a truer love has arrived.
Let Jove convince thee if my words do not;
At least I know that with honour I’ve fought.
Henceforth
If Fortune’s a trickster, who else to blame?
Perhaps not a Finis, though it may seem;
‘Tis proven things are seldom long the same.
A beautiful tale of embarrassment,
Of awkward oiellades and very few words;
Fit ‘tis for a belated embracement
And the several flight of two sad birds.
Pains me the thought of having bred thee ill;
Couldn’t be farther from my intention.
It boots none to ask for forgiveness, still;
Let us call it Cupid’s own invention.
´Tis set another ground henceforth I’ll tread.
Do join me if I’m ne’er out of thy head.
Moerae
So much to be endured and to be done;
And each mischance and joy to lie ahead,
May I take equally, before I’m gone.
When all looks grim and quicksand’s all around;
One being mad the only lucidity;
Do reach for whatever good can be found;
Affect a convenient stupidity.
If only Venus would have mercy on me,
Grant me the wish that is every mortal’s,
Maybe humans’ silly pageant I’ll see
Regardless of their vain petty morals.
This may make but little sense to one’s ear,
But did bring forth much more than single tear.
Light with Mirth
Loath was I to charge thee with more vain words.
But it must be, for love’s heat has its traps:
Those silly verses fell short of thy worth.
Thou’rt indeed a sanctified enchantress,
That casteth light with no recourse to art.
By thy fair looks thou art my blood’s temptress;
Thy words doth show thy wit to stand apart.
May those gorgeous feet that tread the cold Earth
Stroll nonchalantly through my lustful dreams;
Grant those black enticing eyes light with mirth
By the crossing of our mutual beams.
A line in sum here keeps a’lingering:
That my joy can only be thy bringing.
Nought’s Done, All’s Spent
Too bad, ‘tis right, since I’m done with, and sad.
‘Tis decreed above I’ll be mad and ‘lone;
And above decree that all loathe the mad.
Time it is to lay to rest the matter,
And rest some time, far as my tetter may.
So long my hopes! May they fare better;
Hope my longings meet fairer set o’day.
I’ll venture to accept the world as such,
And accept to venture in such a world.
Nor rhyme nor reason do I perceive much,
But reason to rhyme yet another word.
Come what may, with no one I’ll change chances;
May it come, bear in mind that chance changes.
May Flower
In May she blossomed
May that day be praised
For Flower more handsome
Was ne’er upon gazed
If her graciousness
I May humbly extol
Her good taste no less
Leaves me enthralled
Fairness unsurpassed
Nymph in th’ prime of youth
Refinement unmatched
She is both beauty and truth
May May then
Bestow her upon me
If May I make so bold
I do hope I can
Our future foresee
And a love tale unfold
Beyond
Maybe
Maybe too late to cry
ST
We’re no big deal
We mean no harm
We may quite well steal
But see our young starve
We’re outcasts, no more
We have our pasts forsaken
Distant gods we adore
We’re waiting for (godot)
The time to come but
God seems not
To set here his home
Fuck the whole scenario
Our hearts still pound
To rythms dat still dare you
Realize there’s more than sound!
Enviroment still brathes
Oil is burned to carry seeds
Seed that feeds pigs
In the world old that grieves
Grieves but kills our children
To take away their insides
Fucks that’re still hidden
Behind their walls and bribes
Golden walls, their lives
There’s ground to be explored
But don’t exploit the ground
For the soil has been gifted
And can’t be fucked around
ST
There is no white whiter
Than the surf on your shore
No blue is greener
Than which your waters bore
Your rocks so slippery
Yet confident steps
Unravel the mystery
Wherever it gets
There are no two skies
So fair and so bright
Even when the day dies
‘Tis still filled with light
Your sands so softly
Scattered ever so even
Caress feet so hasty
Eager to water driven
There can be no other shadow
Relieving as your palm trees
So pleasant and calm a meadow
Would bring a king to his knees
Your sun so relentlessly
Afire up in the sky
Bathes me so gently
Right here I could die.
Coup de Théatre
Qui m’a appellé du fond d’un abîme,
Ne porte pas d’ailes, est plutôt reèlle:
Brûle mes chimères, partage ce que j’aime.
Sa face, sa chair, son âme sont toutes belles!
Incroyable qu’on soit toujours d’accord
Sur la sottise d’humaines bagatelles,
Des gens qui prefèrent cacher son coeur.
C’est à dire, donc, la femme ideèlle?
Pas du tout, bien sûr ça n’existe pas.
Mais, parmis toutes, je choisirais celle
Qui me laisse être moi même, en tout cas.
Elle, parue comme un coup de théatre,
M’a fait me réveiller pour me battre.
Raison et Déraison
Car la grace de tes gestes est ravissante;
Car la beauté de ta face m’en oblige;
Car la folie est une force si puissante;
Car la vie même m’a tellement attrapé;
Car la chair ne peut que se faire entendre;
Car la vraie raison personnne ne la sait;
Car la seule règle d’or nous empêche de feindre.
Car la dernière chose à faire est fuir;
Car la félicité on cherche toujours;
Car la langue ne suffit pas pour traduire;
Car la rivière peut changer son cours.
Je crois, j’espère, je rêve, je prie, j’assure
Que je t’aime comme un fou est tout qu’est sûr.
Lis
Canção a Shiva
E vomitar uma tempestade
Quero mastigar seus palácios
E cuspir saraivadas de tijolos
Quero beber todos seus rios
E inundar o mundo em urina.
Aos sete mares, aos quatro ventos
Anunciar belos e novos tempos.
E espirrar redemoinhos
Quero escutar suas selvas
E berrar uma ária triste
Quero mudar
Tudo que existe.
Deriva
Pouco se me dá que o mundo exploda.
Política, esporte, guerra – que se foda:
Levar o circo a sério não estou afim.
Misantropia é meu refúgio enfim,
E com o cinismo ela celebra boda.
Tantas bizantinas e estéreis polêmicas;
Mediocridade e estupidez endêmicas.
Busco, no silêncio, uma sinfonia;
Na solidão, férias da humana agonia:
Desejos frustrados, afeições anêmicas.
Sou tal como uma Península Ibérica.
Um terremoto que fende a América,
Faz a Califórnia seguir sua trilha.
Um lobo que se separa da matilha
E se entrega todo a sua sina tétrica.
Remexendo meus Alfarrábios
que orbita incansável
guiam-me as mãos de Baco
chamam-me irresponsável
Mas há alguém?
Alguém que me acolha?
Alguém que eu escolha?
e sua música inaudível
sejam deveras
o refúgio inatingível
Leva-me, leve, à lápide
nada lá fora
uma escolha errada
culpa da hora
que nos conduz
tudo se reduz
a um jogo?
meio ao lodo
vivo assim sem
medo do Todo
Ou, antes, a redenção?
lido e escrito,
meu intelecto restrito
é então mero detrito?
ST
Não há modo de escapar
Não nasci para poeta
Por que diabo tentar
Combinar alfa com beta
Larga essa imagem em paz
Que é banal ou absurda
Rimas pobres, triviais
A Musa se faz de surda
Não se meta a declarar
Entortando a linha reta
Outro amor sem nenhum par
Passando ao largo da meta
Não se ponha a elucubrar
Com sua pouca metafísica
Língua rude e vulgar
Abandona a pena tísica
Deixa o ofício a quem sabe
As Letras são arredias
Aceita a mediocridade
Ocupa melhor teus dias
Sem título
Meu saldo é a soma de sorrisos e lágrimas
Tenho um palácio com teto de vidro
Um plantel invejável de quimeras para abate
Culturas extensas de frutos proibidos
Eu consumo a mim mesmo e trapaceio no troco
Invisto em títulos de poemas sem nome
Negocio ações que ficam só no pensamento
Mil opções futuras sem nunca decidir
E durmo descoberto
ao sabor do câmbio
de uma mente flutuante
Comida de Verme
Bastava não me fugir de debaixo dos pés.
Pois embora sejam meus anseios os mais chãos,
Tudo em minha vida parece estar ao revés.
Se o que eu sou resulta impróprio pra sociedade,
Alguma solução um tal dilema merece:
Seja a cessação, se não for a felicidade.
E, mais, na mesma moeda que o réu malversou:
Não vem das estrelas o malogro de seu fado.
O “país indescoberto”, já foi rejeitado.
Ao nada no fim, como do nada começou.
Em Branco
Cheque em branco pro amor:
Basta-te preencher a cifra que for.
Eu posso entrar no vermelho;
Pago os juros com ardor.
Me faço doravante imune a conselho;
E, falido, me ajoelho.
Nada me faltará tendo teu calor.
Para amar, invisto no destrambelho.
Soneto
Não suportam mais sua usura.
Que credora intransigente e dura
Resiste a rogo por pai e filho?
Dos pobres astros, já melancólicos.
Um apetite nada católico,
Que a todas galáxias oculta.
Será a bancarrota celeste?
Devedora, a Lua também,
Recorre ao Sol por algum vintém;
E ele já nem sai do leste.
Que tem infinda por natureza.
Irônico Universo
O Universo do físicos
Obedece a leis e equações
Complexo que nos pareça
Sabemos-lhe as razões
Já o cosmo das humanas
Cousas, domínio do acaso:
Colisões aleatórias
E nada determinísticas
A mim isso me exaspera
Me arrasta à misantropia
Mas há aqueles cometas
Com rastro de esperança
E é-nos possível crer
Que existirá alguém
Do outro lado da galáxia
Fitando a mesma estrela
Para meu Anjo
O intenso brilho etéreo
de tua alva e suave tez
refletido pela Lua cheia
ilumina a noite do Sol
O delgado e longo feixe
de teus ebâneos cabelos
qual a cauda reluzente
dum misterioso cometa
Anéis Saturno não teria
bastantes para te adornar
A Via-Láctea toda não vale
o mel de teus rubros lábios
Teus olhos, buracos negros,
tragam milhares de planetas
e não me deixam outra escolha
que não ser teu satélite natural
Em rota de colisão
com tua superfície
Incandesço ao entrar
em tua atmosfera
O Universo és Tu.
Álacre
Tomo da lauda pristina
Prestes a louvar-te o nome
De amor com tanta fome
Tão indigna mão assina
Versos tolos, não os tome
Por nada que a muito assome
Mas de lavra genuína
Ah, tu que encantos não poupa
Álacre flor pueril
Tua graça juvenil
Meu sossego de mim rouba
Com teu fogo tão sutil
Lume de menina moça
(Oxalá a Lei não me ouça!)
Tu acendes meu pavio
Não me saem da cabeça
Teus tão formosos pezinhos
Me entorpece como vinho
Tua aura silfidesca
Não te faltarão carinhos
Peço apena teu beijinho
Com sabor de fruta fresca
Senhorita
Me excita, senhorita mistério
Este teu ar sério
Ou como quando me fitas
Centelhas infinitas
Abrasam o cerrado ressecado
Deste músculo tão maltratado
Me excita, senhorita surpresa
Tua fulgurante, inusitada beleza
Me excita teu gosto ao vestir
Ou a desenvoltura em exibir
Pernas que parecem não terminar
Mas terminam, em pés – tão lindos –
que me poderiam pisar
A teu bel prazer, que é meu
O que é dizer eu sou teu
Mas sequer te conheço, senhorita encanto
Como pode que me estanques o pranto?
Isso é uma barbaridade; que seja
Tão longe quanto eu veja
Sopram ventos de mudança
Bem vinda, senhorita esperança.