Nonsense

There is no such thing
as nonsense.

The most idiotic, foolish set of words
the most ridiculous message
the most absurd
is full of meaningful
relevant sense...

It must however
be carefully heard.

Meaning is mine to find
More than it is yours to decide.
Just as it is yours to discover
even what I think that I can hide.

Stephen Fry on Language

Stephen Fry Kinetic Typography - Language from Matthew Rogers on Vimeo.

Inside looking in

I live for this.

It's ridiculous,
I know.
Pathetic, exaggerated,
over the top,
Think what you like
it won't make me change.

Inside my head
there's a whole little world
I created to suit me
an order
I can rearrange.

It's made out of thoughts
built upon words
sustained by ideas
scaffolded only
by feeling and want.

So weak and ineffable,
hollow and scant
so meaningless too
people would say -
if they knew.

They'd be right
of course
in their own petty way.
But a world like this
is so reliable
pleasant and safe
it does not disappoint me
or fail to be true.
Plus it is all mine
to enjoy
and will last
for as long as do.


Of course,
if only you knock on my door -
even if you come
to ravage and shake
to strike and to break
all buildings and walls -


I will be delighted
and hope you will stay
after everything falls.

Going your way

I thought my whole life
I would just have to sit and wait
Pouring useless words out
While the best of life went on
cheerful and indifferent
right before
my self-blinded eyes.

But now, after all,
I exhilarate
almost out of breath
and feel as if I am soaring
high above.

All it took
was that gesture you made
a subtle provocation
that reached out
probing for what's there
poking my numb self
stirring its capacity
for love.


True,
nothing we might say
could build safe, solid ground
for us to land.
So let me go your way
and we'll just stay above
up in the sky -
not down in hell -
living on wild dreams
with no end.

So there you were

Acceptance is key, of course.
Take birds, insects, even mammals:
all except us
- wretched beastly souls -
just take or leave whatever's there
and move on.

We have to analyse, consider
- "what if...?" -
 speculate, refuse
try to change, absorb
and so many times abuse
that nothing can ever be the same
or - which is worse -
we make it gone.

So there you were,
just passing through
and I couldn't simply look away
once I had set my eyes on you.

And here I am
quite stuck
feeling trapped, paralysed, amazed...

Were I a lady-bird
a dog, a sea gull
or a duck
And the question
would never have been raised.

Say what you like

Say what you like
entice me
lure me
provoke me
with your flattering words,

there is nothing I can do.


Say what you will
make my heart pound
my eyes shine
my body tremble,
there is nowhere I can go

to be with you.


Say what I want
take me
tell me
give me
what I need.


It seems
that nothing I can be
will make you look away


But
sadly
tragically
fatally
nothing you or I can say


will make us lovers one day.

The Depth of My Dark Soul

T

T

T

T
The nature of my Soul is shapeless

And it is black, but can be white as well

It can fade like smoke or be stunningly bright

Always pulsing, nevertheless,

Permanently hiding out,

And coming back into sight.



The nature of my Soul can be a sunflower

It can be your smile, when you smile,

It can be a cold wind gust, for a while,

But remains unique in its power:

The golden sixty-first minute

of an entirely new hour.



The nature of my soul is ubiquitous,

It sees the good, it sees the bad,

It feels like a black hole

Slowly absorbing, in contraction

And waiting to expand

Into a burst of energy so strong and redeeming

So shockingly violent,

That six billion human beings,

Six billion wretched and blinded souls,

Would at once become silent.




(By Pedro Manuel and me)

Surround to forget

Let’s surround ourselves of beautiful things,
The world can forget us for a while.
Let’s accept what life brings,
At home, elsewhere in exile.

Let’s surround ourselves of beautiful things
Within a thousand or more than a mile
Let’s pretend that we’re kings
And love will rule for a while.

Let’s surround ourselves of beautiful things
Thus protecting ourselves from the rest...
Let's find peace at last in contemplation
Forget the longing and the pain inside your chest.


(Tikka Masala & Pedro Manuel)

High hopes

Up above
far and away
from solid ground,
high hopes
overcome me
making me soar
like a graceful bird
amidst a solemn infinity of blue...

but also -
for all I love and cannot touch
for all I see and will not be
for all I want and mustn't do -


feeling just a little bit sore
too.

Loneliness

People all around.
Indifferent, unknown,
Loving and loved ones,
Like little ducklings,
fighting sweetly
for the breadcrumbs
I've thrown.

I smile and feel a kind of pang
a distant woe, inside.
«How can you be lonely?», you ask.
Just because, who knows?
All that matters is
that instead of wanting them around
I want to run away and hide.


Loneliness
Is such a possessive friend, you know?
She wants the whole of me
at all times
by her side.

Madness

To doubt yourself and others

No more

To an extent

That you accept all that is

And is not

Good and bad

No matter

To never regret or repent.

To treat children, adults

Dogs or trees

In the same detached manner

As if they were dolls, a priest

God himself, or fleas.

To be here or there

As if you were in no place

And also everywhere

Incredibly far and near.

To be sure, to feel safe,

To be absurdly brave

To know no boundaries,

no fear.

To be unaware of the rules

And think of the wise

As fools.

Lightness

Photo by Nuno Pavão

Bright and light

saving the savour of day

when the wind

is just right,

setting a glow of beauty

against the background,

defying the very concept

of a beautiful sight.

Grudge

Yes, I bear a grudge.
It's big. It's huge
and it's making me grind my teeth
as I try to get some sleep
late at night.

No, I'm not all right.
There's a smudge in our lives
A stain on my cloth,
as, for sure,
on those of many - countless - other wives.

True, I am not certain
How much of the mess I created
What part of the fault
is my own.
Still, at night,
when I feel weighed down
by this burden
it is you I envisage
when I inadvertedly frown


as if you were a cruel
little mischievous child
and I
a poor, professional clown.

Worthless words

These are words I put together,
words I could not say.
Words made of my imperfection
like almost visible stuff
I try to protect
from the light of day.

But it is useless
both to hide and to reveal them.

Who the hell reads poetry anyway?

Rotten within

You're fresh, full of life,

others wish they were you.
Why moan about the weather
when you're sheltered and safe?


You say you don't, but you do.
You fasten yourself to a tether,
choose bitterness, strife,
and misery too.

Beastly beauty

In all of us
without exception
- and that's the beauty of it -
there's a bit of spark,
a bit of dust.

In me and you
alike
there's something beautiful
we can trust
and something awful too,
a terrible truth
to lie about.
There's colour and life
till blindless
and stillness
strike.

In us and them,
there's all and nothing,
no doubt.
The question is merely
what's in
and what's out.

Hang in there

Photo by Nuno Pavão

Hang in there,
I say to myself
even if you feel like an old book
yellowing away on a shelf.
Hang in there,
I whisper to me
even if you feel like an old leaf
hanging half dead from a tree.
Hang on,
I say,
don't let go.

You're alive
and that's bliss

be grateful
for light and joy
but also
for pain and woe.

Giving for a living

Photo by Nuno Pavão















Everyday,
everywhere,
there's a chance for us to give.

When we choose
not to look,
not do dwell on it,
not to think, so we can live,

our lives may carry on,
we may believe we get somewhere,
we accomplish what we want.
But happiness, bliss, true peace inside?
Not a chance.
Not until we give with joy and pride.

Inconvenient me

Photo by Nuno Pavão

Inconvenient me

Indiscreet and loud

Saying either too many words
or the wrong ones

Spinning a web of futility
with my big mouth.

Wind in the pines

Wind in the pines,

you sing to me

such soothing lines...

The doves on their arms

know not of the charms

that their songs,

along with yours,

actually possess.

Truly,

your almost inaudible cries

feel like a caress.