Little Mary





Escondida na rua
Brincando sozinha
Onde estás, Mariazinha?


O sol já se pôs
E ela na vizinha
Onde estás, Mariazinha?


Perdida no mundo
Como uma avezinha
Onde estás, Mariazinha?
Onde estás, Mariazinha?



Just Weekly


I started writing this blog on a daily basis. In 2007 I changed to four a week posts and that’s how it has been until now. At this stage I feel like I can say whatever I feel like saying with just a weekly post, starting today.


Writing weekly brings a few advantages to me, namely time to organize or complete things I’ve been postponing. It also avoids stopping for good and losing what I learned in terms of writing.


Becoming more synthetic is going to be a challenge and I’ll have to select subjects with more care. Such challenges give me a sort of positive excitement and that feels good.


Besides this weekly posts, I intend to write when I have a genuine tale from the sea to tell, in an attempt to be truthful to my initial purposes.

Writing Pause


I’ve been writing a book. I am sure that I’ll finish it and maybe write some more, but I felt like stopping for a while. The reason making me stop is puzzlement. I don’t know if writer puzzlement exists, but I am sure simple human puzzlement is common.


I was writing under the impression that a polluted and smelly river was a bad thing from any possible point of view. I needed information, so I started to read a local blog and discovered a few disturbing aspects: 1) Local people don’t seem to bother that much. 2) They get offended if a stranger points at the river condition and the fetid stench, being stranger any person who doesn’t live there. It’s like they are saying: “If you don’t smell it, you are not allowed to touch the subject.”


As a person and as someone trying to write, I’ve just discovered that my truth never is absolute. I am sure this puzzlement is a learning process that will change the way I write and maybe the way I live. For now, I absolutely need this assessment pause.

About Being Yellow and Red




Round and round it goes
Yellow that’s how it is


The centre explodes in red
The colour exists to please


It gives, gently it gives
Again, again and again


Fragility in the wind
Flower until the end


When closed for the night
It can seem utterly boring


But for this pointlessly happy flower
Tomorrow is a different story


Places Where You Are




In the muchness of everything
I’ve lost track of where you are
From you still lingers the idea
Almost right, almost wrong
That in wild, untamed nights
When the wind insinuatingly blows
Your presence is widely sowed
As if nothing had changed and
Dreams were alive and strong