“Light and Shade” a poetry book by Gerry Brennan with my illustrations (37 poems and 40 drawings). You can get an English or Portuguese edition bellow and also have a look at some of the poems and drawings featured in the book.

Slight Refrain


The star spangled banner fluttered high,

in tandem with the Woodstock sway.

And those hands, the ones Dürer would proudly have shook

mutated to a place which we name perfection.

So, the master’s hands momentarily became star strangled

at once disassembling then reassembling its metric

in a way that Lincoln himself may well have appreciated.

One nation, one people and one flag.

Seismic shift caused by slight refrain.

A life abridged, after Ambrose Bierce

From the fourth floor it’s really such a long way down,

long enough to see each naked star disabled

by its own remote tenderness, or to almost touch

the unlocked gates of Hades as they swing unhinged.

Too far removed to regale Gods unknown

with endless tales of weep and wind.

From this place there is no sense of dormant wonder

waiting to weave domain, nor concealed portals

to unseen fairy worlds where tales of happiness are spun

in tandem with the need of each distressed heroine,

for in this place, love, or love’s dedicated whisper is muted

by detachment and enigma and the residue

of all human debris since her world began.

In this moment, in this place nothing else can be said to exist,

for temporarily, all life has been suspended.

Guardian angels are absent as if vertigo were a blunt sword

in the hands of celestial beings, who, paradoxically,

refuse to negotiate with the living about death.

This instant teeters on the brink of its own inability to subdivide

the juncture into countless unspoilt atoms, each one capable

of rebuilding the world anew with untarnished virgin block,

each one shorn from the empty husk of what might have been.

From the fourth floor, it’s such a very long way down.



explain their presence

by reference

to a past

that is proven,

nailed in time.

A fixed point


for eternity.

Never to be


of evolution.


Words like throng and cram and suffocate

of themselves explain little, if anything at all.

So we must add to it thread by broken thread,

layer by invisible layer

using words as though we had not yet

invented them.

Words like metal and train, bake and burn

menstruating woman in hot August sun.

And the words which we omit are as valid

as the words which we choose.

So we shall not give vision to cool soft winds

or pitchers tall with crushed ice water

nor give sound to crisply laundered linen

or suggest vase for freshly cut rose.

Behind every single half impression

that we may have managed to vaguely evoke

lie images too enmeshed in the weave

to ever begin carry things other

than the fragile ghost of the message.


I see you

a long time ago


dusty roads


in old England

face covered

by mask of silk

glad given

by some lady

whose nights you stole

and her diamonds too.

But she forgave you,

somehow sensing

in that vague way,

or the look in the eyes

she could not see

that you could die

for a cause

that your outlaw soul

found richer

than all the diamonds

yet to be stolen.

Abortion No.2

The girl alone

walks steady

the street of curves,

for footprints

have no past.

Times dead


times living.

The girl alone

looks to the stars

big and twinkling

and begs them


but the stars

conscious of their breadth

and bright

are beyond reach

of things but born,

so they give no clue

as the girl alone

skirts the margin

of her blood milky