Agora, levantava-me...
Lá fora, outra cidade,
inusitada e mansa,
um útero de néon.

Agora, era para sempre
e sem monotonia:
um fogo-de-artifício,
a cona-abelha-mestra.

Agora, era de tarde,
toda lavanda e mel,
ambos em demasia,
exacta demasia.

Agora, tinha sido
um amanhã canoro,
memória antecipada,
um cinzel expectante.

E depois era agora:
o medo de não ser,
o medo de não ter
teu coração no bolso.

Miguel Martins

Canção

Que saia a última estrela
da avareza da noite
e a esperança venha arder
venha arder em nosso peito
.
E saiam também os rios
da paciência da terra
É no mar que a aventura
tem as margens que merece
.
E saiam todos os sóis
que apodreceram no céu
dos que não quiseram ver
- mas que saiam de joelhos
.
E das mãos que saiam gestos
de pura transformação
Entre o real e o sonho
seremos nós a vertigem

Alexandre O'Neill

The Regiment of the Senses

Speak not of guilt, speak not of responsibility. When the Regiment of the Senses parades by, with music, and with banners; when the senses shiver and shudder, it is only a fool and and an irreverent person that will keep his distance, who will not embrace the good cause, marching towards the conquest of pleasures and passions. All of morality’s laws – poorly understood and applied – are nil and cannot stand even for a moment, when the Regiment of the Senses parades by, with music, and with banners. Do not permit any shadowy virtue to hold you back. Do not believe that any obligation binds you. Your duty is to give in, to always give in to Desires, these most perfect creatures of the perfect gods. Your duty is to enlist as a faithful footman, with simplicity of heart, when the Regiment of the Senses parades by, with music, and with banners. Do not confine yourself at home, misleading yourself with theories of justice, with the preconceptions of reward, held by an imperfect society. Do not say, Such is my toil’s worth and such is my due to savor. Just as life is an inheritance, and you did nothing to earn it as a recompense, so should Sensual Pleasure be. Do not shut yourself at home; but keep the windows open, open wide, so as to hear the first sound of the passing of the soldiers, when the Regiment of the Senses arrives, with music, and with banners. Do not be deceived by the blasphemers who tell you that the service is dangerous and laborious. The service of sensual pleasure is a constant joy. It does exhaust you, but it exhausts you with inebriations sublime. And finally, when you collapse in the street, even then your fortune is enviable. When your funeral will pass by, the Forms to which your desires gave shape will shower lilacs and white roses upon your coffin, young Olympian Gods will bear you on their shoulders, and you will be buried in the Cemetery of the Ideal, where the mausoleums of poetry gleam conspicuously white. C.P. Cavafy

Largo do Rato,

29/Maio/2012

Regressaram, os jacarandás. Explodem de roxo eléctrico. Acendem-se aos primeiros calores. Avassalam o negrume. Têm um pouco de samba no nome. Ou de sumo fresco. Ou de sol que nasce no mar. Também de ti me ficou esta estranheza, na voz, nos ciclos, na maneira de florir. Passaram séculos. Estações morreram sobre nós. Regressaremos, mas não aqui. E tu, raíz de outro verão, estarás na seiva de todas as vezes que for feliz. 

Clara Pinto Caldeira, aqui

 Pôr do Sol,

Haad Rin, Koh Phangan,

Thailand 2012

um poema em que eu e tu

dormimos sobre o luminoso esplendor do universo.

vasco gato

Lose me on the way