Goethe

-  Enre

 ”as cores são ações e paixões da luz”

singra o azul do mar na praia do rosa
atravessa o verde em pajuçara
                                     e quando o sol
se derrama no porto da barra, é prata

ao encontrar teus pés, espelha o íntimo
no branco que espuma o prazer revelado

as ondas são retratos vivos
                           de múltiplos orgasmos

O Dragão

 - Eucanaã Ferraz

Semana que vem, chega-te pelo correio
a lua: puro papelão,
que aos teus dedos transmutará em loiça.

Não fosse a gripe que me assolou esses dias,
não fosse a preguiça, os livros e o sono,
eu te mataria um dragão.

Na entrada da tua vila, deixaria o bicho,
pesado como uma hecatombe
(um hematoma na boca do estômago,

as asas imensas de bomba
imersas numa poça de sangue verde).
Ora, não te assustes,

sei que te acostumei com presentes mais delicados.
Mas não seria preciso guardá-lo: telefonarias
para o Departamento de Limpeza Urbana

avisando que um louco que te ama
deixou um sonho morto
na porta da tua casa.

Full moon

-   Eden Ahbez 


To live in an old shack by the sea
(And breathe the sweet salt air)
To live with the dawn and the dusk
The new moon and the full moon
The tides the wind and the rain…
To surf and comb the beach
And gather sea shells and drift-wood
And know the thrill of loneliness
And lose all sense of time
And be free

To hike over the island to the village
And visit the marketplace
And enjoy the music and the food and the people
And do a little trading
And see the great ships come and go
And, man, have me a ball

And in the evening
(When the sky is on fire)
Heaven and earth become my great open cathedral
Where all men are brothers
Where all things are bound by law
And crowned with love
Poor, alone and happy
I walk by the surf and make a fire on the beach
And as darkness covers the face of the deep
Lie down in the wild grass
And dream the dream that the dreamers dream

I am the wind, the sea, the evening star
I am everyone, anyone, no one.

-  Sharon Van Etten


There were your eyes in the dark of the room,
The only ones shining,
The only set I had met in years.

It's not because I always look down.
It might be I always look out.
It might be I always look out.

I am biting my lip
As confidence is speaking to me?
I loosen my grip from my palm,
Put it on your knee.

In my way,
I say

You're the reason why I'll move to the city or
Why I'll need to leave.
You're the reason why I'll move to the city or
Why I'll need to leave.

There was your breath on the back of my neck,
The only one holding,
The only one I had felt in years.

It's not because I always hold on,
It might be I always hold out.
It might be I always hold out.

I am biting my lip
As confidence is speaking to me?
I loosen my grip from my palm,
Put it on your knee.

In my way,
I say

You're the reason why I'll move to the city or
Why I'll need to leave.
You're the reason why I'll move to the city or
Why I'll need to leave.

So what's with the eyes in the back of the room?
The only ones trying.
The only ones I have let in years.

It's not because I always give up,
It might be I always give out.

A moment

-  Mary Elizabeth Coleridge


The clouds had made a crimson crown
    Above the mountains high.
The stormy sun was going down
    In a stormy sky.

Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,
    And hold your breath between?
In all the ages this can never be
    As if it had not been.

Fixed horizon

-  Ben Doller

That night the wind moved as if pulled. It filled every space,
it moved a hill over. It approximated music in a steer’s skull,
& you tried to see it, where the eyes were. And then you saw it,
fixed horizon.

Wintering

-  Jennifer Chang


Tell me
I am a garden, the odd path

out of the forest, thorns. The floor
of our stone house

loves you
as I love your morning

weight, evening lightness.
We harvest the mist

over four lakes. We envy
beech leaves,

which won’t escape their branch
and fall.

It is January. You dive
for lake pearls,

freshwater assassins. What
would you have me

tell you? The black socks
were a joke. The cork

dried out. The air
still wet after rain. We hide

the shoe in our sycamore
and feast

on solitude. We envy mallards
traipsing

the lake’s thin ice.
Last ice. You

unstitch
your shirt, my sheet,

this poem.
At midnight, we thirst,

we wake and pace the halls.
Rose glass, ache,

pewter, moss: I fail
the window’s art. You wait

out the frost. Tell me
how to undo you.

Não sei quantas almas tenho

-   Fernando Pessoa

Não sei quantas almas tenho.

Cada momento mudei.

Continuamente me estranho.

Nunca me vi nem acabei.

De tanto ser, só tenho alma.

Quem tem alma não tem calma.

Quem vê é só o que vê,

Quem sente não é quem é,

Atento ao que sou e vejo,

Torno-me eles e não eu.

Cada meu sonho ou desejo

É do que nasce e não meu.

Sou minha própria paisagem;

Assisto à minha passagem,

Diverso, móbil e só,

Não sei sentir-me onde estou.

Por isso, alheio, vou lendo

Como páginas, meu ser.

O que segue não prevendo,

O que passou a esquecer.

Noto à margem do que li

O que julguei que senti.

Releio e digo: “Fui eu?”

Deus sabe, porque o escreveu.