Always with the dreaming, the make-believe, the pretend-to-be. Never with the thinking, the make-it-happen, the things-as-they-are. When others saw rain, he saw showers. When others saw snow, he saw feathers. When others saw darkness, he saw the Milky Way, a sneeze of white light he met with ‘God bless you’. He saw magical things in the iris of his green eyes…He was a poem .…..♥ Continue reading Green eyes….

You leave magnifying impressions on torn pages. You’d never climb on a star empty-handed. Such is your grace. You like word plays and you like poetry storms. And everything is in your head, everything; silence, misty days, a plenitude of distinctly colored autumn leaves, folk songs, ink pens, jazz musical organs and old typewriters. You are walking up and down in front of coffeehouses without entering; you love the purposeless, the eternal. And you love to feel the atoms of the air and not merely the air itself as a whole, you worship each rain drop separately as much as you … Continue reading Rain…

I came across this quote excerpted from Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed. He calls it the ‘banking’ method, in which teachers just treat the students like empty vessels and dump the information into them. As Freire said himself, “Narration leads the students to memorize mechanically the narrated content. Worse yet, it turns them into “containers,” into “receptacles” to be “filled” by the teacher.” This not only restricts the students’ ability to express themselves, but this project “an absolute ignorance onto others, a characteristic of the ideology of oppression, negate[ing] education and knowledge as a process of inquiry.” I’m pretty sure … Continue reading Paulo Freire (Pedagogy of the Oppressed)

Not all dark places need light, some of them are full of dreams… ♥ Photo: South Africa. Basutoland (now Lesotho). Maseru. A boy plays an oil can guitar in the burned out ruins of his home during political violence. 1961. Continue reading Art is art…

What I find attractive in women: What I find most attractive in women, the subtle glow of courage under their fake smiles. I love how women, are more beautiful in their breaking point. I love the awkwardness, or the candid parts of them. Like, an almost brash laugh, they can’t control or the sad reflection of their eyes as they control their tears. There are so many things I love about women. The fragility and grace under posterior of glamorous ice. Even their words, seem calculated to the very last syllable. What I find attractive in men: What I find attractive in … Continue reading Attractive people…

  Flesh of your flesh, let it be a sacrament, I shall take you whole to devour, in place of your spirit, which I so long to reach— let it be your lips that quiver, in syncopation with your heart, let your heart pulse with the longing of your soul. Let us be full and empty with the fast of our bodies on our lips. We shall be a cycle of desire and satiation. And when, we have been torn to pieces we will at last be free to be whole… ♥ Art by Ary Scheffer     Continue reading Flesh of your flesh….

Poetic word of processes, machines, gears, artifacts, mechanisms. The word that marks attitudes, sometimes hurts fiercely as the spearhead, sometimes heals with a touch of sweetness. The word love, ecstasy, imagination, penetrating and acute — the language of the living being, content and discontent. Verbal Penetration, the language of a “complex engineering” syntax. The poet is a craftsman of descriptions and metaphors that seek the “mechanism of the sign” in prose and verse. From the language outcrops living entities that writhes to habits of the animal-man  and change, grow, defile itself, evolve.  From its constituent part, the phonetics is one that … Continue reading Verbal Penetration…

To remember my childhood does not mean just spreading up loose words on blank pages or simply narrating past events and facts. It means stirring up a series of dreams, feelings, emotions, sensations of fear and insecurities… To remember my past is remember playing with my brothers and friends, places, smells, flavors and music of such importance that were recorded in my memory and built what I am today. I distinctly remember the smells of the foods my mother prepared; garlic in hot oil, the smell of flowers in the yard, people, the morning of Congonhas do Campo city (Minas Gerais), … Continue reading The Memory of Time …

Tenho poemas nas ruas, tenho poesias nas esquinas, nos olhos das pessoas, no vento que vagueia pelo ar… tenho poemas na pele, eu tenho poesia no suor salgado que me escapa pelos poros, tenho um poema para você, para que dia nasça melhor, para seguir vivendo, a cada toque do destino…para cada sorriso seu… ♥  I have poems on the streets, I have poetry on street corners, in people’s eyes, the wind drifting through the air … I have poems in skin, I’ve got poetry in salty sweat pores that escapes me, I have a poem for you, for the … Continue reading I have a poem….