Phases

Se eu fosse um jogo de cartas...

2009-05-24T20:47:00.001+01:00

My body value

2009-02-28T00:39:00.000Z

$4415.00

Synesthesia

2009-02-28T00:09:00.000Z

67%

Oblivious

2009-02-19T16:46:00.002Z

This secret
I’m about to tell
Is something
You couldn’t guess.

You didn’t see
The spark on my eyes
When we first met.
You were oblivious
To what was obvious.

And time after time
I hoped you could see
What was plain to see.
I was falling in love
Even more deeply
With you.

But still you
Were blind.
You didn’t bother
To understand
The depth of
My feelings
And you played me.

Again and again.

You fooled around.
You didn’t care if I
Was losing the ground
Beneath my bare feet.

And I fell.
I fell in love,
And to the ground.
Realizing you
Were not what I thought.

You were,
And still are,
Oblivious to
The pain you
Caused inside
My broken heart.

Cátia Ribeiro

"Starry Night"

2009-01-17T11:25:00.001Z

A town surrounded by
The dark moving light
Of a thousand stars.

Colours together in
An explosion of movement,
Brightness, ultimately telling us
The story of an ordinary town
And its ordinary people.

The Universe converging,
Bringing us all of its
Wonder, showing us
A town surrounded by
The dark moving light
Of a thousand stars.

Cátia Ribeiro

Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh

Through the Looking Glass

2009-01-05T22:51:00.000Z

This body I see
Is not mine.
These eyes I glance,
I don’t know
What lies beneath them.

This feeling of belonging
Is not my own.
I don’t belong here!

I’ve been replaced
For another version of me.

A happy me.
A lovable me.
A real me.

But oh no!
I don’t want that.
I want to be there,
In the real world.

On the other side
Of the mirror.

I wanna be with you.
I wanna be the one for you.

Cátia Ribeiro

Salvation

2008-12-20T22:07:00.000Z

My suicide,
A wish I
Can’t hide.

A knife,
A wrist,
The perfect
Combination.

The blade cutting,
My blood running,
On my arm shining.

A light.

A bright light.

“Who are you?”

“A friend”.

A friend…

“Your hand”.

You took it.
And lifted me.

And saved me.

Cátia Ribeiro

Blood and Lead

2008-12-17T23:37:00.000Z

Listen to what they did.
Don’t listen to what they said.
What was written in blood
Has been set up in lead.

Lead tears the heart.
Lead tears the brain.
What was written in blood
Has been set up again.

The heart is a drum.
The drum has a snare.
The snare is in the blood.
The blood is in the air.

Listen to what they did.
Listen to what’s to come.
Listen to the blood.
Listen to the drum.

James Fenton

The Divide

2008-12-15T21:34:00.000Z

I keep thinking of you – which is ridiculous.
These years between us like a sea.
Any dignity that came with growing older
Would stop my pencil on the paper.
The player was open; you asked for the Stones;
Got that, got steaming coffee, conversation.
The heavy curtains kept a wild night out.
I keep thinking of your eyes, your hands.
There is no reason for it, none at all.
You would say I can’t be what I’m not,
Yet I can’t be not what I am.
Where does that leave us? What can we do?
The silence after Jagger was like a cloak
I’d have thrown over you – only the wind
Was left, and the clock ticked as you sipped,
Clutching the green mug in both hands.

Charles Tomlinson

Phases

2008-12-14T16:03:00.000Z

Gargalhadas altas ecoam na minha cabeça, divertimentos da qual eu não faço parte, pois não são o meu mundo. Talvez devessem. Mas não são. Conversas sem sentido, mas feias. Risos felizes, mas demasiado altos.
As pessoas olham, pensam “ A juventude está perdida…” e eu, como se de telepatia se tratasse, penso “Realmente…”.
Olho para trás. Vejo. Penso. Vejo outra vez. Quando sinto que o lugar que antes era guardado para mim, já não me anseia. As bocas que por mim chamavam, calam-se como túmulos.

Será?

Não.

Lineage

2008-12-13T19:31:00.000Z

In the beginning was Scream
Who begat Blood
Who begat Eye
Who begat Fear
Who begat Wing
Who begat Bone
Who begat Granite
Who begat Violet
Who begat Guitar
Who begat Sweat
Who begat Adam
Who begat Mary
Who begat God
Who begat Nothing
Who begat Never
Never Never Never

Who begat Crow

Screaming for Blood
Grubs, crusts
Anything

Trembling featherless elbows in the nest’s filth

Ted Hughes

A dream within a dream

2008-12-10T22:28:00.000Z

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow-

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep- while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe

The Sheaf

2008-12-08T20:25:00.000Z

My life, as a slant of rain
On the grey earth fields
Is gathered in thirsty silence, disappears.
I cannot even guess
The roots, but fell them sighing
In the stir of the soil I die to. Let the rain
Be on the children of my heart,
I have no other ones.
On the generations,
On the packed cells and dreaming shoots,
The untried hopes, the waiting good
I send this drop to melt.

Edwin Morgan

100 mensagem...

2008-12-06T18:29:00.000Z

Guerra...
Fome...
A nossa Terra
também come.

Doença...
Morte...
A nossa crença
em algo mais forte.

A necessidade
de procurar
E a felicidade
em encontrar

A perfeição.

Cátia Ribeiro

Ao Mar

2008-12-04T18:18:00.001Z

Acalma-te, Mar furioso,
que a Caravela só avança
quando vier a bonança.
Deixa navegar o português curioso...

Acalma-te, Mar irado,
que o Cruzeiro só avança
quando houver segurança.
Deixa navegar o português enamorado...

Acalma-te, Mar selvagem,
que o Marinheiro só avança
quando tiver confiança.
Abre o coração para o português sedento de viagem...

Mar, não me engulas com o mundo
no dia do julgamento final,
pois sabes que me és tudo.
E até porque afinal:

Quando reparamos em quem queremos,
Já, quem tínhamos, não temos
e não adianta (sequer) lamentar
que perdemos, com quem queríamos ficar.
Sim, Mar?

I'll Explain

2008-12-03T23:01:00.000Z

It’s something you say at your peril.
It’s something you shouldn’t contain.
It’s a truth for the dark and a pillow.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

It’s the obvious truth of the morning
Bitten back as the sun turns to rain,
To the rain, to the dark, to the pillow.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

It’s what I was hoping to tell you.
It’s what I was hoping you’d guess.
It’s what I was hoping you wouldn’t guess
Or you wouldn’t mind.
It’s a kind
Of hopelessness.

It’s the hope that you hope at your peril.
It’s the hope that you fear to attain.
It’s the obvious truth of the evening.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

James Fenton

Pobre velha música!

2008-11-29T16:37:00.000Z

Pobre velha música!
Não sei por que agrado,
Enche-se de lágrimas
Meu olhar parado.

Recordo outro ouvir-te,
Não sei se te ouvi
Nessa minha infância
Que me lembra em ti.

Com que ânsia tão raiva
Quero aquele outrora!
E eu era feliz? Não sei:
Fui-o outrora agora.

Fernando Pessoa

Introducing...

2008-11-26T23:13:00.003Z

AlucarD e Andreia...

Duas pessoas, dois pensamentos, com o mesmo proposito de encher o meu blog.. xD

Agora a sério, ambos têm o mesmo objectivo de expressar os sentimentos através da escrita. De fazer arte, de serem diferentes, e no entanto iguais.

Reunião de amigos com narrador participante e omnipresente

2008-11-26T23:01:00.002Z

- Amor. Que não faltasse aqui nesta nossa reunião de amigos, se falar nessa mariquice que é "fogo que arde sem se ver". O amor não é nada mais do que uma enorme habituação ao corpo de outrem, não é nada mais que ser tudo para quem nunca nos foi nada, não é nada mais que amar, é tão fácil amar. O amor é um monte de tretas, é algo inexplicável que toda a gente tenta explicar. Nem sei porque falo do amor, talvez por ser tema cujo poderíamos discutir a noite toda, de maneira a combater o sono que nos invade, o cansaço que nos consome, apesar de nos relembrar do sofrimentos que passámos, sofrimento esse que julgamos esquecido (mas alguma vez o conseguiremos esquecer?). Esse sentimento que tem histórias que nunca mais acabam, onde uns sujeitos que dão pelo nome de Romeu e Julieta, Simão e Teresa, Inês e Pedro, são personagens principais. Como se esses amores fossem alguma coisa comparados aos que eu, e vocês, meus amigos, vivemos.
Entregámos sempre tudo às nossas amadas e quando não tínhamos nada para dar, elas exigiam-nos mais. E nós tínhamos de arranjar algo perdido nas entranhas que ainda servisse para as satisfazer. Que sortudas elas eram... até as mães sabiam que connosco elas iriam ficar bem. Só que agora, já não nos falam, pensando sempre que a culpa foi nossa pela filha nunca mais ser feliz de novo. Tirando o António, que sofre mais que todos nós, sofremos todos os dias um pouco. O António sofre muito, a mulher morreu. Essa, deixou-a ele, as nossas, deixámos nós. - Disse eu

- A mim traiu-me a minha, mas ainda bem que assim foi. Descobri a sua putice antes de me casar. Não me tem ela traído a tempo e aqui estava eu, feito boi de tourada, casado ainda por cima. As mulheres, realmente, são tão sabidas: fazem-se de presas, vítimas, quando elas são as verdadeiras predadoras. Quantas mulheres me tentaram levar ao inferno das suas camas, onde não há senão pecado!? E eu, religioso claro, sempre me debati... e nunca venci! Vejam bem meus amigos, a força destas mulheres. Agora que não tenho ninguém, ninguém me tenta a pecar. Talvez vá para o inferno quando morrer, se o houver. A minha salvação é que a igreja promete que todos vão para o paraíso, por isso não será assim tão mau, pecar muito em terra firme. Sempre traí e uma vez fui traído, sempre culpa das mulheres. Realmente estas mulheres... - Disse o F. Xavier.

- Já contaram o meu caso mas falo também eu um pouco sobre ele. A minha mulher morreu, sofro todos os dias com isso, amava-a, e ela a mim, suponho. Não tem muita história o nosso casamento, só durou um ano, depois ela faleceu. Sempre quis casar e ter a minha esposa, como em contos de fadas: para sempre. Só me esqueci da morte, que nunca é equacionada nestes cálculos do eterno. E ela, a morte claro, faz questão de se mostrar, de dizer: estou aqui! Agora sofro muito, todos os dias, sinto a falta dela. As mulheres não são assim tão más, diria até que são boas. - Disse o António.

- Eu sou um felizardo! Ah ah. Deixei a minha mulher, disse-lhe que nunca mais a queria ver e ela voltou, a rastejar, ali aos meus pés, a implorar que voltasse para ela. Que figuras ridículas. Mas eu disse-lhe que já tinha outra, e era verdade. Contudo, disse que estava disposto a viver como companheiro, como amigo, largando a outra. Ela concordou de imediato, claro. Hoje vivemos juntos, damo-nos bem por vezes até temos sexo. Não vivemos comprometidos e já tive montes de mulheres! Ela vive como uma freira a espera que eu seja algum D. João V com vontade de ir ao convento, se é que me entendem. Sou um felizardo!

- Que sorte! - Disseram todos em coro.
Que mentiroso! Digo eu, que sou o narrador.

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

2008-11-26T22:58:00.002Z

Olá.
Estás?
Ouves?
Falas?
Sentes?
Consegues perceber?

Senta-te.
Toma um chá.
Cola os teus olhos no ecrã.

Só mais um bocadinho.
So mais um segundo.

Não!
Não te vás embora.

Fica.

Lê-me mais um bocadinho.
Um pedacinho de mim.
Das minhas emoções.
Dos meus medos.
Dos meus trambolhões.

Olá?
Ainda aí estás?

The Other

2008-11-26T22:04:00.000Z

There are nights that are so still
That I can hear the small owl calling
Far off and a fox barking
Miles away. It is then that I lie
In the lean hours awake listening
To the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic
Rising and falling, rising and falling
Wave on wave on the long shore
By the village, that is without light
And companionless. And the thought comes
Of that other being who is awake, too,
Letting our prayers break on him,
Not like this for a few hours,
But for days, years, for eternity.

R. S. Thomas

2008-11-22T16:02:00.000Z

What you need for poetry is a body and a voice. It
Doesn’t have to be a great body or a great voice. But
It ought ideally to be your body, and it ought to be your
Voice.

The parent helps the child discover what may be done
With its lips and its limbs. This is the first poetry.

A sort of night the falls – a melancholy mercy – after
Which the initiation is mysteriously forgotten. This is
The primal erasure.

The remainder of our lives is spent in recapturing that
Initial sense of discovery. This is the poetry.

But the wisdom of the age has forbidden us the use of
Our lips and limbs. This wisdom is the enemy of
Poetry.

James Fenton

After

2008-11-18T18:58:00.000Z

After you leave,
What’s going to
Happen to me?

How will I
Stay happy
And not cry?

How will I
Spread my wings
And fly?

How will my heart
Still beat
If we’re apart?

How will I
Not give up,
And try,

Try to keep
Living and not
Let me soul weep?

How will I
Not let
Myself die?

You know
I’ll die with you…

Cátia Ribeiro

Before

2008-11-17T19:55:00.000Z

Standing.
Trapped inside
My fear of dying,
Got nowhere to hide.

And only myself
It is ruining.
This fear of all losing.

Losing my happiness,
Your love I cannot feel.
Feeling strengthless,
These wounds I can’t heal.

And without delay
There’s something I gotta say.
Before I die,
You should see me cry.

Cátia Ribeiro

I've missed you...

2008-11-16T15:04:00.002Z

So this is it...

You're back.

Hearing your voice
Brings me back,
Back to a time when
Sadness wasn't a choice.

I couldn't be sad
for I had you all,
all together
and all as one.

We were a family,
And a family
We are again.

For ever and ever...

Come what may...

I've missed you
and I love you.

Yours truly....

Cátia Ribeiro

Miss Gee

2008-11-14T20:51:00.000Z

Let me tell you a little story
About Miss Edith Gee;
She lived in Clevedon Terrace
At Number 83.

She’d a slight squint in her left eye,
Her lips they were thin and small,
She had narrow sloping shoulders
And she had no bust at all.

She’d a velvet hat with trimmings,
And a dark grey serge costume;
She lived in Clevedon Terrace
In a small bed-sitting room.

She’d a purple mac for wet days,
A green umbrella too to take,
She’d a bicycle with shopping basket
And a harsh back-pedal brake.

The Church of Saint Aloysius
Was not very far;
She did a lot of knitting,
Knitting for that Church Bazaar.

Miss Gee looked up at the starlight
And said, “Does anyone care
That I live on Clevedon Terrace
On one hundred pounds a year?”

She dreamed a dream one evening
That she was the Queen of France
And the Vicar of Saint Aloysius
Asked her Majesty to dance.

But a storm blew down the palace,
She was biking through a field of corn,
And a bull with the face of the Vicar
Was charging with lowered horn.

She could feel his hot breath behind her,
He was going to overtake;
And the bicycle went slower and slower
Because of that back-pedal brake.

Summer made the trees a picture,
Winter made them a wreck;
She bicycled to the evening service
With her clothes buttoned up to her neck.

She passed by the loving couples,
She turned her head away;
She passed by the loving couples
And they didn’t ask her to stay.

Miss Gee sat down in the side-aisle,
She heard the organ play;
And the choir it sang so sweetly
At the ending of the day,

Miss Gee knelt down in the side-aisle,
She knelt down on her knees;
“Lead me not into temptation
But make me a good girl, please.”

The days and nights went by her
Like waves round a Cornish wreck;
She bicycled down to the doctor
With her clothes buttoned up to her neck.

She bicycled down to the doctor,
And rand the surgery bell;
“O, doctor, I’ve a pain inside me,
And I don’t feel very well.”

Doctor Thomas looked her over,
And then he looked some more;
Walked over to his wash-basin,
Said, “Why didn’t you come before?”

Doctor Thomas sat over his dinner,
Though his wife was waiting to ring,
Rolling his bread into pellets;
Said, ”Cancer’s a funny thing.

Nobody knows what the cause is,
Though some pretend they do;
It’s like some hidden assassin
Waiting to strike at you.

Childless women get it
And men when they retire;
It’s as if there had to be some outlet
For their foiled creative fire.”

His wife she rang for the servant,
Said, “Don’t be so morbid, dear.”
He said, “I saw Miss Gee this evening
And she’s a goner, I fear.”

They took Miss Gee to the hospital,
She lay there a total wreck,
Lay in the ward for women
With the bedclothes right up to her neck.

They laid her on the table,
The students began to laugh;
And Mr. Rose the surgeon
He cut Miss Gee in half.

Mr. Rose he turned to his student,
Said, “Gentlemen, if you please,
We seldom see a sarcoma
As far advanced as this.”

They took off the table,
They wheeled away Miss Gee
Down to another department
Where they study Anatomy.

They hung her from the ceiling,
Yes, they hung up Miss Gee;
And a couple of Oxford Groupers
Carefully dissected her knee.

W. H. Auden

The Little Girl

2008-11-12T16:33:00.000Z

Little girl,
Why so sad?
Who hurt you
So bad?

Who could destroy
Your happiness,
And cause
Such sadness?

Your eyes say
What your mouth
Won’t tell.

You fell.

Fell into the claws
And the jaws
Of a monster.

No shame,
No blame
In you.

Only the pain
Of a torn
Innocence….

Cátia Ribeiro

Nowhere

2008-11-10T22:47:00.001Z

Here I am,
In this place.
No one can see me
And I can’t see them.

I’m nowhere to be seen,
Nowhere to be found…

I can’t remember anything but
The fact that I was very unhappy up there.
This is a very strange place.
It’s not Heaven, it’s not Hell…

Nowhere to be seen…

Nowhere to be found…

Nowhere on this Earth…

Someplace inside it…

It doesn’t matter…

I’m dead.

Cátia Ribeiro

Ghost of Christmas Last

2008-11-07T15:45:00.000Z

Sitting, alone,
At a fireplace.
No thoughts
Run my mind.

The warmth
From the flames
Thaws the ice
From my bones.

A sense of coziness
Reaches my soul.
I look up, gazing
Into nothingness.

Then…
A cold breeze
Enters my guts,
Freezing me.

A terrible feeling
Of anxiety,
Shakes my knees
And my whole body.

Thoughts shooting
Up and down,
Making it impossible
For me to think.

And even though
The fire is still on,
No warmth
Can be felt.

Only the sense
Of distress,
Of unsteadiness
That you cause.

You.

The one who
Hurt me.
Too many times.

And now you
Are back.

To haunt me.

To cause
Me pain
Once more.

My Ghost of
Christmas Last.

Cátia Ribeiro

Bloody Love

2008-11-04T21:19:00.000Z

What I feel for you
Can never be tamed.
It’s turning into
A picture that can’t be framed.

I feel such happiness
When you’re around,
That no sadness
Can put me down.

I’m walking,
No! I’m flying.
And so I hasten
To reach heaven.

When I reach that place
Who is it that I face?

Alas! Then you come
And rip my heart out.

Cátia Ribeiro

Drowning

2008-10-30T20:48:00.001Z

An ocean I am swimming,
To fight the tide I’m trying.
I am going nowhere.
My lungs scream for air.

And as the forces strengthen
Against my own will,
My soul becomes frightened,
Beyond any thrill.

After fighting the fight,
I lose all my might,
I lose all faith
That I’ll escape my fate.

Will I death deceive?
Is this something
I should believe?

With all these doubts
I fear I won’t get out.
Get out alive, get free,
A future I can longer see.

At last my soul can rest,
After I’ve been put to the test,
I succeeded.
I didn’t drown.
I survived.

Cátia Ribeiro

Alone

2008-10-27T22:06:00.000Z

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then- in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life- was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still:

From the torrent, or the fountain,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

From the sun that round me rolled

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allan Poe

Ó sino da minha aldeia

2008-10-23T21:47:00.001+01:00

Ó sino da minha aldeia
dolente na tarde calma,
cada tua badalada
soa dentro da minha alma...

E é tão lento o teu soar,
tão como triste da vida,
que já a primeira pancada
tem o som de repetida.

Por mais que me tanjas perto,
quando passo, sempre errante,
és para mim como um sonho,
soas-me na alma distante.

A cada pancada tua,
vibrante no céu aberto,
sinto o passado mais longe,
sinto a saudade mais perto...

Fernando Pessoa

Helplessness

2008-10-20T20:22:00.000+01:00

A feeling of terror
Consuming me.
That’s no wonder
For I am not free.

The cause?
A demon.

A demon haunting
My past, my present.
He is causing
Within me a tempest.

Not letting go of this fear,
That causes me such pain,
I am shedding a tear,
Trapped in chains.

Chains from which I
Struggle, fighting the voice
That wonders why
I didn’t make the choice.

Cátia Ribeiro

Searching

2008-10-07T19:59:00.001+01:00

Tens o olhar fixo.
Fixo em mim.
Fixo dentro de mim.

Os nossos olhares encontram-se
E o teu olhar
Penetra a minha alma.

Remexendo, vasculhando
À procura de algo.
“O que é?”

“O que procuras?”,
Ansiosamente pergunto.
“O que tentas tão
Desesperadamente encontrar?”

“A ti.”

Cátia Ribeiro

If

2008-07-23T10:38:00.000+01:00

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Things to Ponder... (1)

2008-07-08T19:48:00.001+01:00

Why is the fear of long words called hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia?

Goodbye to You

2008-07-06T20:34:00.002+01:00

The page is turned.
The chapter, closed.
No more wondering
How it could be.

No more thinking,
Crying, seconds
Wasted over you.

From this moment,
You'll be nothing
More than a
Shadow, a dream
That never came true.

There's only one
Word for you:
Goodbye.

That's it.
I'm done.

Cátia Ribeiro

2008-07-05T19:00:00.000+01:00

What would you do
If suddenly I
Was no more?

Would you notice
I was missing
Or my absence
Would be meaningless?

‘Cause I’m tired
Of living this life!
And I need one
Reason to keep living.

Can you give me
Such reason?
Can you say
You feel like I do?

And that you
Don’t want me to leave?

Cátia Ribeiro

I carry your heart with me

2008-06-14T20:45:00.002+01:00

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart)I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)I want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

E.E. Cummings

Screw It

2008-06-06T17:16:00.001+01:00

Visitando o espaço de lazer do poeta-príncipe,
Sem nada para fazer,
Agarro um lápis
E começo a escrever.

As palavras correm como o rio
Corre para o mar,
Sem parar.

O tempo nunca pára
E eu não tenho tempo.

E assim, com o tempo a fugir,
Tenho pressa em acabar
O que comecei.

Mas a pressa
É a inimiga da perfeição.
Por isso, que se lixe o tempo,
Porque isto vem do meu coração.

Cátia Ribeiro

2008-05-14T23:09:00.002+01:00

Wish I could do things differentely,

Wish I could take back what I said,

What I did.

Wish there was a way to turn back time,

To go back to the beginning,

To change who I am.

To change everything.

To never be born.

Cátia Ribeiro

Placebo - Running up that hill

2008-05-12T19:07:00.005+01:00

Esta versão dá-me arrepios, apetece-me chorar, parece que me transporta para outro sítio onde nada existe só a felicidade, onde só eu existo!

Tears

2008-05-11T11:29:00.000+01:00

Each time I cried there you were
Warming,
Bringing sunshine on your smile.

But what about when I tear for you?
Will you dry those too?

Ana C. Santos

Metamorphosis

2008-05-10T12:41:00.000+01:00

If a rose changed,
Would we still call it a rose?
If a rain drop could modify itself,
Could we still recognize it?

But a rose doesn’t change,
And a rain drop can’t modify itself.

A rose simply grows,
Becomes more beautiful.
A rain drop it’s always
A rain drop.

So why do we humans
Have to change?
Sometimes, the metamorphosis
Is so deep…

I can’t even recognize
Myself.
It’s like there’s a different body,
Just the same soul.

I wanna change back…

Cátia Ribeiro

Autopsicografia

2008-05-04T11:14:00.004+01:00

O poeta é um fingidor.

Finge tão completamente

Que chega a fingir que é dor

A dor que deveras sente.

E os que lêem o que escreve,

Na dor lida sentem bem,

Não as duas que ele teve,

Mas só a que eles não têm.

E assim nas calhas da roda

Gira, a entreter a razão,

Esse comboio de corda

Que se chama coração.

Fernando Pessoa

I Love You

2008-05-04T11:08:00.001+01:00

You’ve always been there for me,
Ever since the day I was born.

I love you.

Although I don’t always appreciate that,
I know you’ve helped me
Through the bad and good times,

I love you.

We haven’t talked that much
But I hope we can change that.
I never said it,
Not even a little,
And I wanna say it.

I love you, I love you, I love you…

I know I’ll never be tired
Of saying this three words sentence:
I love you.

I really do, mom.
I love you.

Cátia Ribeiro

A Despedida

2008-04-28T22:26:00.002+01:00

Um navio na costa
Prepara-se para partir.
E a mulher que lá está
Observa o marido ir.

Observa e observa,
Não se atreve a mais,
Pois sabe que se se mexer
Vai começar aos ais.

A tal ela se atreve,
E a dor desperta.
Dor intensa que tanto
O seu coração aperta.

Aperta e aperta,
Esmaga-lhe a alma.
A dor é tanta
Que ela perde a calma.

Grita ao navio,
Chama o marido.
Sente o seu amor
A ficar perdido.

O marido corre à proa
Despede-se da amada
E a sua alma
Fica pesada.

Pesa e pesa a dor
No seu coração.
E cai uma lágrima
De tanta emoção.

Este momento fica,
Para sempre, gravado,
E no tempo fica
Eternamente parado.

Cátia Ribeiro

Hurtful

2008-04-22T22:14:00.003+01:00

Searching the surroundings
for one sign of hope.
Any sign.
Just a sign.

The lightless sky,
makes it hard to see.
The rotted smell,
hanging in the air,
makes it hard to breathe.

Hours, days go by
and then the clouds
go away, vanishing,
letting the light in.

I close my eyes,
for the bright light hurts.
After a while,
I get used to it.
And it doesn't hurt
that much anymore.
Oh, how I wish now
that it did.

How I wish I could
not see the reason
of the unbearable smell
hanging in the air,
that had already got
inside my lungs,
making me stand it.

How I wish I could
not see your lifeless face,
lying motionless on the ground,
right in front of me.

Oh! Bring back the clouds,
Take the light away,
Make my memory fade,
for I do not want to
live in a world you
no longer exist.

Cátia Ribeiro

Madness

2008-04-21T21:43:00.001+01:00

Sometimes, my mind
Plays tricks on me.
It makes me believe in something
That isn’t true.

My sanity is weaker
Than this thing…
This… madness.

But I’m telling you,
Someday…
Someday all this will end.
And I’ll be in my coffin, resting…
‘Till the end of time…

Cátia Ribeiro

The North Ship - XXIV

2008-04-18T16:47:00.002+01:00

Love, we must part now: do not let it be
Calamitous and bitter. In the past
There has been too much moonlight and self-pity:
Let us have done with it: for now at last
Never has sun more boldly paced the sky,
To kick down worlds, lash forests; you and I
No longer hold them; we are husks, that see
The grain going forward to a different use.

There is regret. Always, there is regret.
But it is better that our lives unloose,
As two tall ships, wind-mastered, wet with light,
Break from an estuary with their courses set,
And waving part, and waving drop from sight.

Philip Larkin

Podemos...?

2008-04-17T22:23:00.000+01:00

Podemos esquecer
Tudo o que passou
E parar tudo e todos
Num momento de felicidade?

Podemos voltar
Atrás no tempo,
E mais uma vez
Sermos felizes?

Podemos ter
Tudo o que
Sempre quisemos
Agora e para sempre?

Cátia Ribeiro

A tua ausência é, em cada momento, a tua ausência

2008-04-14T22:11:00.003+01:00

A tua ausência é, em cada momento, a tua ausência.
Não esqueço que os teus lábios existem longe de mim.
Aqui há casas vazias. Há cidades desertas. Há lugares.

Mas eu lembro que o tempo é outra coisa, e tenho
tanta pena de perder um instante dos teus cabelos.

Aqui não há palavras. Há a tua ausência. Há o medo sem os
teus lábios, sem os teus cabelos. Fecho os olhos para te ver
e para não chorar.

José Luís Peixoto, "O Amor é Impossível" in "A Casa, A Escuridão"

Words, Words...

2008-04-13T22:38:00.001+01:00

My words are disappearing…
I don’t know what to say…

Sometimes in my life,
There’s a time when I need to say somethin’
But I can’t open my mouth.

I wanna say to people that I love them,
But no words come out of my mouth.

My voice fails
And they don’t hear
What they need to hear sometimes…

And there are times
When I’m feeling ready to say it,
But it’s not the right time.

Sometimes I wish
They could listen to my thoughts
And they’d know everything they need to know…

I love you…
That’s all I wanted to say…

Cátia Ribeiro

Feelings

2008-04-09T22:55:00.000+01:00

I love him so much.
But I just can’t say a word.
I wish I could just hate him.
It would make things so much simpler.

But what would be really great
Is not to feel a thing.
Every time I see him,
My heart beats faster.

To hide that “passion”,
I just say that I hate him.
But it’s not true.

This great number of feelings
Just drives me nuts.
It’s him, my friends, my family…
All the people I know.

Sometimes I think about
Killing myself.
But that’s a problem, too.

I’m afraid of death,
Thought I loved it.
I have a big attraction to it,
But I don’t think I’ll embrace it
Anytime soon.

Of all these feelings,
Love, hate, passion…
Fear is the strongest.

I’m afraid of everything.
I’m afraid of love,
Afraid of death,
Afraid of my friends, my family…

But most of all,
I think I’m afraid of myself.
Afraid of who I am.
Afraid of who I can be.

Cátia Ribeiro

Half Dead

2008-04-08T18:05:00.000+01:00

Sitting on a chair,
Thinking about my life,
I realize I’m not actually a thing.

I’m half dead.
I notice no one.
No one notices me.

If my wishes could come true,
I’d wish I was dead.
No one to bother me.
No one to bother.

Cátia Ribeiro

2008-03-30T17:14:00.000+01:00

Why do you have
To be like that?
Always turning my world
Upside down.

I can never make up my mind
Around you.
You’re intoxicating.

I should hate you
But somehow,
There’s a part deep down
Inside of me telling me I can’t.

The line between love and hate
Is very thin, they say.
I just never thought
It’d be this thin.

Help me.
Help me now,
‘Cause I’m going crazy.

Cátia Ribeiro

Words, Wide Night

2008-03-27T14:11:00.000Z

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
And the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
It is sad? In one of the tenses I’m singing
An impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close me eyes and imagine
The dark hills I would have to cross
To reach you. For I am in love with you and this

Is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy

Merda Precisa-se Snhr. Ministro - 1934

2008-03-17T16:09:00.002Z

Poema dirigido ao ministro da agricultura Dr. Queimado de Sousa, em Fevereiro de 1934.

Porque julgamos digna de registo
a nossa exposição, Sr. Ministro, a erguemos,
a erguemos até vós, humildemente,
em toada uníssona e plangente
em que evitamos o menor deslize
e em que damos razão à nossa crise.

Senhor! Em vão esta Província inteira
desmoita, lavra, atalha a sementeira,
suando até à fralda da camisa.
Falta a matéria orgânica precisa,
na terra que é delgada e sempre fraca!
A matéria, em questão, chama-se CACA.

PRECISAMOS DE MERDA, SR. SOISA,
E NUNCA PRECISÁMOS D’OUTRA COISA!

Se, os membros desse ilustre Ministério,
querem tomar o vosso cargo a sério,...
se é nobre o sentimento que os anima,
mandem cagar-nos toda a gente em cima
dos maninhos torrões de cada herdade.
Mijem-nos também, por caridade.
O Sr. Oliveira Salazar,
quando tiver vontade de cagar,
venha até nós, solícito, calado,
busque um terreno que esteja lavrado,
deite as calças abaixo, com sossego,
ajeite o cu, bem apontado ao rego
e... como Presidente do Conselho,
queira espremer-se, até ficar vermelho!
A Nação confiou-lhe os seus destinos?
Então, comprima, aperte os intestinos.
Se lhe escapar um traque, não se importe!
Quem sabe se, o cheirá-lo, nos dá sorte?!
Quantos porão as sua esperanças
num traque do Ministro das Finanças?
E, quem viver aflito, sem recursos,
Já não distingue um traque, dos discursos.
Nem precisamos de falar, tenho a certeza,
que a nossa maior fonte de riqueza,
desde as grandes herdades às courelas,
provém da merda que juntamos nelas.

PRECISAMOS DE MERDA, SR. SOISA,
E NUNCA PRECISÁMOS D’OUTRA COISA!

Adubos de potassa? Cal? Azote?
Tragam-nos merda pura do bispote!...
e todos os penicos portugueses,
durante, pelo menos, uns seis meses,
sobre o montado, sobre a terra campa,
continuamente, nos despejem trampa!
Terras alentejanas, terras nuas,
desespero dos arados e charruas,
quem os compra, arrenda, ou quem os herda
sente a paixão nostálgica da merda!...

PRECISAMOS DE MERDA, SR. SOISA,
E NUNCA PRECISÁMOS D’OUTRA COISA!

Ah! merda grossa e fina, merda boa,
das inúteis retretes de Lisboa!
Como é triste saber que, todos vós,
andais cagando, sem pensar em nós!
Se querem fomentar a agricultura,
mandem vir muita gente com soltura...
Nós daremos trigo, em larga escala,
pois, até nos faz jeito, a merda rala!
Venham todas as merdas à vontade,
formas naturais ou esquisitas...
e, desde o cagalhão às caganitas,
desde o grande poio, à pequena bosta,
de tudo o que vier, a gente gosta...

PRECISAMOS DE MERDA, SR. SOISA,
E NUNCA PRECISÁMOS D’OUTRA COISA!

por João de Vasconcelos e Sá

Inexistent

2008-03-07T13:34:00.001Z

The night rules,
The day has long faded,
There’s no one here but you and me.

We own this place.
A rotted smell hangs in the air,
And that is ours too.

So here we are,
Day after day.
Night after night,
Never changing positions,
Never changing emotions,
Never changing our peace of mind.

We’re no more.

Cátia Ribeiro

Burial

2008-03-03T22:30:00.001Z

Feeling buried under
A pile of blurry thoughts.
Can't find my candle,
My guiding light.

Cátia Ribeiro

Sabes-me sempre a pouco

2008-03-02T21:34:00.000Z

Sabes-me sempre a pouco.
Deixas nestes lábios um
Doce gosto a saudade,
Sempre um desejo renascido.

Assim me encontro no desespero
Do tempo que não passa
Quando me deixas só,
Dos dias todos iguais,
Do vagaroso arrastar
De um tempo que troça.

Sabes-me sempre a pouco.
O teu toque deixa um
Amargo sabor a lonjura,
À constante espera de mais.

Assim desespero num tempo
Que teima em correr se te tenho,
De um tempo sempre fugaz
Quando enfim te abraço,
Quando te seguro bem perto,
Quando me sabes a tudo.

Ana Cardoso Santos

Castles and Walls

2008-02-28T12:06:00.000Z

Castles.
They are built for protection
Of someone or something
Against someone.
Or something.

Walls.
There are shameful walls
Throughout our History.
They divide,
They protect,
They shield harmful attacks.

I built up a wall
All around me,
So I don’t have to show people
My true self.
The weak me,
The me in need of love,
Of caring.

Until I find my castle.

Cátia Ribeiro

Spirits of the Dead

2008-02-26T22:47:00.002Z

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness - for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

Edgar Allan Poe

Prayer

2008-02-24T14:57:00.002Z

Archangel, my angel
lead me tonight
as I step into
this fading light

Archangel, my angel
please hold my hand,
don't leave me alone
on this deceitful land.

Archangel, my angel
take me far from here,
carry me away,
end up this fear.

Archangel, my angel
hold me as I sleep,
say you'll be here
as my sins become too deep.

Archangel, my angel
lead me towards that sound,
grant me only one wish
so that my heart can soon be found.

Archangel, my angel
come here, hold me tight,
my soul won't surrender
though this tired body might.

Archangel, sweet angel
whose song is this I hear?
Maybe is just inside my mind or
Perhaps the chant of the Devil's lonesome tear...

Ana Cardoso Santos

Black Light

2008-02-23T22:13:00.002Z

A stormy day,
A whirlwind floating in my heart.
Almost drowning
In a loneliness wider than the sea.

A flood of black thoughts
Twirling around in my mind.

I’m just a drop of rain
In a world of problems.
And only a bit of me
Is made of nothing.

A flower withering in the winter,
That’s my state of mind.

I’m reaching the end,
Living on the edge.

Cátia Ribeiro

Examination at the Womb-door

2008-02-23T22:05:00.001Z

Who owns these scrawny little feet? Death.
Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death.
Who owns these still-working lungs? Death.
Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death.
Who owns these unspeakable guts? Death.
Who owns these questionable brains? Death.
All this messy blood? Death.
These minimum-efficiency eyes? Death.
This wicked little tongue? Death.
This occasional wakefulness? Death.

Given, stolen, or held pending trial?
Held.

Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? Death.
Who owns all space? Death.

Who is stronger than hope? Death.
Who is stronger than will? Death.
Stronger than love? Death.
Stronger than life? Death.

But who is stronger than death?
Me, evidently.

Pass, Crow.

Ted Hughes

Jeff Dunham

2008-02-22T21:38:00.002Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uwOL4rB-go
garanto que vale a pena, o vídeo tem aproximadamente 11 minutos. É um excerto dum programa de tv dos E.U.A, tipo stand up comedy com um ventriloquista.

Dream of a Lost Friend

2008-02-22T18:47:00.000Z

You were dead, but we met, dreaming,
Before you had died. Your name, twice,
Then you turned, pale, unwell. My dear,
My dear, must this be? A public building
Where I’ve never been, and, on the wall,
An AIDS poster. Your white lips. Help me.

We embraced, standing in a long corridor
which harboured a fierce pain neither of us felt yet.
The words you spoke were frenzied prayers
To Chemistry: or you laughed, a child-man’s laugh,
Innocent, hysterical, out of your skull. It’s only
A dream, I heard myself saying, only a bad dream.

Some of our best friends nurture a virus, an idle,
Charmed, purposeful enemy, and it dreams
They are dead already. In fashionable restaurants,
Over the crudités, the healthy imagine a rime
When all these careful moments will be dreamed
And dreamed again. You look well. How do you feel?

Then, as I slept, you backed away from me, crying
And offering a series of dates for lunch, waving.
I missed your funeral, I said, knowing you couldn’t
hear.
At the end of the corridor, thumbs up, acting.
Where there’s life… awake, alive, for months I think of
You
Almost hopeful in a bad dream where you were long
Dead.

Carol Ann Duffy

I write for...

2008-02-21T14:34:00.002Z

I write for my own kind
I do not pitch my voice
that every phrase be heard
by those who have no choice:
their quality of mind
must be withdrawn and still,
as moth that answers moth
across a roaring hill.

John Hewitt

Just starting

2008-02-20T23:11:00.003Z

Olá o meu nome é Ana, aka Nuxa.
Acabei de me juntar ao blog, sou amiga da Katya há 9 anos. Provavelmente não vou fazer tantos posts como ela, nem tantas vezes mas vou dar o meu melhor!
E pronto é apenas uma pequeníssima apresentação.

Dim Light

2008-02-19T20:07:00.000Z

Com as cortinas fechadas,
Deita-se na cama,
E ligeiramente revoltada
Pensa em quem mais ama.

E assim permanece,
Com os olhos postos na escuridão
Aquela cujo amor padece
De dor e desilusão.

E tanta volta
Que a vida dá.
Algo acaba com a revolta,
Ali ao fundo, o seu amado está.

Mas é apenas uma miragem,
É o que produz
A fraca luz,
Que pelas cortinas encontra a sua passagem.

Cátia Ribeiro

Alive

2008-02-18T23:24:00.001Z

I’m tired of keeping
Everything I feel
Inside of me.
I’m exploding!

I can’t take it
Anymore.
I need to say it.

I love the stupid jokes
You make, that no
One would laugh at.

I love the way you
Make me feel inside,
Just with a simple glare.

I love your eyes,
So truthful, so trustful.
One look at them
And I tremble inside.

No one has made me
Feel that way in such
A long time.

And this feeling I know,
It only can grow.

You made me feel alive
When I thought I was dead.

Cátia Ribeiro

To Wither

2008-02-18T23:14:00.001Z

Algo a germinar
Na terra,
Alterações no terreno
Começa a provocar.

Pouco a pouco,
No escuro solo,
Um ponto verde
Surge.

E com o passar do tempo,
Este ponto cresce
E torna-se um tronco
Longo e forte.

Desse tronco,
Brota uma rosa,
Pequenina a princípio.

Mas a rosa, lenta,
Nasce murcha.
E o que a alimenta?

Os nossos esqueletos.

Cátia Ribeiro

Time

2008-02-17T23:07:00.003Z

Today we stand here,
Together since the beginning.
Some remain friends,
Others found their enemies.

Tears, laughter, yelling
We’ve had like bunches.
And still we shared some punches.

Time did fly by,
Noticed or unnoticed.
But what can we learn
From this journey?

That even on the darkest,
Lightless night,
We can always count on
Our friends.

Those who’ve held our hands
Through the hardest of times,
Those who’ve made us laugh
And wiped our tears away.

And those friendships…

Are timeless.

Cátia Ribeiro

10 Things I hate about You

2007-12-19T13:09:00.000Z

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Kat Stratford, 10 Things I hate about you

2007-12-17T21:12:00.000Z

Bem, eu peço desculpa mas esta época do Natal faz-me confusão, principalmente todas aquelas músicas cujas letras revelam uma enorme hipocrisia, pregando que o mundo está bem quando na verdade todas as pessoas sabem que não está.
Apetece-me contrariar as tendências sazonais. Aqui vai,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Wy7bDTp8xc&feature=related

"Remember, remember (...)"

2007-12-13T16:13:00.000Z

"Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot... But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know, in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea, not the man, because a man can fail. He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten, but 400 years later, an idea can still change the world. I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love... And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man... A man that made me remember the Fifth of November. A man that I will never forget. "
Evey Hammond, V for Vendetta

Questionnaire

2007-12-09T13:40:00.000Z

Q. How do you do?
A. Like a bear in the Zoo.
Q. Why should that be?
A. That world is not free.
Q. Must it always be so?
A. No.
With our hearts and our brains
We will tear off its chains.
Q. You write poems, why?
A. Because I am shy.
In real life I conceal
Everything that I feel,
But in poems I shout
And my feelings fly out.
Q. Why do you write in verse at all?
A. I would rather jump than crawl.
My tongue would rather sing than talk
And my feet would sooner dance than walk.
Q. What’s the difference between a walker and a dancer?
A. Love is the answer.
Q. Why do you write?
A. For the love of life
And my friends, my animals,
My children and my wife.
I am lucky and happy –
Q. But how do you do?
A. Like a bear who dreams he is not in the Zoo.

Adrian Mitchell

Parabéns a ti, meu irmão...

2007-12-08T15:20:00.000Z

O mais provável é tu nunca leres isto, mas aqui vai...

"Parabéns a você, nesta data querida, muitas felicidades, muitos anos de vida. Hoje é dia d festa cantam as nossas almas, para o meu maninho, uma salva de palmas!"

Mano, onde quer que tu estejas, espero que saibas que gosto muito de ti, és o meu irmão, e que espero que estejas bem....

Muito amor da tua irmã...

Muitos sentimentos, muitas questões, uma imagem...

2007-12-07T18:50:00.000Z

Persistência da memória, Salvador Dalí, 1931

Rainy Day

2007-12-06T16:30:00.001Z

It’s a rainy day.
The sky is clouded
And dark.
A lightning strikes,
Again and again,
But never twice
On the same place.

I’m sitting on my bed,
My mind wandering around,
Directionless.
Until…

I’m suddenly struck
By a reasonable doubt.

Where is it raining?
Outside…
Or inside?

Cátia Ribeiro

When you go

2007-11-27T14:30:00.000Z

When you go,
If you go,
And I should want to die,
There’s nothing I’d be saved by
More than the time
You fell asleep in my arms
In a trust so gentle
I let the darkening room
Drink up the evening, till
Rest, or the new rain
Lightly roused you awake.
I asked if you hear the rain in your dream
And half dreaming still you only said, I love you.

Edwin Morgan

Imagination

2007-11-21T21:46:00.001Z

Today I find myself
Losing all of my remaining sanity.

Today you stand in front of me,
But when I try to reach you,
You vanish right before my eyes,
Just like a mirage.

Today I ask myself
A very important question:
Were you really there?

Have you always been there,
Right in front of me,
Somehow not being able to see you?
And when I was finally capable to do so,
Had you already disappeared,
And all that lingered was your light,
Just like a star.

Or…
Did I just make you up
Desperately trying to fill
The emptiness on my heart?

Were you for real
Or simply my imagination?

Cátia Ribeiro

Motionless

2007-11-16T22:02:00.000Z

There you are,
Right beside me.

I can hear you
Calling my name,
I can feel your fingers,
Your soft touch, on my face.

But still I make no move.
I hear you crying out my name,
Over and over,
Needing my attention.

I’m falling.
My mind is going somewhere
You can’t go to.

You try to grab me,
And still I slip away,
Like the wave slips
From the hand of a child
Who desperately tries to grab it.

Cátia Ribeiro

Os Novos Avatares

2007-11-15T23:53:00.000Z

E foi assim que tudo morreu. Quando soube que o mundo era uma grande descrença e uma grande desistência. Para acreditarmos em algo, descremos de outra coisa e para ter qualquer coisa, abdicamos sempre de outra. Quem mo disse foi Hitler, o último avatar... Ups, perdão... o pai natal. O pai natal confirmou-me que Deus não existia e que era ele o Messias salvador do mundo. Mas entretanto, meteu-se a igreja ao barulho a dizer que não o reconhecia como tal. E como também admitiram que Deus já estava um bocadinho fora de moda decidiram reconhecer antes o senhor Krishna como novo ser supremo. Só que o papa, analisando bem aquela jogada entendeu que se calhar jogava melhor se decidisse escolher um novo ser supremo, mas terrestre. Então escolheu Bush, quem mais se não ele?
O pai natal, coitado, voltou a trabalhar para a Coca-cola. Bush está convencido de que é o novo Deus e tem que acabar com os problemas do mundo. E eu estou convencido que o pai natal tinha estofo para ser Deus, porque é caridoso e justo: Prendas para os meninos bem comportados, nada para os que se portam mal.
Agora toda a gente quer ser Deus mas ninguém tem estofo para isso. Por isso, as pessoas fizeram como dizia a música e cada um tem o seu Deus pessoal. "Cada um é que escolhe em quem acredita!". Ser Deus está na moda há dois mil anos e é muito fácil.
Quanto a mim: O Deísmo não foi uma moda do século das luzes.

Viagem a Sintra

2007-11-12T22:10:00.000Z

Bem, hoje durante mais tarde desocupada na FLUL, recebi um convite para ir a Sintra. A princípio tenho de admitir que estava um pouco relutante em aceitar tal convite, até porque não podia faltar às aulas.... mas lá me convenci a ir (como boa aluna que sou tinha de faltar a aula :P)
A viagem de carro foi tranquila. Não me lembrava da última vez que tinha ido a Sintra, algo que me entusiasmou ainda mais.
Mas não esperava nada do que vi. Sintra é, definitavamente, um dos sítios mais bonitos que já visitei no nosso pequeno país banhado pelo Oceano Atlântico. Ao ver os palácios, a serra, tudo isso me inspirou, me levantou a moral, fez com que a minha tristeza se dissipasse, mesmo que por breves instantes.
A praia é linda, o mar acalmou-me o espírito, e todas as barbaridades ditas pelos que me acompanhavam fizeram com que esta tarde fosse das tardes mais divertidas que tive em algumas semanas.
Tenho de confessar que parte de mim não queria ir-se embora de Sintra e agora anseio por outra visita...

Divagação

2007-11-12T00:47:00.001Z

Que hei-de eu dizer? Como hei-de eu agir? E se eu disser que a minha vida está virada do avesso, que já não me conheço, que me tornei numa pessoa frustrada, estarei a ser demasiado dramática? Porque razão estou eu preocupada com o que os outros pensam? Não passam de meros pensamentos, o problema é quando os pensamentos se manifestam através de palavras, de actos… aí sim temos um problema, mas problema maior é quando não deixamos que esses pensamentos ganhem vida. Isolamo-nos de tudo e de todos, não somos nós mesmos, não tiramos o devido proveito da vida.
Se há palavras que magoam ao ser ouvidas, as que mais magoam são as que ficam por dizer, as que nos martelam na cabeça por não terem sido ditas e nos corroem a alma. E nego o que sinto… não é correcto senti-lo, jamais poderá ser sentido, jamais!!! E continuo a negar o que sinto… E nego todo este desejo físico que jamais pensei poder ser negado e que jamais deveria ter negado e que por razão que desconheço continuo a negar. E porque não consigo contrariar esta força que me leva a negar tudo o que não deve ser negado, a mágoa e a angústia apoderam-se de mim a cada pensamento, a cada decisão, a cada palavra, a cada acto, que me poderá trazer a felicidade… Fod****!!

Caras

2007-11-07T18:43:00.000Z

Uma, duas, três caras conhecidas
Conheço-as! Conhecem-me?
Por detrás das mascaras
Como serão as caras escondidas?
Entristecem-me, desiludem-me
Estas minhas caras caras.

Mas caros amigos, não se vão.
(Em vão) falem com elas!
Mas elas não vos escutam.
Com pouca inteligência elas se denunciam,
Podem conhecê-las, mas não ama-las.
Pois elas não vos escutam.

Uma, duas, três caras conhecidas,
Adivinhas mas não sábias.
Cansei-me delas, matei-as.
Caras infinitas, perdidas
No mundano, no insano, coisas secundárias...
Matei-as nas teias do pensamento, esqueci-as.
Imaginam isso? Encarar caras infinitas, esquecidas.

Eduardo Rilhas

2007-11-05T17:39:00.000Z

do you know when you make big plans for something and you start making these plans years before the event actually happens and then in a matter of seconds, only a few days earlier, something happens that you just couldn't prevent or even see it coming?
what then? how can you fight it?
where can you find the strength to fight against it when you're already fighting against a million other things?
where? is there a place where al people can go to find strength? is there such a place?
i can't fight another battle! i've lost all my strength somewhere along the way!
i'm letting go....

O significado das coisas

2007-11-02T00:16:00.000Z

Vem sentar-te ao pé de mim.
Quero sussurrar-te ao ouvido
o significado das coisas,
o significado dos sinais.

Olha, sabes o que significa
não poder estar sem te sentir?
Sim, eu sei que isto é um lugar comum
mas é em comum contigo que quero estar.
No mesmo lugar que tu,
a ter calor vindo de ti,
a teres calor vindo de mim...
Deita-te comigo. Quietos.

Olha, sabes o que significa
não poder estar sem:
uma lista infindável de verbos
que implicam os mesmos dois sujeitos?

Sabes o que significa não poder
subsistir sem ti?...

Sabes o que é não poder rir
quando te arrepias
por te respirar ao ouvido?

Sabes o que é ir em silêncio
no carro, já sentindo saudades
quando ainda estás junto a mim?
(imagina o último beijo,
quando te deixo ao portão de casa).

Olha, sabes o que é escrever e reescrever
cem vezes um poema?...
Tudo porque nunca está à tua altura.

Sabes o que é estar desconsertado
e gostar do concerto, da melodia
que se toca no meu coração?

Isso tudo é o mesmo do que
passar-te a mão pela cara,
(linguagem gestual),
numa tentativa de silenciar
algo que quero gritar bem alto!

Mas tenho medo.
Fico nervoso.
Estou sempre nervoso.
Bem, tu sabes.
Tu sabes-me.
E apoias-me.
E fazes tudo por mim.
E choras, mas eu faço-te rir.
E és perfeita.

Isso tudo é o mesmo do que
passares-me a mão pela cara,
(linguagem gestual),
numa tentativa de silenciar
algo que queres gritar bem alto!
e
isso tudo é o mesmo do que
passar-te a mão pela cara,
(linguagem gestual),
numa tentativa de silenciar
algo que quero gritar bem alto!

Tu sabes o que é isso tudo.
Tu sabes o significado das coisas.
Nós somos isso tudo,
nós somos o significado das coisas.

Eduardo Rilhas

Foto: Gonçalo Gameiro
Ps: peço desculpa aos modelos mas a foto era boa demais para não aproveitar.

Tela Branca

2007-10-30T19:18:00.001Z

Nesta tela o meu destino
Quero traçar.
Até agora cretino,
Está prestes a mudar.

Que alcançou
A minha sorte?
Tenho de ser forte,
O que passou, passou.

Esta hipótese foi-me dada
E garanto-te que
Não vai ser desperdiçada.

Irei melhorar
Tudo o que me apetecer.
Quando acabar,
O que irá acontecer?

Traço uma linha
Com um lápis afiado.
Mais uma e outra linha.
Não! Quero tudo apagado!

Não consigo decidir,
Que caminho seguir!

“O que obtiveste?”,
Esta pergunta tu fizeste.

Queres uma resposta franca?

Uma tela branca.

Cátia Ribeiro

I need you...

2007-10-29T22:24:00.000Z

I just wanted to say
That I need you…

I need you to be with me
When I’m happy…
When I’m sad…

I need you to wipe my tears,
To bring me up when I’m feeling down…

I need you to cheer up my life.
Everything’s so dark now…
I can’t see anything.

You’re my guiding light
Can’t you see that?

I need you,
But you don’t need me…
So what’s the point in saying that
I love you...?

Cátia Ribeiro

Sinto-me doente

2007-10-28T18:26:00.001Z

Sinto-me doente.
Sinto-me doente
ao ponto de não conseguir explicar o que sinto.
Tenho algo que me incomoda constantemente:
não é dor, não chega a má disposição, não é nada. Minto.

Tenho de ir ao médico, estou preocupado.
Sinto-me doente, não me sinto bem.
Tenho de saber o que me tem alterado
a boa disposição, o estômago, o fígado, não sei...

Sinto facadas nos pulmões, aperta-se-me o coração.
"Trago a noite no meu peito", racha-se o meu crânio.
Deliro num arrepio. Inverno eterno, não sinto o Verão.
Intoxicando ao ritmo da música, esta mata-me como o pobre Urânio.

Já não sei o que digo, as palavras são flashes de memórias.
Balbuciando que nunca amei, que sou pedra.
Espero não morrer, sou novo e faltam-me histórias,
vive ao máximo e morre jovem não é a minha regra.

O mundo à minha volta torna-se negro,
fecho os olhos e tombo na poluição.
Choro, dentro do meu olhar cego,
e logo acordo. Não morri, não.

Mas sinto-me doente,
Sinto-me doente
ao ponto de não conseguir explicar o que sint

Manifesto Anti-Dantas

2007-10-28T17:05:00.000Z

Bem, em honra às belas aulas de História do 12º, decidi postar aqui um excerto do "Manifesto Anti-Dantas" pelo "poeta d'Orpheu, futurista e tudo" José de Almada Negreiros. O texto integral poderão encontrá-lo no link:

http://www.triplov.com/almada_negreiros/anti_dantas.htm

"Basta pum basta!!!
Uma geração que consente deixar-se representar por um Dantas é uma geração que nunca o foi. É um coio d'indigentes, d'indignos e de cegos! É uma resma de charlatães e de vendidos, e só pode parir abaixo de zero!
Abaixo a geração!
Morra o Dantas, morra! Pim!
Uma geração com um Dantas a cavalo é um burro impotente! (...)
O Dantas é um cigano!
O Dantas é meio cigano!
O Dantas saberá gramática, saberá sintaxe, saberá medicina, saberá fazer ceias pra cardeais, saberá tudo menos escrever que é a única coisa que ele faz! (...)
O Dantas veste-se mal!
O Dantas usa ceroulas de malha! (...)
O Dantas é Dantas!
O Dantas é Júlio!
Morra o Dantas, morra! Pim! (...) "

"Family"...

2007-10-26T21:29:00.000+01:00

today was the day we were together again since June...
seeing so many known faces was so good.... being with my guys I felt like no time had passed...
it's true we are all changed, but deep down inside we still are the little girls who met each other eight years ago...
not everyone from the "gang" came, but you can be sure you were missed... 'cause nothing is the same without you guys...
I know now that no matter what happens, even if we spend years without seeing each other, the reunion moment will always, always, feel the same...
there will always be the shouting, the yelling, and the tight-hugs, and the little tear in the corner of an eye when we say goodbye again...
the moments we're together will always be remembered, even if we only have so much time to spend... it doesn't matter....
we will always be like a family, a family with many many sisters....
I will never ever forget you, I will always love you, and I wouldn't be the same if you guys hadn't been there...

Love you all so much,
a huge kiss of the size of the universe,
a friend who will never forget you...

Pequena mensagem, para ti, meu rapaz.

2007-10-26T10:13:00.001+01:00

Desperdiças a tua vida com coisa supérfluas. Coisas que são tertúlias cor de rosa. Desperdiças a tua doença em ambientes doentios, fumo e álcool.
Tu tens um talento, não o de desconchavar vidas alheias, mas o da escrita. Trabalha para o fortalecer, fortalece-o para viver, vive para seres completo, completa-te para seres feliz.
Olha lá rapaz, tu não distingues o importante do secundário? Olha lá rapaz, tu já tiveste uma lição, dada por mim, quando feriste alguém, quando me feriste a mim. Mas agora não me feres, feres-te a ti. Olha lá rapaz, quem achas que quer o teu bem?

Vejo-te a não seres bom para ti mesmo. E tenho pena.
Terás a tua felicidade superficial mas nunca serás feliz se não seguires o caminho que uma vez, num Verão, trilhaste: o da auto realização.

Eduardo Rilhas

To my friends....

2007-10-21T23:12:00.000+01:00

This post is dedicated to my best friends, my friends, all the people who've helped me through the last years...

I owe you a lot, so much that one hundred life times wouldn't be enough to pay it all back...
There's so much that I wanted to say right now, but I just can't find the words...
You've given me joy, happiness, some lessons in life and helped me see when everything was pitch black....
I couldn't have done it without you...
And still now, I know that you're there for me if I ever need anything...
I'm so grateful...
And remember "I'll be there for you,(...) 'cause you're there for me too".
I'll never, EVER, forget you.
I love you all

para ti katixa

2007-10-21T20:32:00.000+01:00

só tu pa me obrigares a participar num blog k ainda por cima é eskrito em ingles.a menina é uma xata! ah e tens noção k n tenciono eskrever nada em ingles, senao era um atentado à língua!! o blog tá mto giro, mts coisas interessantes,..., digo eu..ainda n o li!!

maninha kátia diverte te a escrever baboseiras interessantes:), mas n kontes kmg. mts beijinhinhos!! ADORO-TE!! PORTE-SE BEM.

I knew it...

2007-10-20T15:57:00.000+01:00

So, here's the deal...
My big brother visited my blog, read my posts...
Then he did exactly what I had predicted he'd do...
Lots of questions, a full inquirement...
By the way, in case you read this, I'm not complaining...
It was good...
A very productive conversation...
No irony.
And I'm very thankful that you're my big brother and I love you.
Just wanted you to know...

Luv to you all,