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Thinking pacifies me. Writing tires and bores me. I spend long time ruminating an easy way to say a difficult thing. Successfuly most times - friends tell me! I'm as happy as Archimedes. I leave the great novels to Charles Dickens and Leon Tolstoy and

The stage of life is there it's yours you can dance sing howl recite a poem carry out a comedy drama tragicomedy cry laugh or you can just keep sitting in the audience to envy the other's performance O palco da vida está ali é teu podes dançar

It's not always easy to record emotions from life and so poems get lost frequently due to the lack of time in the right moment. ********************* NO TIME NO POEM ********************* Nem sempre é fácil registar emoções

"I'm still too young to write this poem", the author tells us at the very beginning, and I agree and affirm, for her comfort, that no one is the right age to write, because writing is untimely; time doesn't even exist, what there is is a bio-chemical

Awake at dawn lying in the comfort of my bed I hear muted news of the radio alarm inadvertently left connected and insisting on refugee hordes fleeing from fratricidal wars to drown in the Mediterranean or find the cheap labor peace in the host countries

GUERNICA White-grey-black-rectangle spectre of Guernica's flight of arms-legs-heads and their morsels in Madrid at the museum I hear the sarcastic bombing of silent comments. (to see / read the original Portuguese version

In the way up there is a time for tiredness it's when we stop and look to the way already done from which we can conclude even we climb much more there will be no bigger reach in the life's horizon. Na subida da vertente há lugar para

I get lost in crossed ways complex deflections infinite trails I don't go back nor get away from the future of uncertain ways complex fears infinite dreams. Determined I carry on and stumble I fall to the ground and become moribund herald of incoming

From the brief light evanescent of the star's movement I apprehend the beauty of escaping forms that will be lost in darkness and sleep. /// Pela luz breve fugaz do movimento dos astros apreendo a beleza das formas

A sunray slips down by ruined walls of the house ahead and stupidly also into my thought as there was nothing more important to do in this right moment. Uma réstea de sol desliza nas paredes arruinadas da casa em frente e

Wtiting flows slower and slower through the bottlenecks of my atheresclerosis one of these days nor the "h" of my ashes has any use A escrita flui cada vez mais lenta pelos estrangulamentos de minha ateroesclerose um dia destes nem o ponto no "i" de

Human waste supple like water foam on the barracks' wall until it tumbles in tears splinters of cement and lime dust we interweave in our hands. Desperdício humano dúctil como espuma de água no muro do quartel até ruir em lágrimas

I walk along the wall and do not know if I arrive at the end of the road or if I am on the threshold between reality and dream but I know that on the other side lives the unimaginative entity without uncertainties protected from me and the world.

Premature aging in times of imposed generosity while the sweat flows off from the axillas to be strangled by the broad belt in a salty spot white as a glide thought dying stain at the combat uniform. Velhice prematura no tempo da

Bear of the city brother of words Friend of thoughts, Him, he looks into the world with clear eyes and a false bonhomie. And what he says shows the original impatience: « I want to understand, says the kid to the man! Is there something to understand,

Brief writing synthesis of the life complex romance insomnia formula night by night repeated plea by intention of the next morning at the blue and sun washed windows light growing moderate joy poem that glorifies the day uncertainty.

We suffer on acute clear days we wake up to dream's prostitution frequent days nervous days of aristocratic thin sweat moistening bodies in velvet caresses of water. Labored breathing leads the way tiredness solitude we can't see the sea from here just

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Je t'aime beaucoup mon ami Armando, toi et ta Poésie. J'ai souvent le sentiment de bien te comprendre (malgré la langue!!) et ta propre poésie fait beaucoup de bien à la mienne. Tu sais, je ne crois pas que nos poèmes racontent nos vies mais...la vie, les

Armando TABORDA doesn't stay at the retirement lethargic sleeping. He thinks, watches, reads, writes, analysis consciences and utopias and releases dreams. The reward of all this internalization process is shown at his fifth book of poetry,