Stars looked like glowing sands
Down here—far, far below;
Cities too radiate a blinding hope
Gazed beyond the fields and hills;
Beauty oozes out of a distant thing,
Meter and miles allures the mind.

The muscle cars have aged out
of high school hamburger stands
and live in landfills
or junkyards

but some survive.
The codger across the street in the end house
keeps his in pristine condition,
replacing its parts, babying its body

in ways he can't do for himself.
I see him rolling out down the street,
into youth,
joy,
music,
health,

until he rounds the corner
and disappears.

It feels we are going in a different direction.....it should be easy to make a correction
Recovery is hard and you could hold the right card.so choose wisely and choose the right one ......because is you don't it could be worse than a gun
Take it day by day and you should be ok
The road is long and will be a wild  ride.....but it will not be  bad if you look deep down inside,

Mãe Duriense


Na tua face, vinhas traçadas do tempo,
nos olhos, o rio inteiro a correr.
Mãe Duriense, barro e lamento,
és raiz da qual tive de nascer.

Com mãos de granito e sol cheio de mosto,
lavras o pão, regas a horta com gosto.
Entre socalcos, és flor que não cansa,
és Mãe da terra, és força, esperança.

Carregas a dor mas nunca o dizes.
És chão fecundo, com boas raízes.
Dizes que o Douro não para de chorar
pelos filhos que tens de amamentar.

Mãe Duriense, a tua verdade me guia.
Em ti vejo a minha tristeza e a tua alegria
das que ficaram quando tudo fugia,
das que semearam fé  e a minha poesia.

És dura como a pedra xistosa,
doce como a uva, bela como a rosa.
És mulher, és monte, és vinho, és perdão,
és o Douro inteiro  em peregrinação.



Victor Marques

The café is crowded today.
The sun bleeds through the windows,
Too golden, too alive.
Laughter spills from warm mouths,
Voices tangled in gossip and joy—
Sips of “hot tea” passed like communion.

They are full.
Full of stories, of fire, of something.
And I—
I watch from the shadows,
Wearing a smile that doesn’t belong to me.

Why do I feel nothing?

Why does the world move
As if I’m not even here?

Two shots of Americano sit before me,
Untouched.
Their black depths reflect my own—
Still, bitter,
And staring back.

I wonder if they know
That I am not whole.
That half of me is elsewhere,
Wandering some unseen purgatory.

My body is here,
But my soul?
It left long ago.
Perhaps in silence.
Perhaps screaming.
I can't remember anymore.

Friends used to say,
“You look like a corpse with breath.”
And I laughed—
The way ghosts might laugh
At the echo of a joke
They no longer understand.

I daydream often,
But dreams never stay.
They float just out of reach—
Like the memory of warmth
Or the sound of someone calling your name
After they've already gone.

I was the joker once.
Now, I am the joke.

Some days,
I wonder if I died
And no one noticed.

That I simply
Kept living
Out of habit.