Maria Auxiliadora

Mother, thank you for the gift of life. Rest in Peace.

Beyond The Blue Skies

Beyond the blue skies                     

I may find all the reasons,

so many doubts, so many whys.

There was a time 

I thought I knew...

There was a time 

I thought I knew...

But it was only youth 

exuding from my pores.

Beyond the blue skies

Lie all the answers.

If only I could fly so high.

      

A Brick...

Alone,

you get to decide

where a brick goes:

you can put it here

you can put it there.

In your hands,

a brick is free

to be anything or nothing.

A poet,

from the baltic sea,

found grandiose desires

in each brick he saw,

and when he parted this life,

he had not a brick to show;

yet his structures

will outlast us all.

If you have

all that you soul desires

you can place a brick

behind your doors,

to prevent someone

from taking your possessions.

I wish

that bricks were free

to be anything it desires,

God,

made it eternal,                                                                                                       

and cursed man with free will 

and infinite crossroads

with no undergrowth

only plenitude.

With so many roads ahead,

man despairs,

and in doubt,

grabs a brick

and set his roots 

here, there,

anywhere:

creates a village, meets a girl

makes other man

to sacrifice for.

Nothing makes a man prouder

than sacrificing for a new generation:

among all the species,

man is the only one

that can exude heroism

while in full retreat.

The bible

talks about man

but it says nothing about bricks:

man was created

at God’s own image;

but man perishes

in a well of uncertainty,

bricks are everywhere:

solid, determined, eternal.

At the end of his life  

every man should have nothing but a brick

to leave behind,

somewhere,

for a child to find.

ART and WRITING

 

Tick Tack

      Be what you will; whatever life asks of you. Don't conform, don't try to blend, life favors the creatures that flow from one moment to another; it is art, don't for a second think that flowing means being unaware, or worse, uncaring about this moment, which is life itself. 

     When things come, watch them, feel them, experience them as if life, as if this moment is water in a bathtub: step in, lower yourself in, submerged to the bottom of it and stay there until gasping for air; air being the day to day of the same day, the things you do again and again and again without any form, without providence, without care, without soul.

     Be what you will, because whether you want, you see, or wishes, it is all that you have and at this precise moment, if you move your eyes from this screen and feel, you will notice that you are. You might not yet be what you wish you were but you are, and that is something; to be in this world is, in these days, unappreciated; preference given to what you want to be or think you ought to be. 

     But being is not a cul-de-sac, it's not a destination, it is a tick on the lifeline of every human; you never arrive at being. You live it day to day to day, and you tack here and there, make amends, cut yourself, cry, laugh, hurt, and die. And at that moment you cease to be, but you are not quite there to see.

     If you believe in life after life you will continue away from here: this plane, this place, this stage of being to something I don't quite ponder too much about. 

     I am busy being here, busy trying to be me; desperately trying to like whatever that turns out to be.

                                                                         

O Life, Where Art Thou?

In the Freedom

of your arms, night,

I find peace -

neverlasting.

Your wishes

stir my soul:

to create, to write,

to rest in peace.

In the warmth

of your embrace,

life is mutable:

filtered into a beauty,

I didn’t know exist.

We are all junkies

of the feelings you provide:

in factories, in narrow streets

scarcely bathed, light,

in the beauty and poetry of a lamp post.

We surrender at your feet;

we forget death; we forget life;

we forget ourselves:

our fears,

our demands, our mights

and we serve you

unconditionally.

“And so

from hour to hour

we ripe and ripe.

And then

from hour to hour

we rot and rot.

And thereby hangs a tale.”

Marco Aurélio and his friend William.

ART and WRITING

 

mobile

Castles Within

 I’m alone; an alone animal roaming a Covid infested world. My fellow man, although forced to stay home didn’t miss a beat, full speed ahead: angry, selfish, entitled. To what, I ask? To everything. Their space, your space, my space; space itself as they lounge upwards, bored with the mess they made of things down here.

I lounge forward too; searching for myself in memories and places within; for pockets of light I hid, from demons I encountered along the way; demons that gorge on light. Your light, my light, the light of the world itself. With the little light left in me I rebuild an entire world, because my nature demands that of me; it refuses to die. 

Dying is easy, but living it’s not hard as the canto goes; just tricky…

Mother

I was by the sea

When I realized

That sadness would always be.

The memory of my mother

Just too vast to forget

It sips into me, and me and me...

I practice many religions:

meditation, visualization, exercise,

Journaling, writing...

But mother is always there

She does not die; today

Or any other day.

And whatelse is there

Besides living with her within me?

A Breeze

 

HTML flu

Shades

update: I'm all better! Thanks, Dr. Hussain

The Apple Tree on the Hill

An apple tree grew up alone; until settlers came, and a french village was created.

( written by Marco Aurélio based on a painting by Lucas Aurélio. Front cover. )

Coming Soon!

( original painting - The Apple Tree on the Hill by Lucas Aurélio )

THE APPLE TREE

( written by Marco Aurélio based on a painting by Lucas Aurélio )

Once upon a time...

there was a tree. 1

She lived for awhile 2

with nothing around her, 3

nothing at all. 4

She stood there, 5

all night,         6

all day , 7

against the blue sky    8

that a hand drew    9

( a hand on the right corner of the page is finishing coloring the blue )

She stood on the grass 10

under the sun 11

under the rain 12

under the stars 13

alone...         14

until they came. 15

She couldn’t see them 16

she had no idea who they were 17

but she could feel them 18

as much as she feels you 19

little child 20

staring at her now. 21

( looking straight at reader )

She looked around 22

knowing that they were there 23

she felt them grabbing her branches 24

pulling her down 25

she felt heavy. 26

They said nothing 27

but they didn’t fool her 28

she knew that they were there 29

she could smell them. 30

Every now and then 31

she heard a thump 32

and another...             33

and another 34

until all of the sudden 35

she saw one of them 36

it jumped to the ground 37

one by one 38

and with each passing day 39

she felt lighter and lighter 40

and she was now sure she wasn’t crazy 41

they were stuck on her 42

she was was sure of it. 43

She didn’t know why 44

but she felt better now 45

with all those little red things 46

fallen to the ground.  47

And when the crows came, 48

and began taking those red things away, 49

she had a strange feeling 50

that she had done something 51

something she didn’t quite understand 52

something bigger than herself 53

she felt one with all that surrounded her 54

and she realized that all had always been there 55

around her 56

the butterflies, the worms, the crows, the wind 57

but she was too busy inside her mind to notice 58

and now.... 59

...she was alone no more. 60