Á moda portuguesa

An amazing fact of life

Is that the best way

Of anything getting done

Is by doing it the only way:

Á moda portuguesa.

When someone is really late

And getting on your nerves,

And yet you sigh and wait-

For you understand his watch is

Á moda portuguesa.

The best way to work

And get nothing done,

To waste time and patience

And to just have fun

Is to do it

Á moda portuguesa.

It is something only few can do,

It is a way of life

You have to have the blood,

The will and the drive

To do it all

Á moda portuguesa.

To certain people who know:

The way to a man´s heart

Is up through his stomach,

There is a meal that does just that

It´s called cozido-

Á moda portuguesa.

Who knows food better than we do

And wine better than we make?

For the best balance only comes

When the two meet and combine

And that only be done-

Á moda portuguesa.

You are forgiven

If you ever use the excuse

Those three simple words may offer.

If you insert them well and with precision

Your path thereon is a given,

All with a whisper of

“Á moda portuguesa”

Just because I don’t

Just because I don’t

It doesn’t mean I can’t

Doesn’t mean I won´t,

It just means I don’t want to.

You don’t see me in the kitchen

It doesn’t mean I can’t cook,

Doesn’t mean I don’t want to cook.

Me not being there doing things,

Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do them,

It just means I don’t want to;

If only chocolate was considered a food.

You don’t see my running a marathon,

It doesn’t mean I can´t run

Doesn’t mean I won´t run

It just means I don’t want to;

And my sneakers breathe for a while longer.

You don’t see me in the garden,

It doesn’t mean I can’t garden

Doesn’t mean I won’t garden,

It just means I don’t want to;

And my nails are safe for one more day.

You don’t see me running around,

Like a chicken without a head,

It doesn’t mean I can´t get lost,

Doesn’t mean I won´t get lost

It just means I don’t want to;

And the chicken keeps its head.

The place

I have a thought of far away

A place that’s neither here nor there

I place that is as golden as a day

Yet darker than a night.

It is a balance of the here

With the there combined:

White meets black

But not at all strange

Or different, or weird.

It is a place where angels meet

And humans do abide,

A site where the imaginable happens

And dreams have nothing to hide.

Where ice-cream is staple diet

And chocolate being rich and quiet,

Don’t hold the danger of too much

They are thing no one

Can get enough.

A place where the greek gods

And atlanteans and romans meet

And battle out their disagreements;

In words and wit and intelligence

That no bodily harm to the sods

May occur, only things sweet.

The way

I live my life

One mile at a time,

One moment at a space,

One step to a pause.

I live that that has been foreseen:

The outcome inevitable-

Yet the way: free will.

Choosing between ways

And wills and paths,

To go diagonal,

Straight or vertical

To reach that final spot

That marks the horizon:

That is my life.

To be a rebel and choose

The left instead of the right,

Up instead of down,

To stop and not go-

Just to break the monotony

Of the life that we know.

Class pondering

I cannot but help to wonder

What it is that others ponder,

Whilst they daydream in class.

Think them of a magical scene;

Of lollipops filled with cream,

Or fireflies set aglow?

Think them of times of old,

Of better thing done and told,

Or the latest bird on the block?

Have they no reason or fear

Of the teacher who does peer

So intently at their countenance,

Whilst their minds are occupied

And justly so are tied

In thoughts abroad?