THE NEXT STATION


Our life has stopped anywhere,
In any season.
There was no fuel ... Love.

We try, we try and we almost succeed,
But the locomotive parked.
He lacked complicity.

All our desires, dreams came out of the carriages,
They abandoned us, our intimacy was over.
We make strangers, cold insensitive to our relationship.

The train of our life will start,
Only one will.
No tears will follow.
There will also be a farewell nod.

                                                                 Francisco Gouveia


I WITHOUT YOU


I without you, I am now sighing love.
Reason you do not have to be alone.
I know you're worried that you're not a woman.
But if I want to, I'll come back. I'm another. I forgot the past, the reasons I caused to be abandoned.
Forgive me and never left your side.


Francisco Gouveia  (Brazil)

                                                                 



The feast of worms


At the Worm feast we will be the main course.
There will be no silverware, napkins or glass bowl.
We have come from the dust and from the dust we will return again,
Before we will be carrion the repulsion of the living.

Death is a cell from which we can not escape.
All the microorganisms will devour us,
Each one will choose a piece of anatomy that pleases him,
From above, from the side, from below or from behind.
But surely the language will be on the table,
The carrion was the member that sinned the most.

Down under the earth also goes,
All power, glories, riches and cruel tyranny,
Pride, vanity, and worldly wisdom.
Whoever is embraced by the death of the grave does not go out.
"Only if Jesus comes to get you one day."

All misery, disease and all starvation,
Every woman and every man,
Every life in this world.
They can live for years, but they die in a second.

For all who fought, won or conquered,
Robbed or massacred, it was in vain,
Death does not take anything ... no.

What is of the world, in death your belongings from here do not leave,
So there is no drawer in a coffin,
In death, one does not make the change in a truck.
Against death we are in trouble,
When we die; We can not even carry our own carrion.

                                           Chico Gouveia




ST. VALETIN'S  DAY.



She sent me a note on scratch paper,
It was St. Valetin's day.
  Asking if I wanted to date,
As being valentines day,
  I could send you the answer in writing,
Along with a gift to please you.

I was very pleased with the proposal,
By the way she likes others to cheat.
Answering yes in the same role,
I sent it back without delay.
Gift a packet of sugar candy.
With the following words:
"Sucker is wrong with candy."

Chico Gouveia




NO TALE OF FARPS.


There are no fairy godmothers, witches or magic.
All this is illusion.
True happiness is inside the heart.
Much love, much joy.
My sweet girl blossoms my passion.

Do not be deceived by the dreams of the imagination,
They become nightmares and create the bogeyman.
That bring sorrow and tears,
That hurt the heart.

Whether you live in a magical world,
Choose good friends with dedication.
Do not trust promises, be sincere,
Honest and enjoy working.
This is a magical world for those who like to respect.



                                                                      Francisco Gouveia




SÃO DUAS, TALVEZ TRÊS.


São duas, talvez três que encantam a minha vida.
Eu só, depois você e mais duas que a vida veio conhecer.
Felicidade mais alegria marcam o início dos nossos dias.
São duas, talvez três concordam com a felicidade,
Ultimamente andas triste não sei porquê.

E então qual será o motivo, eu preciso saber.
Meu amor a tua felicidade, para mim é uma necessidade,
Também preciso ser feliz te vendo feliz,
Conta para mim a tua insatisfação,
Não me deixe pesaroso sofrendo do coração.

Nossa vida não pode deixar de ser um encanto,
Procuro por todos cantos  aonde eu possa ter errado,
Me sinto um réu, por mim mesmo estou condenado,
Talvez eu tenha te magoado, nossas filhas já sentem a diferença,
Não conseguem entender o que a nossa cabeça pensa.

Vivemos agora dentro de um lar distante,
Parece não se importar comigo um só instante.
Nada diz, foge do relacionamento,
Meu amor não  me faça  viver em tormento
Nossas filhas não merecem sofrimento.


                         Francisco Gouveia







THE SQUARE



She never sleeps alone, her bed is in the moonlight.
The wind hits its trees,
An eternal branch to shake,
Whispers and chirps of birds to nest.
In her icy seats there is always a soul to wrap.

The square full of grace and splendor,
Receive all who pass with love,
Silent, graceful, full of peace.
For her time stopped a corner of meditation.
Those who go to it always have a new joy,
A new pleasure to live another day.

The square is a place of friends, a place of light.
From rearranging up to clear the concerns,
Create new reasons to love life,
Watching children running, joking.
The innocence of the beginning of life, a certain future.
The square is a friend with open arms.
Where they fit all without distinction.
A place to make friends, sing, talk and love,
Have fun, get out of the rut.
And it does not get that far, it's just around the corner.

                           Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)




O  S a b u j o

Sabujo não é um cachorro. É um apelido dado a uma pessoa. Um homem de coração muito grande e bom. Prestativo, amigo e a prova de qualquer serviço. Trabalhador.

Um dia apareceu lá na fazenda pedindo água. Conversou, desconversou, disse que estava perdido e não tinha um lugar para ficar, pediu emprego. E ficou. Um presente dos céus.

Fez amizade fácil com todos até com os animais, até os patos andavam atrás dele e ele gostava disso.

Trabalha por dez e come por vinte. Quando você pensa em pedir para ele fazer alguma tarefa ele diz que já está feita. Eficiência total.

Nunca lhe chamamos por seu nome, sempre lhe chamávamos de novato e o apelido de sabujo surgiu quando o convidamos para caçar.
Pediu para nos guiar e nos guiou. Para nossa surpresa ele dizia é por aqui, é por ali... E atira na àquela direção, era fatal. Mais um alce ou uma lebre na panela. Não errava nas caçada, conhecia rastro, pegadas e trilhas com uma facilidade incrível, nunca perguntamos aonde aprendeu.

Todo animal da fazenda era seu amigo de estimação. Parece que até as galinhas eram apaixonadas por ele. Da mesma maneira que tratava as pessoas tratava os animais e aves.

Tem o caso que ele ficou ao lado de uma vaca doente por quatro dias sem comer e beber até que a vaca se restabeleceu. Já tinha visto gente feliz, mas por causa de uma vaca que sarou aquilo foi demais.

Agora o que realmente nos marcou profundamente e aumentou nosso apreço pelo sabujo foi: Certo dia pedi que ele fosse caçar uma lebre para nós e ele disse: uma só!
Respondi: Está bom! Traga-me umas três.
E ele saiu apressado com a espingarda a tira colo.

A floresta aqui não é muito densa em sua totalidade, mas tem muita fauna ainda, inclusive ursos que às vezes nos causavam transtornos.

Mas, foram mais de cinco horas de espera e nada dele voltar. Resolvemos ir atrás do Sabujo.

Não andamos muito e numa clareira estava sabujo caído todo machucado com cortes profundos pelo corpo e sagrava muito, mas ainda segurava uma bolsa de caçador com cinco lebres dentro.
A sua volta os arbustos estavam todos quebrados, parece que havia lutado muito com alguma coisa.
Ainda estava lúcido, apesar de tantos ferimentos. Perguntei a ele; O que ouve? Ele me respondeu. Urso, ele queria tomar a suas lebres, eu não deixei. Depois disto desmaiou.

Mais adiante esta um urso pardo grande baleado na cabeça, mas também tinha alguns machucados. A todos as qualidade que já conhecíamos do sabujo agora somamos  uma grande coragem.
Foram mais de três meses de internação, eu o visitava praticamente quase todos os dias. Já que ele era órfão e não tinha família, nós obrigatoriamente, por amor e amizade todos da fazenda era a sua família.
 E uma dessas visitas ele me impressionou e disse: Eu não queria machucar o urso, mas não teve jeito.
Quando ele voltou para casa o inverno já estava chegando, preparamos-lhe algumas surpresas. Uma festa com bolo de aniversário, presentes que lhe comoveu. Mas o que lhe fez chorar de verdade foi um grande casaco com a pele do urso que ele havia abatido. Na verdade ele não chorou pelo presente, chorou mais uma vez pelo urso morto.

Disse-lhe que queríamos lhe fazer uma dedicatória, mas não nos lembramos de seu nome.
Sabujo respondeu: Eu também nunca disse, amigos não precisam  de nome, precisa ser amigo, e a única maneira de ter amigos e ser amigo o meu nome é Emerson.


Francisco Gouveia ( Brasil)


  



                                                                                          Ralph Waldo Emerson









B O M B

The world is a bomb about to explode.
But there's a bomb exploding everywhere.
And it has a bomb that does not explode, but it's a bomb.
My wife is a bomb.
She also discovered that I am a bomb ...
But only after twenty years of marriage.

Bomb, same bomb is my mother-in-law,
Live by exploding my patience.
My children then ...
My boss, my manager these really are men's pumps.
But do not explode, want and blow up others ...
Mainly me.

Every day has a bomb threat,
It could be in the building I work for, so I stayed at home;
With my family bombs.
Everybody is blowing up somehow.
Bomb on the subway, bomb on the railway station,
Bomb in the department store. School Attacks
Bomb ... Wait a minute, I never heard of a brothel blowing up.
By the way these are the safest places in the world.
So I heard that there was or is not a President who does not leave.
He became so addicted to the thing that his administration
Fock you everyone.
They even throw bombs on the neighbor.

                                          Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)



SENZALA SECRETS

Big house and the senzala,
In the basement of the great room.
The slaves after the service,
They serve for the boss to pack up.
To lie on the bed of the slaves, to mix the two.
To have more slaves for free.

The story tells a lot, but also a lot of hides,
But the skin of the population denounces, And also announces many slaves were raped to give color to the nation.
Many secrets of the senzala are still chained,
Imprisoned by shame, by the shame of slavery,

Man is born free. Liberty does not even today have this option.
The senzalas are different, different from the basement,
The shackles are invisible and hold more than the arms and hands.
Some gag their mouth and cover their sight.
The secrets of the senzala never end.


Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)



COME HAPPINESS


Come to me with open arms,
Because I'm close to you.
Come smiling and happy,
Because it's here who always wanted you.

Come happiness, come!
I'm just sad and without anyone.
Loneliness is a house in darkness, without light.
The light of the eyes of a union.

Come happiness, come!
Be with you somebody who wants me well.
Come, I am with open arms,
Waiting for you, too.

                                      Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)



Brooklin is Brooklin the rest is Manhattan.


I was born of incest they say: what do I do? I take this story to court and play in the basket. I make 2 points and I get discounts on worry
Life is full of good things and bad things. There is bacon, pizza, hamburger and fried eggs in fat and everyone eats.

Damn the balance, bad cholesterol and heart attack. If that's why I die, I want it to be in my room, with a cold beer in my hand.
Good things ... Here it is: The Brooklin! Brooklin and Brooklin. The best people in the world are here. Well ... it's kind of messed up, but it's fixed.

Drugs, addictions here also have, but the White House also has. Go there and complain!
To be patriotic, is not to swing flag with the hand, this is thing of idiot.
To be patriotic is to do, to help, to work within the community,

This is where the country begins, and my country starts at Brooklin, at my house.
I just have to cross a bridge to get my feet in the rest of my country. And run around like the Forest Gamp, but never forget home, but never forget the Brooklin or the family that is a piece of my homeland, my life and my love.

Happiness is a patchwork that sews one rectangle at a time.
When I get sad, my rest is at sunset. It is La that I look for the joy, the happiness of my pains, I take my pieces to form my quilt of happiness. 
Then I start all over again. But I'm back from Brooklin!
I do not want to disparage the neighborhood or the district of anyone, 
New York is a love for all of us.
But Brooklin is my Paradise, you can put whatever defect you want, for me Brooklin is Brooklin the rest is Manhatann.

                                                                         Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)



LIFE


How good to talk about someone else's life!
All the defects of the world are of others.
Everything that is bad belongs to you.
Heir of malignity.
Without character, dignity an outcast in society.

But when you look in the mirror and look like the other,
The thing is transformed.
Every cat is the same, until he opens his paw,
Some have nails sharper than others.

It is the language, one more fulfilled than another,
Always judging and speaking what you should not.
But the bad name of the language is the prize for the bad character of the owner.
I know two people who have been suffering for several years because of rumors.
One is the girl who went to a camp and said that,
He got pregnant after having sex with seventeen boys.
One of them took the son and pays his mother's pension,
But the boy looks like another who was in the camp. Eternal dilemma without DNA.
It is rumor for what seems to begin with a truth
That turns into a lie.
The lie of a tongue that does not fit inside the mouth.
And the desire to disparage another.
And my grandmother would say: "You want to take care of the lives of others; Buy a cat he has seven lives ".

                                            Francisco Gouveia


** Dedicated to my neighbor who has a flower name.





There in the field

I was born there in the country.
And everyone in the field likes to dance.
Everyone danced.
But I did not know, when I saw them, I began to cry.
But my father one day said: Put this kid in the ant hill,
That he learns already.

Ai, Ai, Ai as an itchy ant scratch,
Then I started jumping.
My brothers clapped their hands to sing.
- This dancer comes first.
- This dancer comes first.

Back in the fields,
Everyone loves to date,
While my brothers were dating,
I would peek and cry.
I did not know how to date.
Mom said one day: deliver it to Rose,
That he learns already.

Ai, Ai, Ai how good it is to kiss,
Ai, Ai, Ai how good it is to hug.
More Rose told me:
"Do not squeeze me too hard if you will not break me."

I was born there in the countryside,
And in the field everyone likes to work,
I worked hard.
But now that I've learned to date,
I want shade and fresh water,
And Rose to kiss.

Ai, Ai, Ai the weekend has arrived,
Piper plays a waltz,
I want with my love to dance.
I want to dance well, take a lot of kisses,
Till the sun comes up.

                         Francisco Gouveia




STILL AND ...


I still head down the alleyways of Lisbon.
Sometimes sad, sometimes laughing at random.
I remember her staring out the window at Malhoa.
But there was already what was between us like the drizzle and morning breeze on the beach.

Or like the wind that slowly lifted her skirt.
Happy times of certain open smiles of happiness.
Today I am like an oyster or a seafood closed by longing.
But...

I still head down the alleyways of Lisbon.
Sometimes sad, sometimes laughing at random.
I remember her staring out the window at Malhoa.

                   Francisco Gouveia

IRONY I'm outraged at the Manchester terrorist In England. Spend bombs with innocent teenagers. With so many ...