Pedro Peres
@cavaleiromonge.bsky.social
In doubt, a flame
In the quiet of my longing,
a silver thread begins to shine
Between the fear and falling open,
I breathe once—
and trace the line
Every echo that returns
is a seed beneath my skin
The ground is soft, unsure, and shifting…
but doubt
is where hope lets itself in
#song #doubt #hope
In the quiet of my longing,
a silver thread begins to shine
Between the fear and falling open,
I breathe once—
and trace the line
Every echo that returns
is a seed beneath my skin
The ground is soft, unsure, and shifting…
but doubt
is where hope lets itself in
#song #doubt #hope
June 22, 2025 at 6:34 PM
#WilliamGolding
#LordOfTheFlies
#poetry
* a more intimate echo of the reader who no longer reads the book,
but reads itself in its margins
__________
Inner Margin
She no longer reads.
Traces the stains on the page
with her finger
Doesn’t know if it’s blood,
ketchup,
or some earlier childhood
1/3
#LordOfTheFlies
#poetry
* a more intimate echo of the reader who no longer reads the book,
but reads itself in its margins
__________
Inner Margin
She no longer reads.
Traces the stains on the page
with her finger
Doesn’t know if it’s blood,
ketchup,
or some earlier childhood
1/3
June 20, 2025 at 3:43 AM
#WilliamGolding
#LordOfTheFlies
#poetry
* a more intimate echo of the reader who no longer reads the book,
but reads itself in its margins
__________
Inner Margin
She no longer reads.
Traces the stains on the page
with her finger
Doesn’t know if it’s blood,
ketchup,
or some earlier childhood
1/3
#LordOfTheFlies
#poetry
* a more intimate echo of the reader who no longer reads the book,
but reads itself in its margins
__________
Inner Margin
She no longer reads.
Traces the stains on the page
with her finger
Doesn’t know if it’s blood,
ketchup,
or some earlier childhood
1/3
Among Echoes
She turns the pages
of the island free of adults.
Worse than madness:
sanity.
She says it again,
like licking a wound.
Twice.
Three times.
Sanity straightens its back.
pretends to know.
Madness bites—
but meets your eyes.
She is optimistic
floating among shells and fear.
1/2
She turns the pages
of the island free of adults.
Worse than madness:
sanity.
She says it again,
like licking a wound.
Twice.
Three times.
Sanity straightens its back.
pretends to know.
Madness bites—
but meets your eyes.
She is optimistic
floating among shells and fear.
1/2
June 20, 2025 at 3:21 AM
Among Echoes
She turns the pages
of the island free of adults.
Worse than madness:
sanity.
She says it again,
like licking a wound.
Twice.
Three times.
Sanity straightens its back.
pretends to know.
Madness bites—
but meets your eyes.
She is optimistic
floating among shells and fear.
1/2
She turns the pages
of the island free of adults.
Worse than madness:
sanity.
She says it again,
like licking a wound.
Twice.
Three times.
Sanity straightens its back.
pretends to know.
Madness bites—
but meets your eyes.
She is optimistic
floating among shells and fear.
1/2
The Stork on the Ruins
I saw a stork perched on a garbage dump today
There she stood— white as a misplaced miracle, her eyes full of birth and death, comings and goings
No fields, no frogs, no open sky
Only torn bags, used diapers, ghosts of packages that never dissolve
Nevertheless, she remained
I saw a stork perched on a garbage dump today
There she stood— white as a misplaced miracle, her eyes full of birth and death, comings and goings
No fields, no frogs, no open sky
Only torn bags, used diapers, ghosts of packages that never dissolve
Nevertheless, she remained
June 20, 2025 at 1:07 AM
The Stork on the Ruins
I saw a stork perched on a garbage dump today
There she stood— white as a misplaced miracle, her eyes full of birth and death, comings and goings
No fields, no frogs, no open sky
Only torn bags, used diapers, ghosts of packages that never dissolve
Nevertheless, she remained
I saw a stork perched on a garbage dump today
There she stood— white as a misplaced miracle, her eyes full of birth and death, comings and goings
No fields, no frogs, no open sky
Only torn bags, used diapers, ghosts of packages that never dissolve
Nevertheless, she remained
.
#senryu #quirkiness #excentricidade #vss365
mismatched socks parade —
neighbours nod without a word
#quirkiness
_________________
meias diferentes —
os vizinhos acenam
#excentricidade
.
#senryu #quirkiness #excentricidade #vss365
mismatched socks parade —
neighbours nod without a word
#quirkiness
_________________
meias diferentes —
os vizinhos acenam
#excentricidade
.
June 19, 2025 at 5:44 PM
.
#senryu #quirkiness #excentricidade #vss365
mismatched socks parade —
neighbours nod without a word
#quirkiness
_________________
meias diferentes —
os vizinhos acenam
#excentricidade
.
#senryu #quirkiness #excentricidade #vss365
mismatched socks parade —
neighbours nod without a word
#quirkiness
_________________
meias diferentes —
os vizinhos acenam
#excentricidade
.
.
#tanka #quirkiness #haikufeels
rusted gate swings wide —
a garden of old umbrellas
hums in silent wind.
I hum back, a crooked tune,
rooted in #quirkiness
_________________
portão enferrujado —
jardim de chapéus partidos
canta sem vento.
assobio em tom torto,
eco de #excentricidade
.
#tanka #quirkiness #haikufeels
rusted gate swings wide —
a garden of old umbrellas
hums in silent wind.
I hum back, a crooked tune,
rooted in #quirkiness
_________________
portão enferrujado —
jardim de chapéus partidos
canta sem vento.
assobio em tom torto,
eco de #excentricidade
.
June 19, 2025 at 5:33 PM
.
#tanka #quirkiness #haikufeels
rusted gate swings wide —
a garden of old umbrellas
hums in silent wind.
I hum back, a crooked tune,
rooted in #quirkiness
_________________
portão enferrujado —
jardim de chapéus partidos
canta sem vento.
assobio em tom torto,
eco de #excentricidade
.
#tanka #quirkiness #haikufeels
rusted gate swings wide —
a garden of old umbrellas
hums in silent wind.
I hum back, a crooked tune,
rooted in #quirkiness
_________________
portão enferrujado —
jardim de chapéus partidos
canta sem vento.
assobio em tom torto,
eco de #excentricidade
.
.
#haibun
Vaguei pela estação ao crepúsculo, com o bolso cheio de tsurus dobrados em segredo. Cada um era uma pequena confissão dos meus hábitos: contar as pedras do chão, saudar as lanternas como se falassem. O mundo parecia vasto e ligeiramente torto — como um poema mal recordado num sonho.
#haibun
Vaguei pela estação ao crepúsculo, com o bolso cheio de tsurus dobrados em segredo. Cada um era uma pequena confissão dos meus hábitos: contar as pedras do chão, saudar as lanternas como se falassem. O mundo parecia vasto e ligeiramente torto — como um poema mal recordado num sonho.
June 19, 2025 at 5:21 PM
.
#haibun
Vaguei pela estação ao crepúsculo, com o bolso cheio de tsurus dobrados em segredo. Cada um era uma pequena confissão dos meus hábitos: contar as pedras do chão, saudar as lanternas como se falassem. O mundo parecia vasto e ligeiramente torto — como um poema mal recordado num sonho.
#haibun
Vaguei pela estação ao crepúsculo, com o bolso cheio de tsurus dobrados em segredo. Cada um era uma pequena confissão dos meus hábitos: contar as pedras do chão, saudar as lanternas como se falassem. O mundo parecia vasto e ligeiramente torto — como um poema mal recordado num sonho.
.
#haibun
I wandered the empty station at dusk, my pocket full of paper tsurus folded in secret. Each was a confession of my strange ways — how I count platform tiles, how I greet lanterns as if they might reply. The world felt vast and slightly tilted, like a poem misremembered in a dream.
#haibun
I wandered the empty station at dusk, my pocket full of paper tsurus folded in secret. Each was a confession of my strange ways — how I count platform tiles, how I greet lanterns as if they might reply. The world felt vast and slightly tilted, like a poem misremembered in a dream.
June 19, 2025 at 5:10 PM
.
#haibun
I wandered the empty station at dusk, my pocket full of paper tsurus folded in secret. Each was a confession of my strange ways — how I count platform tiles, how I greet lanterns as if they might reply. The world felt vast and slightly tilted, like a poem misremembered in a dream.
#haibun
I wandered the empty station at dusk, my pocket full of paper tsurus folded in secret. Each was a confession of my strange ways — how I count platform tiles, how I greet lanterns as if they might reply. The world felt vast and slightly tilted, like a poem misremembered in a dream.
Veil
I dwell below you.
but we've never touched.
Your floor holds your days.
my dreams are on my ceiling.
Sometimes I can hear you laughing.
I sometimes breathe more deeply.
as if you could hear me.
A quiet gentleness climbs
the wall between us like ivy climbing to light.
1/2
I dwell below you.
but we've never touched.
Your floor holds your days.
my dreams are on my ceiling.
Sometimes I can hear you laughing.
I sometimes breathe more deeply.
as if you could hear me.
A quiet gentleness climbs
the wall between us like ivy climbing to light.
1/2
June 18, 2025 at 6:45 PM
Veil
I dwell below you.
but we've never touched.
Your floor holds your days.
my dreams are on my ceiling.
Sometimes I can hear you laughing.
I sometimes breathe more deeply.
as if you could hear me.
A quiet gentleness climbs
the wall between us like ivy climbing to light.
1/2
I dwell below you.
but we've never touched.
Your floor holds your days.
my dreams are on my ceiling.
Sometimes I can hear you laughing.
I sometimes breathe more deeply.
as if you could hear me.
A quiet gentleness climbs
the wall between us like ivy climbing to light.
1/2
.
#haiku
the voices are back.
they sing like drunk old ghosts.
crickets giggle.
_________________
as vozes voltaram.
cantam como bêbadas tristes.
os grilos riem baixo.
.
#haiku
the voices are back.
they sing like drunk old ghosts.
crickets giggle.
_________________
as vozes voltaram.
cantam como bêbadas tristes.
os grilos riem baixo.
.
June 18, 2025 at 5:20 PM
.
#haiku
the voices are back.
they sing like drunk old ghosts.
crickets giggle.
_________________
as vozes voltaram.
cantam como bêbadas tristes.
os grilos riem baixo.
.
#haiku
the voices are back.
they sing like drunk old ghosts.
crickets giggle.
_________________
as vozes voltaram.
cantam como bêbadas tristes.
os grilos riem baixo.
.
Reposted by Pedro Peres
#Journal
– Je ne crois pas aimer ! J'aime, je n'aime pas ou je n'aime plus
#ƒred.Leƒorgeur-Baudelaire
Photographie : ƒLB
– Je ne crois pas aimer ! J'aime, je n'aime pas ou je n'aime plus
#ƒred.Leƒorgeur-Baudelaire
Photographie : ƒLB
May 30, 2025 at 3:27 PM
#Journal
– Je ne crois pas aimer ! J'aime, je n'aime pas ou je n'aime plus
#ƒred.Leƒorgeur-Baudelaire
Photographie : ƒLB
– Je ne crois pas aimer ! J'aime, je n'aime pas ou je n'aime plus
#ƒred.Leƒorgeur-Baudelaire
Photographie : ƒLB
Reposted by Pedro Peres
Largo da Companhia de Jesus
#hashtag #bluesky #photography #fotografia #stpaulruins #montefort #macau #hongkong #materdei #portugese #macaucolony #lovestatues #senadosquare #unescoworldheritage #friendshipstatue #lovers #romanticstatues
#hashtag #bluesky #photography #fotografia #stpaulruins #montefort #macau #hongkong #materdei #portugese #macaucolony #lovestatues #senadosquare #unescoworldheritage #friendshipstatue #lovers #romanticstatues
May 30, 2025 at 11:49 AM
.
#haibun
Tonight, there are no walls.
Only a velvet silence that clings to the skin.
The bed became a drifting boat.
I write, not to be saved —
but to see if the words still remember me.
a puddle of moonlight
reshapes my tired face —
softer than I would
.
#haibun
Tonight, there are no walls.
Only a velvet silence that clings to the skin.
The bed became a drifting boat.
I write, not to be saved —
but to see if the words still remember me.
a puddle of moonlight
reshapes my tired face —
softer than I would
.
June 18, 2025 at 1:19 PM
.
#haibun
Tonight, there are no walls.
Only a velvet silence that clings to the skin.
The bed became a drifting boat.
I write, not to be saved —
but to see if the words still remember me.
a puddle of moonlight
reshapes my tired face —
softer than I would
.
#haibun
Tonight, there are no walls.
Only a velvet silence that clings to the skin.
The bed became a drifting boat.
I write, not to be saved —
but to see if the words still remember me.
a puddle of moonlight
reshapes my tired face —
softer than I would
.
.
#tanka
I am just ruins —
still striking match after match
for some kind hope.
even the shadow speaks
if you lean in close enough.
_________________
em mim só ruína —
mas ainda acendo fósforos
na esperança.
a sombra também fala
se escutarmos de perto.
.
#tanka
I am just ruins —
still striking match after match
for some kind hope.
even the shadow speaks
if you lean in close enough.
_________________
em mim só ruína —
mas ainda acendo fósforos
na esperança.
a sombra também fala
se escutarmos de perto.
.
June 18, 2025 at 1:02 PM
.
#tanka
I am just ruins —
still striking match after match
for some kind hope.
even the shadow speaks
if you lean in close enough.
_________________
em mim só ruína —
mas ainda acendo fósforos
na esperança.
a sombra também fala
se escutarmos de perto.
.
#tanka
I am just ruins —
still striking match after match
for some kind hope.
even the shadow speaks
if you lean in close enough.
_________________
em mim só ruína —
mas ainda acendo fósforos
na esperança.
a sombra também fala
se escutarmos de perto.
.
.
#senryu #life-dilemma
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Já fiz terapia?
_____
The river wonders:
should I go or should I stay?
Midlife crisis hits.
Ou
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Ninguém responde.
_____
The river wonders:
stay still or reach the ocean?
Therapist shrugs.
#senryu #life-dilemma
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Já fiz terapia?
_____
The river wonders:
should I go or should I stay?
Midlife crisis hits.
Ou
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Ninguém responde.
_____
The river wonders:
stay still or reach the ocean?
Therapist shrugs.
April 23, 2025 at 7:27 PM
.
#senryu #life-dilemma
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Já fiz terapia?
_____
The river wonders:
should I go or should I stay?
Midlife crisis hits.
Ou
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Ninguém responde.
_____
The river wonders:
stay still or reach the ocean?
Therapist shrugs.
#senryu #life-dilemma
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Já fiz terapia?
_____
The river wonders:
should I go or should I stay?
Midlife crisis hits.
Ou
O rio pergunta:
corro para o mar ou fico?
Ninguém responde.
_____
The river wonders:
stay still or reach the ocean?
Therapist shrugs.
Where can I get empathy to offer, I don't mind paying!? 😔
#immigration #resist #CheechandChong
Who could have known that the 1987 music video would turn out to be a documentary?
youtube.com/watch?v=LMfY...
Who could have known that the 1987 music video would turn out to be a documentary?
youtube.com/watch?v=LMfY...
youtube.com
April 23, 2025 at 4:33 PM
Where can I get empathy to offer, I don't mind paying!? 😔
A margem mais pura
Sento-me na dobra da duna,
onde a erva murmura segredos verdes
e o vento penteia a pele do mundo.
Carolina,
o mar diz o teu nome em cada onda pequena,
como se me ensinasse a dizê-lo
sem dor.
...
Inspirado na foto de Carolina:
@anilmedeiros.bsky.social
#poema #carolina
Sento-me na dobra da duna,
onde a erva murmura segredos verdes
e o vento penteia a pele do mundo.
Carolina,
o mar diz o teu nome em cada onda pequena,
como se me ensinasse a dizê-lo
sem dor.
...
Inspirado na foto de Carolina:
@anilmedeiros.bsky.social
#poema #carolina
April 23, 2025 at 3:58 PM
A margem mais pura
Sento-me na dobra da duna,
onde a erva murmura segredos verdes
e o vento penteia a pele do mundo.
Carolina,
o mar diz o teu nome em cada onda pequena,
como se me ensinasse a dizê-lo
sem dor.
...
Inspirado na foto de Carolina:
@anilmedeiros.bsky.social
#poema #carolina
Sento-me na dobra da duna,
onde a erva murmura segredos verdes
e o vento penteia a pele do mundo.
Carolina,
o mar diz o teu nome em cada onda pequena,
como se me ensinasse a dizê-lo
sem dor.
...
Inspirado na foto de Carolina:
@anilmedeiros.bsky.social
#poema #carolina
.
#tanka
Caminhos de cinza,
ossos calados no chão,
gritos sem corpo.
A memória ainda chora,
e o vento guarda os seus nomes.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
#tanka
Caminhos de cinza,
ossos calados no chão,
gritos sem corpo.
A memória ainda chora,
e o vento guarda os seus nomes.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
April 23, 2025 at 2:47 PM
.
#tanka
Caminhos de cinza,
ossos calados no chão,
gritos sem corpo.
A memória ainda chora,
e o vento guarda os seus nomes.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
#tanka
Caminhos de cinza,
ossos calados no chão,
gritos sem corpo.
A memória ainda chora,
e o vento guarda os seus nomes.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
.
#tanka
Mãos levantadas
pedem céu, mas só há pó.
Nenhum deus responde.
A terra traga os gritos —
nomes sem eco ou lamento.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
#tanka
Mãos levantadas
pedem céu, mas só há pó.
Nenhum deus responde.
A terra traga os gritos —
nomes sem eco ou lamento.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
April 23, 2025 at 2:35 PM
.
#tanka
Mãos levantadas
pedem céu, mas só há pó.
Nenhum deus responde.
A terra traga os gritos —
nomes sem eco ou lamento.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
#tanka
Mãos levantadas
pedem céu, mas só há pó.
Nenhum deus responde.
A terra traga os gritos —
nomes sem eco ou lamento.
#Auschwitz #prayer #prece
.
#senryu
Dois corações.
Um bate no peito. O outro
chora perdido.
_________________________
Two hearts inside me.
One cries, one hums lullabies.
Both lost in the hush.
.
#senryu
Dois corações.
Um bate no peito. O outro
chora perdido.
_________________________
Two hearts inside me.
One cries, one hums lullabies.
Both lost in the hush.
.
April 22, 2025 at 6:15 PM
.
#senryu
Dois corações.
Um bate no peito. O outro
chora perdido.
_________________________
Two hearts inside me.
One cries, one hums lullabies.
Both lost in the hush.
.
#senryu
Dois corações.
Um bate no peito. O outro
chora perdido.
_________________________
Two hearts inside me.
One cries, one hums lullabies.
Both lost in the hush.
.