the right latitude of the castles in the air

Thursday, 16th of March 2017

March, I cut my hair, put some mascara on and I spotted myself in the mirror looking different. After all these lives, will you still recognise me? Will you understand my silent words, will our eyes recognise each other from the very first moment?

fullsizeoutput_3c2a

 Will we be “Alive to all things and forgetting all.” as Wordsworth said? Will this endless mutability fade with our lips reunite? Here, where the humanity core dwells, one day, we shall reach the right latitude of the castles in the air.

For Puella

15492360_1630199787005500_4750242157808881905_n

I love so much butterflies and seeing my work being caressed by a talented artist is so touching, rewarding and satisfying. Which fanzine that I create/made is one of a kind and although they look very primitive they come from a special place – the heart! Thank you so much Puella, this photo and gesture comforted my heart so deeply and it really brighten up my day!

Discover more from Puella’s work here:

Puella’s Facebook

Blog 

Instagram

The Castles in the Air

Thursday, 17th of November 2016 

Dear Diary,

Amidst the eternity of the unspoken words: here, where life meets an end, I am still much alive, Sir. My beloved, I’ve been burning in this waiting, hoping that a glow of reliance would blush this death lips. Hoping for this perplex world of mine, that lingers behind my eyes, materialize — madly believing, Sir. So please, let me bloom once more, but this time by your side… Let us bloom here, where sorrow does’t numb the days and let us reach that distant place. Let it happen: between the silent trees; let her come: the slender light that shall dim the bittersweet taste in our mouths. Here, where the humanity core dwells, we shall reach the right latitude of the castles in the air. 

img_0118img_0123img_0139

For C.W.B

dsc_0351

 

For C.W.B

I.
Let us live in a lull of the long winter winds
Where the shy, silver-antlered reindeer go
On dainty hoofs with their white rabbit friends
Amidst the delicate flowering snow.

All of our thoughts will be fairer than doves.
We will live upon wedding-cake frosted with sleet.
We will build us a house from two red tablecloths
And wear scarlet mittens on both hands and feet.

II.
Let us live in the land of the whispering trees;
Alder and aspen and popular and birch;
Singing our prayers in a pale, sea-green breeze
With star-flower rosaries and moss blankets for church.

All of our dreams will be clearer than glass,
Clad in the water or sun as you wish,
We will watch the white feet of the young morning pass,
And dine upon honey and small shiny fish.

III.
Let us live where the twilight lives after dark,
In the deep drowsy blue, let us make a home.
Let us meet in the cool evening grass with a stork,
And a whistle of willow played by a gnome.

Half-asleep, half-awake, we shall hear, we shall know
The soft “Miserere” the wood-swallow tolls,
We will wander away where the wild raspberries grow,
And eat them for tea from two lily-white bowls.

A poem from Elisabeth Bishop

Para C.W.B

I

Vivamos na acalmia dos longos ventos de inverno

onde a tímida rena de chifres prateados anda

sobre delicadas patas com os seus amigos coelhos brancos

pelo meio da fina e florescente neve.

Todos os nossos pensamentos serão mais delicados que pombas.

Viveremos sobre um bolo de noiva coberto de saraiva.

Construiremos a nossa casa com duas toalhas de mesa vermelhas.

E usaremos mitenes escarlates nas mãos e nos pés.

II

Vivamos no país das árvores sussurrantes,

o amieiro e a aia e o choupo e o vidoeiro,

entoando preces através de uma brisa pálida, verde-mar,

num templo de rosários de flores e cantos de musgo.

Todos os nossos sonhos serão mais límpidos que vidro.

Vestidos de água ou de sol, como desejares,

veremos passar os brancos pés da manhã jovem

e jantaremos mel e pequeno peixes cintilantes.

III

Vivamos onde o crepúsculo vive depois do anoitecer,

no profundo, sonolento azul, façamos a nossa casa.

Encontremo-nos na erva fresca da tardinha com uma cegonha

e um assobio de salgueiro, tocado por um gnomo.

Meio adormecidos, meio despertos, ouviremos, conheceremos

o suave “Miserere” que a andorinha do bosque toca.

Vaguearemos até onde crescem as framboesas silvestres

e comê-las-emos ao chá e duas taças brancas com lírios.

Um poema de Elisabeth Bishop

Poems from Marianne Moore and Elisabeth Bishop

Words started to fall and shaping an affable nest in my hands. Pages immersed and become profound as a forest. A deer woke up and cautiously march until reach a niche of my bare skin to kindly caress it.

My Life is made of unexpected consonances that make me smile once in a while. Sometimes, words are stollen from me and, ever and again, restituted. Thank you Flaneur for this precious gift.

img_7396-3

The Enclosed Garden

11th of September 2016

 We hold in ourselves a suspend place called the enclosed garden. Is fairness is made of sparkling roses, gentle moss and elegant little ivies. Our soul knows keenly this place, full enchantments, because every time she faces a war, it is here that she returns to revive. Mine has been there for a while: bathing in roses, eating the magic from starlights — healing. Now, she breathes profoundly, she is genuine and pure again. She is not covered with the mantel of fears that we all wear. She let it fall into the floor to become moss, and than earth.  She wears now a translucent dress made of hope, mercy and crystalline grace.

 

Where are you going, Little Princess?

DSC_0224.jpg

                                                                                        7th of September 2016

Dear Diary,

This morning, memories of my infancy flood through my eyes  – my grandfather appeared to me with his tenderness and I heard him call for me: “Little Princess, where are you going?”. I was less than 5 years old, my feet were small and fragile. Around me was the little paradise raised by my grandmother and grandfather’s hands. A vivid bougainvillea climbed through the walls with gracefulness: it was so immense and so utterly beautiful to gaze it. Peaceful I was in those days, I was part of everything and I wasn’t apart from nothing. I was fearless and pure. I didn’t felt emptiness or loneliness because I was bounded to a secret imaterial world where such a thing didn’t exist. Those days of joy where my grandfather father’s hand was still reachable are felt today with affection and nostalgia.