(...) Art challenges our noticeable tendency to encapsulate impressions and conform them to fixed patterns. It calls upon us instead to observe, imagine, and remember our inherent quality to express in inventive ways.

In a creative process we go through phases of transformation - insights that bring forth a sense of realisation - and perhaps a conclusion to what ideas generate besides the search for meaning may well be all.

Observing, feeling, learning, creating, growing, on and on - life, we are. (...)

LH 2016/17
In Looking at us looking at us
http://idembooks.com




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The back of beyond

Late that evening, 
Around arms and mute lips
Curtains hid scenes with other surfaces; 
Expectation communing with distance, and I - a speck of space stretched beyond the limits of my chest
Moving forwards, with many other bodies
Enlacing colour with the invisible poetry of their flesh,
Emoting.

Like ice, floating in the waters of a river
Now loose fragments, oscillating through my eyes
That glaze seemed to hold feelings.

I wondered what would have happened if I have done what no one expected?
Blending in the spaces in-between?! 
I didn't!
I remained suspended by the thread of no-nonsense
It was too late to change positions, after all.

LH 2017



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Duet
 

My tongue – A stranger,
blind to the margins of your target 

Hidden behind your manners,
It claims nothing but surprise

This stranger does not care for absent minds, for refrained hearts,
It welcomes in every way, unable to conceive the breadth of a lie or the longitude of desire
 

It looks for the one in the recesses of your mask

Stubbornly,
Wordlessly,

Acting.

LH 2017



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Em mim o tempo acelera, como se quisesse dizer-me algo de urgente sem que eu me aperceba o quanto demora a fazê-lo.
É por entre os dias, como neblina salgada, que vela a direção do meu achado - sempre atrasado.

Hoje sinto que o tempo se dilui nas nuances de um dia interminável - sem fim.
Em mim, em ti ou noutro alguém. Com todos fará do seu corpo compasso.

Agora descanso.

LH 2016



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Quando o teu olhar se desvia sei que devo parar por aqui. Então afasto-me, consciente da distância que nos une, para poderes representar sem ser visto, por entre o meu espanto e a cortina opaca dos teus actos. Faço-o sabendo que é nesse intervalo que a nosso intento se despe.

 LH 2017



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In my tea, three spoons, please!
Sweet, very sweet. I need to soothe my mind tonight.

Honey drips
loose are the words...
Sweet drink, sweet talk...

Hesitating gestures
cradled cups.

My spoon swirls
mixing my thoughts as I speak
and the clock nailed on the wall
points out: got to go, got to go!

LH 2008
In überstein 
http://idembooks.com



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In the Dracula of my fantasy I rejoice in the power of my bite. It is when life appeals to me.

LH 2016



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Around the landscape of your eyes

In the hide-and-seek of time,
Around the landscape of your eyes,
Walks the other with your steps,
Unfamiliar,
In disguise.

The stranger dresses the night,
Faceless,
Secretly,

His shadow, into your sleep
A curtain of mystery unfolds.


LH 2016
In Looking at us looking at us
http://idembooks.com
  


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In my neighbourhood birds make nests with my hair.

LH 2016
In Looking at us looking at us
http://idembooks.com



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Object for dreams

Sometimes whispers form my words
Sometimes is the absence of your words
Between me and you

Silence 

Flirting my thoughts
Stretching my soul


Does solitude bring fear?

A breath of quietness

Promises 

Dreams

LH 2004
  


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Para sempre

Não preciso de frases, encontro-me no teu rosto
Nessa renda de silêncio onde não guardo nada,
Apenas o olhar,
Transparência da minha sede.

O que não falas procuro na tua língua,
Afluente e margem.

Ficará sempre tudo por dizer.


LH 2016



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Whose world is this?

Desires are abloom
when gestures don´t hold.
The Magician is a Sower,
a Shapeshifter.


Do we still wonder?

LH 2015



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There is something behind the mundane that so easily escapes unnoticed, but there persistently whispers...
Sensible to this subtle breeze the creative man wonders. In his thoughts, visions, consciousness, and slumber.
Then when doubt seems to be everything - change becomes life's artistry.
In his mind he breaks the routine, gesture after gesture, reshaping old and new.
 
LH 2015



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The sun stands still, burning like a bulb hanging from a ceiling. An endless ceiling that covers a crowd of people.The people move slowly, like their shadows on the pavement. Neither looking ahead nor having an attentive interest towards what surrounds them, they gaze at their own steps. Some count them, some don't even feel them. They move to somewhere. Nowhere. 
Their feelings seem to be unstirred. Their moods black. Doomed by the sunset about to happen.

Anonymously for some hours the mass condenses in the city centre like a drop of motion about to evaporate. As the hours roll along, their shadows elongate, losing contours, fading away until they disappear.

The night erases the day and with it the steps they have traced. Steps that did not reach further than yesterday.

LH 2011
In Beyond Emotions
http://idembooks.com



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My fantasy is like the sweetest beast. It smells like earth and it is warm. When my hand strokes its fur I feel at home. 

LH 2016
In Looking at us looking at us
http://idembooks.com  



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I am thirsty,
in this desert land of minds
A plant with thorns
My thoughts like droplets thrive

Shallow depths, this Land
stolen from the well of Life
Without words to seed the soil
Without whispers to bring the fortune

I am thirsty,
in this desert land of minds
No one
is all around

Like a plant
in silence
holds the ground,
I close my eyes, and drink the water

LH 2015




Wind blows

Red rugs
smuggle dirt
behind the shoulders
eyes can't see.
Flags with flowers
blind the windows.
Curtains are walls
without ears.

Does anyone fear the wind?

In the streets
blue balloons
fake the sky.
Pierced by the needles of the trees
hang a few.

The parade amasses
black suits.
Night.

On the sloping side of the hill
the rock is hard.


LH 2015


What no longer serves a purpose, change it. I would call that a mindful revolution. 

LH 2015



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Art is not an idea or a story upon which one identity is formed.
Arts is not the expectation of a position and its assurance.
Art is not an image to associate to or separate from. It does not limit opinion or define trends. It does not complete what is in progress. It does not claim to explain the indescribable. It does not pretend what it is.
Art is potential, through which we can envision the unseen.

LH 2015


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One can either opt for stepping forward or leave everything behind.
I guess I'd reached a state of borderline.

LH 2008
In überstein 
http://idembooks.com



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Ao olhar para ele sorri,
como se o canto dos seus lábios puxassem os meus.

LH 2011 



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Romance
 
I am spiraling around a fantasy
Holding in my mind a frame

Faint picture

Formless feelings

Call it romance.
 

LH 2007



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The dense atmosphere
leaves a strange sense of goodbye in the air

On one side of my face a shadow fakes
the light that slowly becomes dark

I hear no sound of words
I see no one

As I feel the multitude of myself enfolding my solitude
I call you.
 

LH 2013



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Domestic

Tools, with limbs and mouth,
grasp and bite the desire
Fanged fork.
Bifurcated knife

The hot air stirs the blood

In a large basin feelings are held between the crust and the fluid
A cloth with a fissure respires

Routine in the routine

The mind, a frame

Home,

golden gate without knob,
private landscape of life.
 

LH 2013
In Looking at us looking at us
http://idembooks.com


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My everything is nothing but a dream
I know is flesh, blood, me.

LH 2006



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Legacy

Blank books are on my shelf
Waiting
for words to be told

Anticipating the stories
that will cover them 

From beginning to end
 

Piled together in emptiness
Without photographs to collect

Page after page

Forming a landscape.

LH 2014



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I write
hours in a row,
immersing into a vision
that seems possible to hold.

The surface of the paper is scratched by 

charcoal,
tones,
folds.

A missing page,
The moment I hesitate.

A thought

ripping through.

LH 2014



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Não tenho nada a dizer,
a não ser o que sinto, 

quando omisso,
o meu pensamento vagueia à procura de ti.


LH 2012
In Preto
http://idembooks.com



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The warmth of the morning's breeze announced the arrival of a pleasant day. 
The sky, plain and bright like an enormous mirror, reflected my mood as I drove to work. 
The hours passed and the night smoothly appeared.
Suddenly I awoke.

LH 2008
In überstein 
http://idembooks.com



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Corpo vestido de corpo
disfarçado com a pele de outro

Descosido da sua forma,
sem morada.

Várias identidades
numa só personalidade.

Corpo que não o é
porque não se revê no rosto
que o olha sem hesitar


Porque nos seus gestos
o dedo aponta
para a estigma que não sara

Que nele se aloja,
e o faz sentir.

Existe.
Precisa.

Corpo sem outro
para além dele próprio
Perdido na ilusão enganosa
que lhe revela a verdade.

Sem propósito,

espera por si.

LH 2012
In Preto
http://idembooks.com



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Her vision enlarged by sadness, losing definition
Her eyes dropping in uncertainty, 
Doubting whether her feeling resides solely in her mind or in earthy details she takes as mirrors, she sees now a miniature of herself.

LH 2015



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Thin line

There is a thin line between the steps
spinning 
back and forth

Weaving the old with the new

Between the fingers from where gestures depart

This line
thin, but not fragile
twists in loops

Endlessly

Sometimes it thickens

Sways by emotion

LH 2012



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Her locks were tight up in swirls
like a bird nest. Skillful 

in deed and hairdo.

I keep a little bird nest inside 

a round box
found empty in the woods,
handed to me as a present.

I wonder which flock of little birds had lived there.


Tiny,
Feathery,
Branchy home,

Mesh of delicacy.

Sometimes, I hold the box 

in my hands, open it
carefully. 

Let my thoughts fly.

I saw her again the other day.

She had long strands
waving free.

LH 2014




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In-corporation

I attempt to draw myself
At first, I draw my head,
curve after curve
A circle
A line
My throat 
I reach the lungs,
a sketch of leaves in the Autumn 
My trunk is thin and long, two lines - parallel 
At last, I reach the base
I trace a road of lines
Intricate patterns forming my ground 
Finishing my drawing
Before my eyes
I contemplate 
the tree I am.

LH 2006



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Human patterns

A moment of silence,
An intermittent but endless line of silence.
A blank space our mind can fill in with thoughts.
Stories embodied in fragments of repetition,
Memories looped in a waiting line.

How many seconds make a moment?

We might fold the line into a circle while time keeps slipping away.


LH 2008



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Cicatriz na folha de um cacto
Estigma profunda

corta a suavidade ao toque
 
Na tenra superfície

a complacência sulca em palavra
o que alguém não encontrou no silêncio. 

LH 2012



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Time flies while I am thirsty
Searching for an excuse to fill in the pause I make.

I try to match my slow-moving mind with the turning of the hours which give me no boundaries but demand objectivity.

My attempt to fit moments into a logical sequence slips off the hands of time.

I fold each moment separately or together according to their dimensions and orientate my next steps from the lines of their folds.

I am tired.

Time keeps flying while I am hungry
Tiptoeing
Searching for a trick to catch it

But if I won't
Time will remain where I am.

LH 2011
In Beyond Emotions 
http://idembooks.com



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Lab

Can we by means of knowledge and experience attain the forces of nature?
Can we encapsulate the sensations the material upholds? And extend ourselves to all sides, into Nature, until the volatility of our sensations enable us to feel Life as a Form?
  
LH 2009