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
.
#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.
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
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
Linha Invisível
Estou na seara,
o trigo murmura nas pernas.
À minha frente, o poste —
alto, quieto, atento.
Ergue-se como quem guarda
o que as nuvens não dizem.
Há ternura nesse forma rígida,
toda a ternura da espera.
Os fios seguem,
ligam-no a irmãos distantes
promessas que não se quebram.
1/2
Estou na seara,
o trigo murmura nas pernas.
À minha frente, o poste —
alto, quieto, atento.
Ergue-se como quem guarda
o que as nuvens não dizem.
Há ternura nesse forma rígida,
toda a ternura da espera.
Os fios seguem,
ligam-no a irmãos distantes
promessas que não se quebram.
1/2
April 22, 2025 at 5:20 PM
Linha Invisível
Estou na seara,
o trigo murmura nas pernas.
À minha frente, o poste —
alto, quieto, atento.
Ergue-se como quem guarda
o que as nuvens não dizem.
Há ternura nesse forma rígida,
toda a ternura da espera.
Os fios seguem,
ligam-no a irmãos distantes
promessas que não se quebram.
1/2
Estou na seara,
o trigo murmura nas pernas.
À minha frente, o poste —
alto, quieto, atento.
Ergue-se como quem guarda
o que as nuvens não dizem.
Há ternura nesse forma rígida,
toda a ternura da espera.
Os fios seguem,
ligam-no a irmãos distantes
promessas que não se quebram.
1/2
David, I am sincerely so happy when people like poetry written and spoken in Portuguese, in its musicality, in its beautiful nuances, in its immense vocabulary tones (difficult to feel, I know, for those who were not born in the language). 🙏🤗🙏
April 22, 2025 at 1:55 PM
David, I am sincerely so happy when people like poetry written and spoken in Portuguese, in its musicality, in its beautiful nuances, in its immense vocabulary tones (difficult to feel, I know, for those who were not born in the language). 🙏🤗🙏
.
#haiku
Na criança, o riso,
como água de nascente,
puro e livre.
___________________
Child's laugh explodes —
even the ants stop marching
to listen once more.
.
#haiku
Na criança, o riso,
como água de nascente,
puro e livre.
___________________
Child's laugh explodes —
even the ants stop marching
to listen once more.
.
April 21, 2025 at 1:48 PM
.
#haiku
Na criança, o riso,
como água de nascente,
puro e livre.
___________________
Child's laugh explodes —
even the ants stop marching
to listen once more.
.
#haiku
Na criança, o riso,
como água de nascente,
puro e livre.
___________________
Child's laugh explodes —
even the ants stop marching
to listen once more.
.
#haibun
Today a leaf fell with vanity. Just one among many, yet it twirled, spun like someone bidding farewell to the court. I, sitting on the ground with tea and nothing to do, applauded. The wind seemed to approve. Time, that old trickster, said nothing
last leaf —
no one watching
but she danced
Today a leaf fell with vanity. Just one among many, yet it twirled, spun like someone bidding farewell to the court. I, sitting on the ground with tea and nothing to do, applauded. The wind seemed to approve. Time, that old trickster, said nothing
last leaf —
no one watching
but she danced
April 21, 2025 at 9:57 AM
#haibun
Today a leaf fell with vanity. Just one among many, yet it twirled, spun like someone bidding farewell to the court. I, sitting on the ground with tea and nothing to do, applauded. The wind seemed to approve. Time, that old trickster, said nothing
last leaf —
no one watching
but she danced
Today a leaf fell with vanity. Just one among many, yet it twirled, spun like someone bidding farewell to the court. I, sitting on the ground with tea and nothing to do, applauded. The wind seemed to approve. Time, that old trickster, said nothing
last leaf —
no one watching
but she danced
snow within
I breathe
and the world dissolves.
All is white—
not the snow’s white,
but the white before form.
The sound of flakes
is an old whisper
repeating what I’ve always known:
there is no inside, no outside.
I am alone.
I am whole.
#poetry #meditation
complete poem in ALText
1/2
I breathe
and the world dissolves.
All is white—
not the snow’s white,
but the white before form.
The sound of flakes
is an old whisper
repeating what I’ve always known:
there is no inside, no outside.
I am alone.
I am whole.
#poetry #meditation
complete poem in ALText
1/2
April 20, 2025 at 7:38 PM
snow within
I breathe
and the world dissolves.
All is white—
not the snow’s white,
but the white before form.
The sound of flakes
is an old whisper
repeating what I’ve always known:
there is no inside, no outside.
I am alone.
I am whole.
#poetry #meditation
complete poem in ALText
1/2
I breathe
and the world dissolves.
All is white—
not the snow’s white,
but the white before form.
The sound of flakes
is an old whisper
repeating what I’ve always known:
there is no inside, no outside.
I am alone.
I am whole.
#poetry #meditation
complete poem in ALText
1/2
.
#tanka
no gods in this bowl —
just rice, steam, and gratitude
the cat licks her paw
as if nothing has changed
but I have — oh, I have
__________________
sem deuses na tigela —
apenas arroz e vapor
gratidão morna
o gato lambe a pata
como se nada mudasse
.
#tanka
no gods in this bowl —
just rice, steam, and gratitude
the cat licks her paw
as if nothing has changed
but I have — oh, I have
__________________
sem deuses na tigela —
apenas arroz e vapor
gratidão morna
o gato lambe a pata
como se nada mudasse
.
April 20, 2025 at 5:26 AM
.
#tanka
no gods in this bowl —
just rice, steam, and gratitude
the cat licks her paw
as if nothing has changed
but I have — oh, I have
__________________
sem deuses na tigela —
apenas arroz e vapor
gratidão morna
o gato lambe a pata
como se nada mudasse
.
#tanka
no gods in this bowl —
just rice, steam, and gratitude
the cat licks her paw
as if nothing has changed
but I have — oh, I have
__________________
sem deuses na tigela —
apenas arroz e vapor
gratidão morna
o gato lambe a pata
como se nada mudasse
.
.
#haiku
snow falls again —
no footprints, no path,
just me, just maybe
___________
neve outra vez —
sem pegadas, sem caminho,
só eu, só talvez
#senryu
old monk sneezes
and all the sacred silence
goes running for cover
___________
monge velho espirra
e todo o silêncio santo
foge a sete pés
.
#haiku
snow falls again —
no footprints, no path,
just me, just maybe
___________
neve outra vez —
sem pegadas, sem caminho,
só eu, só talvez
#senryu
old monk sneezes
and all the sacred silence
goes running for cover
___________
monge velho espirra
e todo o silêncio santo
foge a sete pés
.
April 20, 2025 at 5:12 AM
Smiles on knees
you laugh
but you don't
you swallow it
twist your throat
stab your soul
on the boss's shiny mirror
you know:
this is how
you survive
light burning upwards
kneeling laughter
is the new office yoga
it builds moral flexibility
good for the spine
— his
you laugh
but you don't
you swallow it
twist your throat
stab your soul
on the boss's shiny mirror
you know:
this is how
you survive
light burning upwards
kneeling laughter
is the new office yoga
it builds moral flexibility
good for the spine
— his
April 20, 2025 at 3:49 AM
Smiles on knees
you laugh
but you don't
you swallow it
twist your throat
stab your soul
on the boss's shiny mirror
you know:
this is how
you survive
light burning upwards
kneeling laughter
is the new office yoga
it builds moral flexibility
good for the spine
— his
you laugh
but you don't
you swallow it
twist your throat
stab your soul
on the boss's shiny mirror
you know:
this is how
you survive
light burning upwards
kneeling laughter
is the new office yoga
it builds moral flexibility
good for the spine
— his
The old poet says, “Don’t count syllables. Count heartbeats.” So I sat beside the river, trying to count both Then the wind picked up and stole my pages. I watched them sail like birds drunk on sky. I laughed No one told me poetry could fly
a torn page
lodged in the cherry tree
spring finds its way
a torn page
lodged in the cherry tree
spring finds its way
April 19, 2025 at 5:45 PM
The old poet says, “Don’t count syllables. Count heartbeats.” So I sat beside the river, trying to count both Then the wind picked up and stole my pages. I watched them sail like birds drunk on sky. I laughed No one told me poetry could fly
a torn page
lodged in the cherry tree
spring finds its way
a torn page
lodged in the cherry tree
spring finds its way
Breath of Light
I remain at the center of the forest
and time loses its name
Breath arrives
as if drawn from trees' own stillness.
Breath departs
with all the maps I have ever used
I do not look
I do not seek
I am what remains
when desire lies still
The light does not find me — it is simply
1/2
I remain at the center of the forest
and time loses its name
Breath arrives
as if drawn from trees' own stillness.
Breath departs
with all the maps I have ever used
I do not look
I do not seek
I am what remains
when desire lies still
The light does not find me — it is simply
1/2
April 19, 2025 at 4:07 AM
Breath of Light
I remain at the center of the forest
and time loses its name
Breath arrives
as if drawn from trees' own stillness.
Breath departs
with all the maps I have ever used
I do not look
I do not seek
I am what remains
when desire lies still
The light does not find me — it is simply
1/2
I remain at the center of the forest
and time loses its name
Breath arrives
as if drawn from trees' own stillness.
Breath departs
with all the maps I have ever used
I do not look
I do not seek
I am what remains
when desire lies still
The light does not find me — it is simply
1/2
Braços Vazios
Chove morte
O nevoeiro não é de água
É de corpos sem nome,
de gritos que ninguém recolhe
No trolley,
os vidros não me protegem
Vou à missa,
mas a fé ficou presa ao fumo
Segurava-lhe a mão
Pequena, quente, viva.
Depois —
tudo estalou
A luz explodiu em pedaços de vidro
e ele soltou-se
Chove morte
O nevoeiro não é de água
É de corpos sem nome,
de gritos que ninguém recolhe
No trolley,
os vidros não me protegem
Vou à missa,
mas a fé ficou presa ao fumo
Segurava-lhe a mão
Pequena, quente, viva.
Depois —
tudo estalou
A luz explodiu em pedaços de vidro
e ele soltou-se
April 18, 2025 at 7:02 PM
Braços Vazios
Chove morte
O nevoeiro não é de água
É de corpos sem nome,
de gritos que ninguém recolhe
No trolley,
os vidros não me protegem
Vou à missa,
mas a fé ficou presa ao fumo
Segurava-lhe a mão
Pequena, quente, viva.
Depois —
tudo estalou
A luz explodiu em pedaços de vidro
e ele soltou-se
Chove morte
O nevoeiro não é de água
É de corpos sem nome,
de gritos que ninguém recolhe
No trolley,
os vidros não me protegem
Vou à missa,
mas a fé ficou presa ao fumo
Segurava-lhe a mão
Pequena, quente, viva.
Depois —
tudo estalou
A luz explodiu em pedaços de vidro
e ele soltou-se
Farol de Dentro
Estou no alto da torre.
A noite não passará.
Chove através dos meus ossos.
No negrume do ser
há um quarto sem janelas
e eu, sentado no chão,
com o coração aceso.
Tudo em mim treme
como vela ao vento —
mas não se apaga.
(...)
#poesia #escuridão #vazio #amor
ALT for complete poem.
Estou no alto da torre.
A noite não passará.
Chove através dos meus ossos.
No negrume do ser
há um quarto sem janelas
e eu, sentado no chão,
com o coração aceso.
Tudo em mim treme
como vela ao vento —
mas não se apaga.
(...)
#poesia #escuridão #vazio #amor
ALT for complete poem.
April 11, 2025 at 6:46 PM
Farol de Dentro
Estou no alto da torre.
A noite não passará.
Chove através dos meus ossos.
No negrume do ser
há um quarto sem janelas
e eu, sentado no chão,
com o coração aceso.
Tudo em mim treme
como vela ao vento —
mas não se apaga.
(...)
#poesia #escuridão #vazio #amor
ALT for complete poem.
Estou no alto da torre.
A noite não passará.
Chove através dos meus ossos.
No negrume do ser
há um quarto sem janelas
e eu, sentado no chão,
com o coração aceso.
Tudo em mim treme
como vela ao vento —
mas não se apaga.
(...)
#poesia #escuridão #vazio #amor
ALT for complete poem.