Friday, February 26, 2016

Are we awake or asleep in the absurd hour?

´I am dreaming about thinking, about thinking about dreaming´ 
For the last week, the Thief is back, robbing me of every sleeping hour- I am sick, but I have written some poems :)
Firstly though- Who is this Thief? And where exactly am I when he robs me?

Was I thinking or dreaming
When I lay awake at night
In the absurd hour?

A thought would mean
All the notes I made
Were real.

A dream would mean
Perhaps none of them
Were true.

Should I
Go to sleep,
Or wake up
To find out?
(© Gerry Aldridge 2016)

Eu estava a pensar ou a sonhar Quando à noite ficava acordado A horas absurdas?
Um pensamento significaria Todas as notas que eu escrevi Eram reais.
Um sonho quer dizer Que talvez nenhuma delas Seja verdadeira.
Eu devo Ir dormir, Ou acordar Descobrir?
(© Gerry Aldridge 2016)





Friday, February 19, 2016

The Death Of A Poet.

It was a bright sunny day and I had some hours off, so I decided to go and write a poem. I settled down in a warm spot in the centre of my home town Cascais with a coffee and a cigarette in hand- and waited. I tried chucking a few thoughts around and even remembering some emotions, but nothing came to me. I tried to imagine, invent, feel something- but there was nothing there.
I started to have my daily panic of losing poetry, but I do not give up that easily. I wrote a poem about not being able to write a poem- Poetry is the only form of creativity which scares me- I do not know from one day to the next if I have it anymore.
The Death Of A Poet.
Some days I wake up empty
Something has left me.
  
A discarded shell
On a desolate beach.
With no more purpose,
Nothing to learn
And nothing to teach.

Pick me up
Put me to your ear.
No sea
Or ocean
Will you hear.

Where is my mind
When it is not there?
Emptiness 
Is a cruel consequence
Of contentment.

 Or is it,
The death of a poet?
(© Gerry Aldridge 2016)

Saturday, February 13, 2016

I Am Your Bird.

How can I save all my best poems for the Lit journals?
This is the best poem I have written for a while- I hope you like it :)

I am your bird.
It is me you meet
In the hour absurd.
Not the dog
That howls at the moon
Or the cat
That fights in the night.
But the bird
That sings to you
Makes dreams with you
While the rest of the world
Is asleep.
(Gerry Aldridge)

j'ai soif d'un baiser.

Comme une ville qui s'allume
Et que le vent achève d'embraser,
Tout mon cœur brûle et se consume,
J'ai soif, oh ! j'ai soif d'un baiser.
Baiser de la bouche et des lèvres
Où notre amour vient se poser,
Plein de délices et de fièvres,
Ah ! j'ai soif, j'ai soif d'un baiser !
Baiser multiplié que l'homme
Ne pourra jamais épuiser,
Ô toi, que tout mon être nomme,
J'ai soif, oui, j'ai soif d'un baiser.
Fruit doux où la lèvre s'amuse,
Beau fruit qui rit de s'écraser,
Qu'il se donne ou qu'il se refuse,
Je veux vivre pour ce baiser.
Baiser d'amour qui règne et sonne
Au cœur battant à se briser,
Qu'il se refuse ou qu'il se donne,
Je veux mourir de ce baiser.
Germain Nouveau.

Free 14th 15th February Award winning memoir- Find your own future!

Just.

If you are in control of love,
You are not a lover -
Just a friend
I love.
(Gerry Aldridge)


Thoughts of a Restless Mind: Flores e Champanhe...

Thoughts of a Restless Mind: Flores e Champanhe...

último poema- Félix Francisco Casanova

Eres un buen momento para morirme
A María José
Amaneciendo y anocheciendo
a un mismo tiempo,
cariño, ¿no es ésta la forma
en que te gustaría vivir?
En mi cabeza hay un álbum
de fotos amarillentas
y lo voy completando con mis ojos,
con los más leves ruidos,
atrapando olores en el aire
y en cada sueño que sueño.
¿Sabes una cosa, pequeña?
La última página de mi álbum
tiene tu boca lluviosa mordiéndome un labio,
un disco de rock'n'roll
y calcetines de colores.
Mis ojos han sido rápidos,
te he hecho el amor con la ropa puesta
a través de una
larga pajita dorada
mientras cruzabas la calle
con el cabello ardiendo.
Pero ahora son tus pies
quienes dan mis pasos,
¡así que no te equivoques
pues me caería!
Te bebo en cada vaso de agua
que sacia mi sed,
mis palabras son claras como niños pequeños
o espesas como semen empapando cortinas,
pero hoy tengo que inventar
un nuevo idioma
para conversar con tus tiernos maullidos eléctricos
y los gritos de euforia
de la gente que vive en tu cabeza.
Debes saber que a veces
soy como un entierro interminable,
siempre triste y azul
subiendo y bajando
por la misma calle.
Pero otras veces soy un río de risa
corriéndome por toda la ribera,
haciendo el amor a la mar,
una felicidad contagiosa,
un revólver de amor, nena,
y voy a disparar justo a tu corazón
¡bang bang!
¿te di?
Quiero arrollarte, enrollarte y arrullarte,
montaña de aguardiente
y tarde rojiza.
Eres un buen momento para morirme.
(14 de diciembre del 75. último poema- Félix Francisco Casanova)

Friday, February 12, 2016

The Different Sides Of Poetry- the different gifts it brings

Today I have discovered that the joy of writing poetry is in the rhythm as much as the words. Today I have been reflecting on my last few poems and the ones I have been reading sitting in the sofa happy, my life almost in rhythm with my poems.I feel like a poem.
I am learning :) :) :)



Sunday, February 7, 2016

Carnival Portugal 2016

This is what happens in my crazy little village every year X :)















Friday, February 5, 2016

What about the doers?

It's not that smart people are more clever than us, they just think more. 
(Gerry Aldridge)