tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56319842039502110552024-03-10T02:46:43.635+00:00 A vez da MariaAs palavras ditas de ti são as mais bonitas.
Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.comBlogger1151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-58369717067751932952024-02-19T17:47:00.001+00:002024-02-19T17:47:19.292+00:00Perda<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnoZBRxJWSssvNWEJPL1kjh8ZX5Po34-n1JhFTAqmvMBGAWeGLeQizMMePSNRR-0KIc2xrLBgwQCBU31oM5hbjGTG4DOik6rJzhkiLEPJbj-yfgA6jOGQw3lGO1W1AfFAb63lzy4hKXTQ46DB18Cty0gYSEKdFinHE1pRHsaWUNGu6iixM4888mQgYmJY/s318/Wyath.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnoZBRxJWSssvNWEJPL1kjh8ZX5Po34-n1JhFTAqmvMBGAWeGLeQizMMePSNRR-0KIc2xrLBgwQCBU31oM5hbjGTG4DOik6rJzhkiLEPJbj-yfgA6jOGQw3lGO1W1AfFAb63lzy4hKXTQ46DB18Cty0gYSEKdFinHE1pRHsaWUNGu6iixM4888mQgYmJY/w400-h200/Wyath.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="https://www.moma.org/magazine/articles/895">Andrew Wyeth</a>)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Tinha 18 anos quando João morrera. Não sabia ainda da dor da perda física e de como se estranhava, atingindo o peito como uma bala explosiva, causadora de ferimento maior. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Fora logo pela manhã. Tinha acabado de se sentar na cozinha, o café com leite quente, na chávena de flores da Vó Zira, ainda intocado. A Tia Manecas dizia palavras cinzentas na manhã clara e nada as podia fazer voltar atrás! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Demorou a acreditar na mensageira de tamanha desgraça. Ainda Domingo o calor das mãos dele, do João, do seu João, tinha aquecido as suas, subrepticiamente, no final da missa. Nem um beijo sequer haviam trocado. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Tinha 18 anos e julgou nunca mais amar. </span></p><p><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yKO9i-7ALn8?si=aYeAQ8WvJP1-VX9b" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Cigarretes After Sex - Cry)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-28349880571826435652023-12-31T19:12:00.000+00:002023-12-31T19:12:05.783+00:00Luz<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiGnnNaYRNAk1ZyDrjgtqDwsKDfKz4FnKY61XtudmbjMdZgrHx0rZusv17cNk32tHZBSBg_UDRTqMEc_x1BXW9SUbG-KV5rzOwvS26-eoQkBQBJYPs28Vdeojy4U3lqw7O4VFtisa8XBSr5FU1Bcpr2OygY28JaCTVAXj9dzOOl-KGPh4JllDxRhSOsg/s2048/DSC_0023~2-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiGnnNaYRNAk1ZyDrjgtqDwsKDfKz4FnKY61XtudmbjMdZgrHx0rZusv17cNk32tHZBSBg_UDRTqMEc_x1BXW9SUbG-KV5rzOwvS26-eoQkBQBJYPs28Vdeojy4U3lqw7O4VFtisa8XBSr5FU1Bcpr2OygY28JaCTVAXj9dzOOl-KGPh4JllDxRhSOsg/w480-h640/DSC_0023~2-EFFECTS.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Que a Luz prevaleça e o Homem se deixe inundar dela!</p><p><br /></p><p>Procuro uma alegria</p><p> uma mala vazia</p><p> do final de ano</p><p> e eis que tenho na mão</p><p> - flor do cotidiano -</p><p> é vôo de um pássaro</p><p> é uma canção.</p><p><br /></p><p> Carlos Drummond de Andrade</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;">https://youtu.be/evmFy9F1ikk?si=eg_US9DO99_44ThA</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ricardo Ribeiro - Mondadeiras</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-14956829831579419642023-12-28T19:01:00.000+00:002023-12-28T19:01:42.068+00:00Útero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp46pMh-1ujQLf1Id5-CgGySR1a6hZw4c3ztN-zmF98qYgNq1e1d7vbwYXdkpKsG66jahwu8mLskRLVMQLwL0XYaxpBVc3mz8GNrNlvJDOjLsQNDZjnbRlRck1CRfcWKSjQ8nRAMN4DD-2B7badfABwnXQHb3-mwYXXCDhQkN0T8qVSeQ5gqVBxDMSpc/s1024/Lona%20Verlich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="852" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp46pMh-1ujQLf1Id5-CgGySR1a6hZw4c3ztN-zmF98qYgNq1e1d7vbwYXdkpKsG66jahwu8mLskRLVMQLwL0XYaxpBVc3mz8GNrNlvJDOjLsQNDZjnbRlRck1CRfcWKSjQ8nRAMN4DD-2B7badfABwnXQHb3-mwYXXCDhQkN0T8qVSeQ5gqVBxDMSpc/w532-h640/Lona%20Verlich.jpg" width="532" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://vrallart.com/artworks/woman_in_blue-uterus/">Lona Verlich</a>)</div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Maria Antónia deu por si a mudar por dentro. Tinha dores (de crescimento?) pelo corpo inteiro. Até para dormir se estranhou. Ela, que sempre encontrara consolo a adormecer de barriga para baixo, uma perna encolhida e outra esticada (tal e qual o pai), mãos debaixo da almofada de cetim, viu-se em posição fetal, enroscada em si mesma, evitando mexer-se um milímetro.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Atacavam-na lembranças de anos remotos, criança viva em correrias, gargalhadas a ecoarem na casa grande e no quintal. A mãe a manejar com destreza a agulha de croché, dando vida a colchas que dizia irem, um dia, cobrir as camas de sua casa. Sua? Pois se aquela era a sua casa!!!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">O pai não costumava falar no futuro, à excepção da poupança! Sempre a ensinara que não podia deixar a luz acesa num aposento vazio ou que a marmelada a secar na janela era para comer quando houvesse uma ocasião especial (a lembrar-lhe da vez em que ela, matreira e ingénua, fora comendo o conteúdo de uma tigela, deixando o redondo da "capa" dura a disfarçar).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Naquele dia de Inverno, deixou-se ficar no quente dos lençóis, arredondou-se o mais possível, como que a abraçar-se, e desnasceu.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/03TrKSQsRZI?si=y_iFMZN59I5Ykxop" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><h1 class="style-scope ytd-watch-metadata" style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; -webkit-line-clamp: 2; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #0f0f0f; display: -webkit-box; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 2.8rem; margin: 0px; max-height: 5.6rem; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; word-break: break-word;"><yt-formatted-string class="style-scope ytd-watch-metadata" force-default-style=""><span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">(Lullaby For Sadness - Eternal Eclipse)</span></yt-formatted-string></h1></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-55748619322549604092023-11-29T23:00:00.000+00:002023-11-29T23:00:21.997+00:00Curiosidades de viagem<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0Q6G8w-5n1js0xRE2g6AWXO4S2dGSoH_J7cP8VsmGCIYbCy2ABHfQcUTS9VYGk6dUDN7jH_GArUil5MyxbX8l9bPtwmnSA0RbS_buCd8UKBNh7362g9lnvpSJfFdZ4_No06G0BKDNkGjTMm_wnM_5CfXiQFjiqCxWeKbkxnVzywMLfYqTJ0gOYxpGTQ/s660/viagem.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="660" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0Q6G8w-5n1js0xRE2g6AWXO4S2dGSoH_J7cP8VsmGCIYbCy2ABHfQcUTS9VYGk6dUDN7jH_GArUil5MyxbX8l9bPtwmnSA0RbS_buCd8UKBNh7362g9lnvpSJfFdZ4_No06G0BKDNkGjTMm_wnM_5CfXiQFjiqCxWeKbkxnVzywMLfYqTJ0gOYxpGTQ/w640-h466/viagem.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.maxima.pt/atual/detalhe/samsonite-as-malas-de-viagem-com-pinturas-de-rene-magritte">(imagem daqui)</a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">O terminal do
aeroporto fervilha de vida singular, mas plural de diversidade. Um casal de
Judeus ortodoxos, novíssimos, atrai o muitos olhares. Ela, com um bebé nos
braços, traja de azul escuro, camisola larga e comprida a combinar com a saia
de pregas pelo tornozelo, onde espreitam as meias grossas agasalhando os pés
nas sabrinas pretas. Na cabeça, um lenço igualmente preto. Ele, com o
costumeiro fato e chapéu pretos, as <i>peiot </i>(pequenos cachos) emoldurando o rosto
pálido. Passam os olhos pelos produtos de marca, detendo-se nas lojas de luxo,
mas nada comprando. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Há um certo ar
de recriminação e desconforto, ainda que disfarçado.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">No entanto, a
chegada de uma família japonesa arrebata as atenções. Homem e mulher
elegantíssimos, vestidos com roupa Prada e acessórios marcadamente
extravagantes, seguidos por dois rapazes adolescentes usando sapatilhas
Balenciaga, <i>airpods</i> a afastar qualquer som externo e olhares perdidos na sua
“onda”. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Demoram-se um
pouco na zona de onde o primeiro casal tinha acabado de sair, compram uma mala
Céline de mil e seiscentos euros e uma pequena caixa com dois pares meias de
homem Louis Vuitton de quinhentos.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Dirigem-se à
porta de embarque conforme chegaram, altivos e distantes, apenas com mais dois
sacos de compras e menos alguns euros na conta do cartão de crédito dourado.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Há um certo ar
de recriminação e desconforto, ainda que disfarçado. Contudo, acrescente-se-lhe
uma ponta de inveja.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Na hora de
deixarem os sofás, há garrafas de água vazias, cascas de banana e invólucros de
bolachas e chocolates nas mesas baixas. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Dirigem-se à
porta de embarque de uma companhia <i>low cost</i>, arrastando as pequenas malas de
dimensão regulamentar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Sigo-os, depois
de depositar o lixo no caixote mais próximo.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 42.55pt; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 42.55pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VixuQnzRlx4?si=qPvAGXvIbBnNY5kp" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe> </div><div style="text-align: center;">(<span style="background-color: white; color: #0f0f0f; font-family: "YouTube Sans", Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Hania Rani - Nancy Jazz Pulsations)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-28269234269601977312023-10-17T16:39:00.003+01:002023-10-17T16:39:31.399+01:00Lavre-se acta<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_7EIYCPIJT6Fy0JF5w8-oBv9nuvyn1a5WPJF_nlqHWGp55FjVxZTMm1h6Hp8iw0Euu-2lq_qMXdnWKOXwzwprSfZAaG3fhScBEHH7AVTElmZIosfaQmIDQ2u49lu39OccIv-o1CghpmAlgPQ-QLMopkMehHCK0F-2BaiPCjEb-2JIoyI_ZNMTmR_tBw/s450/image14785429377382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="337" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_7EIYCPIJT6Fy0JF5w8-oBv9nuvyn1a5WPJF_nlqHWGp55FjVxZTMm1h6Hp8iw0Euu-2lq_qMXdnWKOXwzwprSfZAaG3fhScBEHH7AVTElmZIosfaQmIDQ2u49lu39OccIv-o1CghpmAlgPQ-QLMopkMehHCK0F-2BaiPCjEb-2JIoyI_ZNMTmR_tBw/w480-h640/image14785429377382.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">(<span style="color: #1a1a1a;">Amadeo de Souza-Cardoso)</span></div></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Aos
dezassete dias do mês de Outubro de dois mil e vinte e três, Maria apresentou-se
perante todos sem que ninguém a tivesse convocado.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Declarou
ser pertinente, tendo em conta a ausência instalada, apenas interrompida por
escassíssimas vezes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Lamentou
a sua falta de inspiração, de agilidade no uso da escrita, de argúcia de
espírito.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">Acrescentou,
ainda, que tinha vindo a tentar juntar palavras em frases, mas que os dedos se
declaravam dormentes, quer de teclas, quer de lápis e canetas. Assim sendo,
nada de palavras, quanto mais de frases!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">E
nada mais havendo a tratar, deu por encerrada a sessão, da qual se lavrou a
presente acta, que, depois de lida, não necessita ser assinada.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;"><br /></span></p><br /><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-TNVp4y1GA0?si=-aU15MXNduZAtyNE" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Jonas Gewald - Transparent)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-41531598506594589322023-09-22T17:34:00.003+01:002023-09-22T17:37:41.034+01:00Coração<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEije-jqCiyTFcphghwOJYThMCY-DA7IJV1eTKHXTMVJN3UPuJXr3s8mVrInNYce859g8q3PGJB9gauaGNTNMtrlrUFd5maex7UEqlcIJZTOpN4J3P5nnaubiQcUfxVsI8dL4IBGo6kct1DIIedS1a1C5S3fHg2ErfjTA21K4yCVRl5tKS8paqBOBeE4n78/s752/Coracao.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="352" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEije-jqCiyTFcphghwOJYThMCY-DA7IJV1eTKHXTMVJN3UPuJXr3s8mVrInNYce859g8q3PGJB9gauaGNTNMtrlrUFd5maex7UEqlcIJZTOpN4J3P5nnaubiQcUfxVsI8dL4IBGo6kct1DIIedS1a1C5S3fHg2ErfjTA21K4yCVRl5tKS8paqBOBeE4n78/w301-h640/Coracao.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;">(imagem <a href="https://www.adigo.com.br/o-pensar-do-coracao/">daqui</a>)</p><p><span> </span><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Coração</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">O coração, <i>ao contrário da pele</i>*,</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">não se renova ou perde de sete em sete anos.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Transforma-se ao sabor dos sentimentos,</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">torna excitante a permanência humana.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">O coração pulsa, tem ritmo, fica louco</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">ou quase quieto de emoção.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">O coração não aparece na foto</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">do documento da nossa identidade.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">E porém...</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">O coração É a nossa identidade.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;">*</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: PT;"> ver Pedro Mexia, in "Duplo
Império"</span></p></blockquote><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="20" src="https://youtube.com/embed/dTPYIbE9GHc?si=Wozaie_VDBQgJOT5" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Benjamim Clementine - Eternity)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-24928515167903466112023-09-20T11:27:00.000+01:002023-09-20T11:27:45.337+01:00Azul Klein<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPMSuhxxeDVN0So7kiBrfG8PU8CX01dvMudrz25BJ6XN1lvJd7pmKJOJwbVZ_nJh6qcGVnWHdKGP724cvCzH_H_ccKzR42B4dNGJOi49Zd5QnReUR37SHyu8gPS0N3BY8444bpMmiDg12CyEej-ToMOBsLt-e2aW2qw4XPMVxLlKd43wormBGxTqNQeo/s1415/Yves-klein-blue.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1415" data-original-width="1090" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPMSuhxxeDVN0So7kiBrfG8PU8CX01dvMudrz25BJ6XN1lvJd7pmKJOJwbVZ_nJh6qcGVnWHdKGP724cvCzH_H_ccKzR42B4dNGJOi49Zd5QnReUR37SHyu8gPS0N3BY8444bpMmiDg12CyEej-ToMOBsLt-e2aW2qw4XPMVxLlKd43wormBGxTqNQeo/w309-h400/Yves-klein-blue.jpeg" width="309" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://pt.artsdot.com/@@/8XZ7Q4-Yves-Klein-azul">Yves Klein - Blue</a>)</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diziam-lhe dos sonhos adiados, dos dias desencantados, do correr do tempo cego, do cansaço desabado em sono precoce no sofá.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Mostravam-lhe as rugas precoces nos rostos tristes, o olhar baço, as mãos quietas e mudas.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Teimava em pintar de azul klein o seu presente, feito futuro.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="30" src="https://youtube.com/embed/qTua4L7d_G4?si=T6ubu8ifE7EzcwKw" width="">500</iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Stephan Moccio - Le temps qui passe)
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-6851768079885729392023-09-19T15:41:00.008+01:002023-09-19T16:34:24.196+01:00Inferno<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExOEb1pTLjdYa3GdrhfjwKPOBIYDzfy2PAQqCPsgYr3OrKNtYmEpFuY4mGri_ES3HDFSLbX3Bk1MNfgbGIgL59_qA-VPBuJPkaOlemzrfcVHCe4hG4hTaGwFVBkIg0EbQ8eS1R7k4oIiYjJXxqyAqIm4dj4QmJHO8RBrn6GOul8xeR4VUSUHMYpc2UNM/s260/f.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="260" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExOEb1pTLjdYa3GdrhfjwKPOBIYDzfy2PAQqCPsgYr3OrKNtYmEpFuY4mGri_ES3HDFSLbX3Bk1MNfgbGIgL59_qA-VPBuJPkaOlemzrfcVHCe4hG4hTaGwFVBkIg0EbQ8eS1R7k4oIiYjJXxqyAqIm4dj4QmJHO8RBrn6GOul8xeR4VUSUHMYpc2UNM/w400-h298/f.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(imagem <a href="https://sicnoticias.pt/pais/2023-09-15-Vila-Vicosa-tres-freiras-detidas-por-maus-tratos-a-menores-ebfcb8c0">daqui</a>)</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Maria Joana
deparou-se com a notícia, atraída pela fotografia que a acompanhava. Três
freiras, de costas.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"<span style="background: white;">Três <b>freiras</b> foram detidas por
suspeitas de maus-tratos contra menores, residentes num lar juvenil, em Vila
Viçosa."</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="background: white; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Já há longos anos que arrumara num canto bem escuro as memórias do
internato. O acordar abrupto com as palmas da Irmã Severa, acompanhada de uma
oração gritada a plenos pulmões, não para que Deus a ouvisse, mas sim para
que nenhuma se deixasse ficar no quente dos lençóis; o duche mais do
que apressado; o frio a avermelhar as pernas a descoberto a partir do
rebuço dos soquetes brancos; a missa, ainda em jejum; as filas encabeçadas
pela freira "ao serviço", para todas as tarefas; as saudades de casa...</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="background: white; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="background: white; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Mas, o título! O título... Viu a Flor! A Flor, franzina, morena, grandes
olhos escuros e tristes na carinha magra, de pé, ao fundo do refeitório,
lençóis nos braços, a tremer na camisa de noite fina.</span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="background: white; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"Olhem bem para a vossa colega (chamavam-lhe asilada e não interna,
por não poder pagar)! É uma porquinha! Fez chichi na cama!"</span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="background: white; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Hoje não toma pequeno almoço e vai daqui para o tanque lavar o que
sujou!"</span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="background: white; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Guardava
sempre uns biscoitos que a mãe lhe mandava para a Flor, enquanto, em
pensamento, fazia uma prece para que todas as freiras fossem para o Inferno!</span></span></p><br /><p></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="20" src="https://youtube.com/embed/GrFq59LfYZc?si=uckmbMfmyj_qfrDz" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Solas - James Duffy)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-2400780768796625302023-06-23T18:24:00.002+01:002023-06-23T18:24:30.977+01:00Do envelhecimento dos troncos<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJR9AwPpC9o0BOeSj0E0Z341W1Loxz1NpJ1mmz-XlOSE3UZjptPBK1PwhhwJrirZ63u87X-1LVgg69xR_bpUU1vyRrP-Ol64Re-mH03mkkCNSJg87hxsxhSUyw5XloJCcC0gK3ZSER_PIG10AN6MP8p7FXZxb229BzRZSLG0uDD8ZF0RZKFSC9JxxLg9I/s4080/nesp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJR9AwPpC9o0BOeSj0E0Z341W1Loxz1NpJ1mmz-XlOSE3UZjptPBK1PwhhwJrirZ63u87X-1LVgg69xR_bpUU1vyRrP-Ol64Re-mH03mkkCNSJg87hxsxhSUyw5XloJCcC0gK3ZSER_PIG10AN6MP8p7FXZxb229BzRZSLG0uDD8ZF0RZKFSC9JxxLg9I/w480-h640/nesp.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: PT;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Havia, no campo da casa grande,
muitas árvores: pinheiros mansos, abetos, cameleiras, laranjeiras, ameixoeiras, cerejeiras,
pessegueiros, mas a nespereira… a nespereira tinha sempre sido especial. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: PT;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Talvez por tê-la visto
crescer, acolhido o seu corpo de menina em escaladas e assistido aos primeiros
suspiros e desgostos de amor, ladeando a janela do seu quarto durante tantos anos, primeiro
usando a sombra das paredes para ir trepando sem secar, depois oferecendo ela
sombra nas tardes quentes de Verão.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: PT;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pousou as mãos no tronco
ferido pela idade. Tantas feridas abertas. <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Tantas cicatrizes. Seriam as dela ou as de ambas?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6UWA-D7RbJA" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Ludovico Einaudi - Broken Wings)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-19945888776290618912023-04-25T19:34:00.000+01:002023-04-25T19:34:03.143+01:00Abril, 25.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKcpxKOD17_hbzQVQUUa47GvEe0AsrWoKoumpnzRNjeDrPhWb3qiNRsSQuxu7gVr5-_1bk_B7WKRH7nF9x73kDlstZw0EpeKzS5_--NnuaidGomNVuql2bIMYq2crOGBToZdToqFpfNcCl8z0qxcTzhp4HnpMLWeTCGvX9fJ4eClVBpZpilqB7kk3/s4096/20230425_151806.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3039" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKcpxKOD17_hbzQVQUUa47GvEe0AsrWoKoumpnzRNjeDrPhWb3qiNRsSQuxu7gVr5-_1bk_B7WKRH7nF9x73kDlstZw0EpeKzS5_--NnuaidGomNVuql2bIMYq2crOGBToZdToqFpfNcCl8z0qxcTzhp4HnpMLWeTCGvX9fJ4eClVBpZpilqB7kk3/w474-h640/20230425_151806.jpg" width="474" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">E, quase sem se dar conta, era outra vez Abril! </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div> <p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hR9gELeOIXY" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Traz outro amigo também - Zeca Afonso)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-40604716456469271402023-04-24T16:39:00.001+01:002023-04-24T16:39:43.652+01:00Aurélia<p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXITJ1mreG6F_-mCZm9EeD_Vz57t3ZdJsfvV17eppGhQMbXlPmwMH77urrtnxe2PG2tyUkukywftOg2ux88idVJcdD6kV1O8ftitsu-2FC62ZHE_NG-abPXvgdYRCJccODq2NkwHqFZHSg-lHf9GjaERVus-LHPn0SpDyOrJ9oZRoNKm6GwMxDcVg/s263/Lust.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="192" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXITJ1mreG6F_-mCZm9EeD_Vz57t3ZdJsfvV17eppGhQMbXlPmwMH77urrtnxe2PG2tyUkukywftOg2ux88idVJcdD6kV1O8ftitsu-2FC62ZHE_NG-abPXvgdYRCJccODq2NkwHqFZHSg-lHf9GjaERVus-LHPn0SpDyOrJ9oZRoNKm6GwMxDcVg/w467-h640/Lust.jpg" width="467" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #70757a; font-size: 12px; white-space: nowrap;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.artmajeur.com/tamashaik/en/artworks/13495919/lust">(Tamás Haik / Artmajeur)</a></div></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Aurélia distinguia-se pela sobriedade, que era nela a consequência de temperamento e educação. Não quer isto dizer que fosse dessa espécie de moças papilionáceas que se alimentam do pólen das flores, e para quem o comer é um ato desgracioso e prosaico. Bem ao contrário, ela sabia que a nutrição dá a seiva da beleza, sem a qual as cores desmaiam nas faces e os sorrisos nos lábios, como as efémeras e pálidas florações de uma roseira ética.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Assim não tinha vergonha de comer; e sem vaidade acreditava que o esmalte de seus dentes não era menos gracioso quando eles se triscavam como a crepitação de um colar de pérolas; nem o matiz de seus lábios menos saboroso quando chupavam uma fruta, ou se entreabriam para receber o alimento."</span></p><p>Senhora, José de Alencar</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Adorava ver Aurélia comer! Costumava sentar-se numa mesa desde onde a pudesse observar, sempre tão composta, a inquietar-se perante as opções do menu; imaginando cada sabor, cada aroma... Era toda brilho no olhar. E quando pousavam na mesa o prato escolhido, então! Uma festa!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Aurélia era, nesses momentos de gula, a mais sensual das mulheres, toda ela boca e mãos, deixando a quem a observasse a sugar o tutano de uma costelinha de borrego ou a trincar um bago de uvas, um calafrio na espinha, um desejo instantâneo de a possuir com o mesmo apetite que mostrava, recorrendo ao mesmo método para se deleitar.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span>Maria Eu</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_1Iz5lN3YLY" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Sueño con ella - Buika)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-47587382789532759182023-04-19T18:31:00.002+01:002023-04-19T18:31:22.313+01:00Arquivo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUcWkjm1rnIW1JByHGiTuik8fmqQ3zHwaRuUkwDjhtPMaC1neYPIzb_aPNEbnx7m06HB_J3ttP667bY24YuP27RXQA8ezMC5479Vrm5CIwd9PU5PrjhhdGSCZme2dcUeu1lxbbdKyZRJ-4bVRNxfo-Q9grTJlNz7NPF20hzJuTLXptb8qD8yMVDXG/s580/Sono-Pablo-Picasso-Le-reve.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="580" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUcWkjm1rnIW1JByHGiTuik8fmqQ3zHwaRuUkwDjhtPMaC1neYPIzb_aPNEbnx7m06HB_J3ttP667bY24YuP27RXQA8ezMC5479Vrm5CIwd9PU5PrjhhdGSCZme2dcUeu1lxbbdKyZRJ-4bVRNxfo-Q9grTJlNz7NPF20hzJuTLXptb8qD8yMVDXG/w640-h382/Sono-Pablo-Picasso-Le-reve.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://www.isleep.pt/o-sonho-de-pablo-picasso/">O Sonho - Pablo Picasso</a>)</div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> Tinha sonhos, Maria Antónia. Um dia viveu um. Arquivou-o para que não o esquecesse.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fIG1QeIVVX8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Hania Rani - Eden)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-23825115276192657662023-04-01T20:03:00.001+01:002023-04-01T20:03:12.535+01:00Aprendiz<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBEDWx3XxJ4xUGgJotE_MN4JLBvcCKc9jsSKdd3QmDUq8VLoniVKtvIzElzflKKzory5nccqLUosvsrxfDcx9XKEzHHLe05jNi6LF5TU4vKoNacLcJpA7Knb1-najlDQJ4J3gePQBazYwC5nMLvJgz-UOk4jkkbUZv3j6gEwlY3fHGQ1CCzKrxqwQO/s736/mulher.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="736" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBEDWx3XxJ4xUGgJotE_MN4JLBvcCKc9jsSKdd3QmDUq8VLoniVKtvIzElzflKKzory5nccqLUosvsrxfDcx9XKEzHHLe05jNi6LF5TU4vKoNacLcJpA7Knb1-najlDQJ4J3gePQBazYwC5nMLvJgz-UOk4jkkbUZv3j6gEwlY3fHGQ1CCzKrxqwQO/w640-h534/mulher.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.pt/pin/559079741226595444/">Imagem daqui</a><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Recordava cada tempo com uma vida própria. Aos cinco anos era a menina de
seus pais, caracóis loiros presos em rabo de cavalo por uma fita de cetim a
condizer com os bibes feitos pela mãe, correndo pelos campos; aos nove enchia
os pulmões de ar e respirava fundo no exame da quarta classe presidido pelo Sr.
Inspector de aspecto circunspecto; aos doze enchia-se de raiva, sentada num baú
cheio de roupa, no primeiro de muitos dias desterrada de casa, condenada a um
regime de internato; aos quinze olhava-se ao espelho perguntando-se se algum
rapaz, algum dia, iria querer namorá-la; aos dezasseis afirmava-se Abril,
aquele em que nascera e agora era também cravo, já sabendo que eles, os
rapazes, a queriam namorar; aos dezoito, sempre cravo, houve estudos, muitos e diversos,
com leituras, conversas e debates noites dentro; aos vinte e dois, foram os
meninos que a tornaram de novo aprendiz, enquanto os ensinava como sabia e
podia.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Até hoje, ser aprendiz, consciente de uma busca constante de completude, marca a vida do seu tempo mais longo, sempre cravo, sempre Abril.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0E3qomiCuxw" title="YouTube video player" width="220"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Lisa Gerrard e Marcello De Francisci - When the light of the morning comes)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-42824413198115256712023-03-07T17:56:00.006+00:002023-03-07T17:56:55.906+00:00Vida<p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzIliWJ8JgbXq82W10-XtQBJBeAhE6KYlKcwLQrvxGqrwcsA-eKOtg9vI2F8G6krzIlS6qAncs8CqLObBykxZr_ynjMAde1Pp9SLvYTtEk-5vA_e5MDI_aTNYa2zuBZOjhscIlMCQicIOCwv4XljszWAwbcBzW4tnO0x_b7y1XU25ELkPlTMgb7oQ/s705/ternura.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzIliWJ8JgbXq82W10-XtQBJBeAhE6KYlKcwLQrvxGqrwcsA-eKOtg9vI2F8G6krzIlS6qAncs8CqLObBykxZr_ynjMAde1Pp9SLvYTtEk-5vA_e5MDI_aTNYa2zuBZOjhscIlMCQicIOCwv4XljszWAwbcBzW4tnO0x_b7y1XU25ELkPlTMgb7oQ/w490-h640/ternura.jpg" width="490" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.bellasartes.gob.ar/coleccion/obra/7970/">(Marc Chagall)</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Maria Antónia tinha crescido a ouvir a recomendação de que enfrentasse a vida como se fosse fazer uma pega de caras e a agarrasse com força pelos cornos.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Começou por fazê-lo, mas não entendia nada de touradas!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Em pouco tempo, escolheu a doçura para viver os seus dias.</span></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1sbllEB7uD8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(CLANN - Kin Fables)</span></p>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-49012312866331963652022-10-05T18:04:00.001+01:002022-10-05T18:04:06.924+01:00Prova de vida<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqeBkXG3iam87cv1x3f4xFYdUModzbX9j6alcMYkV51d2mWbKIA3E5HazDiSFrCfakUbNerKF9XTlEVfMduw7_UkjASuRv9G5uezPyEX2WGC3UdlIbpr4xU4A2M4x3nEB9PP--Hz4CQ8f_2itMk_Y4EduS6pmPjLE2O2Ry5_zY_qdq8oSQmLmCRc-/s432/time.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="432" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqeBkXG3iam87cv1x3f4xFYdUModzbX9j6alcMYkV51d2mWbKIA3E5HazDiSFrCfakUbNerKF9XTlEVfMduw7_UkjASuRv9G5uezPyEX2WGC3UdlIbpr4xU4A2M4x3nEB9PP--Hz4CQ8f_2itMk_Y4EduS6pmPjLE2O2Ry5_zY_qdq8oSQmLmCRc-/w640-h640/time.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://www.fulcrumgallery.com/Duy-Huynh/Waiting-for-Time-to-Fly_1014496.htm">Time to fly - Duy Huynh</a>)</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A vida, breve,
corre qual cavalo com o freio nos dentes. Sentes-lhe o tropel, a velocidade
desenfreada com que os dias te descoloram o cabelo e te salpicam a pele de
leves manchas acastanhadas. Às vezes, tropeças numa ou outra hora mais longa, num
instante luminoso. Quedas-te aí, lutando contra o tempo, sorvendo a alegria, a
ternura, a beleza. Dás por ti a atrasar o relógio. Mais do que isso, tens dois
relógios, um que pára de quando em vez e o outro cujos ponteiros se assemelham
aos de um desenho animado, sempre a correrem. É no que pára, no que dizem estar
avariado, que reside a glória da vida.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ajf-IG7nyYg" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Ludovico Einaudi - Walk)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-52690005962748875292022-09-04T22:31:00.000+01:002022-09-04T22:31:13.853+01:00A idade das mãos<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqpdSNO5JD0Zu4FnPt1b_9cKEoyZV35lc3opHhuV7bz4Bli_xzO_ivPcLB0SjEMcXWlY6SucHPWTnf97BNu15BiV5RSaCBt_5G2jtzFugg0SykE5Bee2ROu1u6NS9Pf8z4fBkYShwMxAUjGynQuvQx6xXS5fy7ETI7GYueZm-SouRU-1vvsEN1mmp/s960/m%C3%A3os.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="960" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqpdSNO5JD0Zu4FnPt1b_9cKEoyZV35lc3opHhuV7bz4Bli_xzO_ivPcLB0SjEMcXWlY6SucHPWTnf97BNu15BiV5RSaCBt_5G2jtzFugg0SykE5Bee2ROu1u6NS9Pf8z4fBkYShwMxAUjGynQuvQx6xXS5fy7ETI7GYueZm-SouRU-1vvsEN1mmp/w640-h428/m%C3%A3os.webp" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(imagem<a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/8-intimate-photos-that-show-the-beauty-of-aging-hands_n_561c0236e4b0082030a36da0"> daqui</a>)</span></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Olhou as mãos como se nunca as tivesse
visto antes. Esticavam-se, dedos cerrados ao redor das asas dos sacos de
plástico (recicláveis, claro), numa tensão visível pelos nós dos dedos
salientes e pelas marcas avermelhadas que se iam afundando no peso. Viam-se, ainda assim, rugas a cruzarem as veias azuis que corriam, salientes, como pequenos rios, levando vida até ao mar do coração.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Há muito
que não se dava conta do passar do tempo. Desviou o olhar como que a regressar
à imagem das suas mãos lisas, estrelando os mesmos anéis, sempre em voos picados a acompanharem as palavras, ou em gestos de ternura</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pg7TY7vLAgg" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Ólafur Arnalds - Happiness doesn't wait)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-40994236622699243622022-08-26T16:24:00.002+01:002022-08-26T16:25:54.317+01:00Poeminha(s) nove<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hoj3SzNdDERESkQbPvRYF2G4JT7w9sH9-TdCsbISGJHxvZ_JnMi3LWgWGIKiMdzNCjztdguYblL5ekF-7vIeDBN_YH8TYSOC8WQP90AELrs_kD921VjoP6g00KLpaQnrUu5GcJam5YGWI0MoRnzHE39q-IdCb7eTTrza6R52ETOezNjbV8zu8Cin/s600/%C3%A1gua.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="446" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hoj3SzNdDERESkQbPvRYF2G4JT7w9sH9-TdCsbISGJHxvZ_JnMi3LWgWGIKiMdzNCjztdguYblL5ekF-7vIeDBN_YH8TYSOC8WQP90AELrs_kD921VjoP6g00KLpaQnrUu5GcJam5YGWI0MoRnzHE39q-IdCb7eTTrza6R52ETOezNjbV8zu8Cin/w476-h640/%C3%A1gua.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(imagem <a href="https://www.pinterest.pt/pin/400538960603058914/">daqui)</a></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Brota <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a água<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">fresca<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">bebe<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a menina<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">sôfrega<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">escorre<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">em fio<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">no vestido azul<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">faz-se frescura<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a água <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">no tecido.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Faz-se ternura.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_071NQKAxjs" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Hania Rani - Sun)</span></p>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-79439024547621044312022-08-14T23:29:00.001+01:002022-08-14T23:29:45.035+01:00Poeminha(s) - oito<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SxhaX1uCIVYhW6d3BZdHMiJV8eOLmx45mKx98mXgDRdls1RvXiqlQGHK70pjweyXIKQThwWNmR3VTMDLAgzH1plM0sCtYk3h-B7lF20jn2dIWFih7iYeEYXymH52GP6CyoDq3M9j5LhisGoQiKRaPBPAXdzTqLraVdLz5L5mBy4Lzol-9esLbeWn/s1000/inos%20corradin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="1000" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SxhaX1uCIVYhW6d3BZdHMiJV8eOLmx45mKx98mXgDRdls1RvXiqlQGHK70pjweyXIKQThwWNmR3VTMDLAgzH1plM0sCtYk3h-B7lF20jn2dIWFih7iYeEYXymH52GP6CyoDq3M9j5LhisGoQiKRaPBPAXdzTqLraVdLz5L5mBy4Lzol-9esLbeWn/w640-h524/inos%20corradin.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.leilaodearte.com/leilao/2020/marco/85/inos-corradin-marinha-com-nuvens-15093/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Inos Corradin)</span></a></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do encanto</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Se fez pranto</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">e</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do pranto</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Se fez rio</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">e</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do rio </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Se fez mar</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">e</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do mar</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">se tornou nuvem</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Vê a nuvem, Maria! Um encanto! </span></p><p><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UXnJzrMKBK8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Agnes Obel - Deezer Sessions)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-37016805388835156752022-08-10T18:22:00.000+01:002022-08-10T18:22:06.485+01:00Poeminha(s) - Sete<p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_C92zkIfwQ-2HtIfuYAPjJSL4AK-K0C9AjlR239BLKSM7ANNB7UX7VZfZK2bgs1fbL91jUHrXmtuid6tTkCJVKo02a6EWeqrxl4Jdih6Dbfiav_tOwzPmJRRBaTyk8l50tCHgVodKhy1VULRU5QRL4jgQW11GJep2IhV5BRrhgC9OvrvCISGAsa9/s1400/Yuri%20Pysar.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1120" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_C92zkIfwQ-2HtIfuYAPjJSL4AK-K0C9AjlR239BLKSM7ANNB7UX7VZfZK2bgs1fbL91jUHrXmtuid6tTkCJVKo02a6EWeqrxl4Jdih6Dbfiav_tOwzPmJRRBaTyk8l50tCHgVodKhy1VULRU5QRL4jgQW11GJep2IhV5BRrhgC9OvrvCISGAsa9/w512-h640/Yuri%20Pysar.webp" width="512" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="https://www.artfinder.com/product/dancing-couple-contemporary-oil-painting-dance-of-love-40x50-cm/">Yuri Pysar</a>)</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Dança <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">a rapariga<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">flor<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">ri<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">o rapaz<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">vento<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">agitam-se<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">pétalas<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/awMDqOpaY4E" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Love awakening - <span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Misha Mishenko)</span></span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-1915523880339276832022-08-01T15:44:00.000+01:002022-08-01T15:44:05.888+01:00Poeminha(s) - seis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uNPW4i6wDZakA9RRY4WTOyAJV5V2mYIc-xGC44ERadLobdzgaBeNryUECuW_HKYwMUxP4iXzYbjlgqUX8HOgr6HnIv1JVOuetw2FiBkCOWKf1_9_Ejtf8fxyFrC7KyKvvKNSOEhqRApKnAs74nUFMTPHTYCrT5HKpitthObshxX46XL0EO7wf8iN/s261/Lona%20Verlich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="261" height="473" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uNPW4i6wDZakA9RRY4WTOyAJV5V2mYIc-xGC44ERadLobdzgaBeNryUECuW_HKYwMUxP4iXzYbjlgqUX8HOgr6HnIv1JVOuetw2FiBkCOWKf1_9_Ejtf8fxyFrC7KyKvvKNSOEhqRApKnAs74nUFMTPHTYCrT5HKpitthObshxX46XL0EO7wf8iN/w640-h473/Lona%20Verlich.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="https://www.saatchiart.com/print/Painting-Closed-Doors-and-Open-Windows/1070393/4435868/view">Lona Verlich</a>)</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">porta cerrada<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">escuridão<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">logo</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">cedo</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">o medo</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TnKRMDA7Flo" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Litany, Arvo Part)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-25646048797206825242022-07-29T22:23:00.002+01:002022-07-29T22:23:27.625+01:00Poeminha(s) - cinco<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgThizQC7t3aZJaNqixgKhHkmarIPN3m-a6sdtq7Y9tj2BQ48kYayvy8f7qmXcUk1i7D9yGsCQzEkefERzoZdEZAkrNKvynqjKpGVUUU8c185W5x04CEKfojBsWPyuMLgmYtdPBJSwXE3_LHMCvtA73ViAXPZ76c_v2uMo_ZrxoM6ZNu-WA9bbD3XY2/s639/alentejo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="639" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgThizQC7t3aZJaNqixgKhHkmarIPN3m-a6sdtq7Y9tj2BQ48kYayvy8f7qmXcUk1i7D9yGsCQzEkefERzoZdEZAkrNKvynqjKpGVUUU8c185W5x04CEKfojBsWPyuMLgmYtdPBJSwXE3_LHMCvtA73ViAXPZ76c_v2uMo_ZrxoM6ZNu-WA9bbD3XY2/w640-h426/alentejo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">(foto <a href="https://nutrimento.pt/noticias/viagem-sensorial-e-sonora-pelas-paisagens-de-portugal/">daqui</a>)</div></span><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Diz-me<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">do teu país<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">cheiro<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">gosto<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">cor<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Diz</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ELuSH5GNL-E" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Sérgio Godinho - Grão da mesma mó)</div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-88515801952781090762022-07-18T09:52:00.002+01:002022-07-18T09:52:38.238+01:00Poeminha(s) - Quatro<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MoMOAS8NZSqnbLNKLQ9Xdc1hoppscV9YvjqMS_k85zVfSonVKwpfVr6gxwlW_2qz2aHfn1M4gzaBO74ZJh_kLPF2HO_GMeONMB7Y0P0wxe9_IrEjo6CsUXKdvkD4XNCt9cBhY4T5b8OJTwsjqJ0tZvHgFCdggdaq76xy7nncs6h_R7-4iyrQlT05/s1080/rauschenberg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="875" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MoMOAS8NZSqnbLNKLQ9Xdc1hoppscV9YvjqMS_k85zVfSonVKwpfVr6gxwlW_2qz2aHfn1M4gzaBO74ZJh_kLPF2HO_GMeONMB7Y0P0wxe9_IrEjo6CsUXKdvkD4XNCt9cBhY4T5b8OJTwsjqJ0tZvHgFCdggdaq76xy7nncs6h_R7-4iyrQlT05/w518-h640/rauschenberg.jpg" width="518" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2005/robert-rauschenberg"></a><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2005/robert-rauschenberg">(Robert Rauschenberg)</a></span></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Vidro<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">translúcido olhar<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">ausência<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">traços<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">fragmento<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">poeira<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">nada</span><o:p></o:p></p><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yJ4X26gfL14" title="YouTube video player" width="200"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Solitude - Kandace Springs)</span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-45108983584925065862022-07-15T22:45:00.003+01:002022-07-15T22:45:49.816+01:00Poeminha(s) - Três<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYi9C9ywCuakIZJtmPrKWF3Bis4LLfWPskngsxyTbzZEzl0MmfrXsGZ3HfJ7PRrZgmD6p5qA-WtP2aay4wZBEAeMuE7uHHliDS4lQpwT3gnxpo1gHGG0Ixns7CIhtc7ulAbVoDdtkZr54SzaPWCANhRfN7e3bSxrpSysl3TBpwCsMhdusM6Llmg3gJ/s750/Destruction%20-%20Maria%20Ant%C3%B3nia%20Santos.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="750" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYi9C9ywCuakIZJtmPrKWF3Bis4LLfWPskngsxyTbzZEzl0MmfrXsGZ3HfJ7PRrZgmD6p5qA-WtP2aay4wZBEAeMuE7uHHliDS4lQpwT3gnxpo1gHGG0Ixns7CIhtc7ulAbVoDdtkZr54SzaPWCANhRfN7e3bSxrpSysl3TBpwCsMhdusM6Llmg3gJ/w640-h384/Destruction%20-%20Maria%20Ant%C3%B3nia%20Santos.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.singulart.com/en/artworks/maria-ant%C3%B3nia-santos-destrui%C3%A7%C3%A3o-destruction--1317915">(Destruction _ Maria Antónia Santos)</a></div></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Explosões<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">silêncio<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">surdo<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">sangram</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">estilhaços</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Lhx6wBUDnNk" title="YouTube video player" width="200"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Lament - <span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Iftekharul Anam)</span></span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-91796157929844522392022-07-11T17:06:00.002+01:002022-07-11T17:06:23.872+01:00Poeminha(s) - Dois<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2gwWu8OzquJs4tXGggXFMX1ukWvV1pjsNNOxdvQLES8df19i4RCygUYGnopNRmZXX3axLFe7wA0ahfYvJ9nFajUf2NnqzADFRDGndwbSNQRvVC5Blw1n16f_tXMEtwMVTP1AthXO7qKP-wqJ0JPwYe4dCcFE4EYxRrd0TlPvhKCg_TfLhw_Wtuje/s2088/Abra%C3%A7o%20-%20Lu%C3%ADs%20Desenha.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1720" data-original-width="2088" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2gwWu8OzquJs4tXGggXFMX1ukWvV1pjsNNOxdvQLES8df19i4RCygUYGnopNRmZXX3axLFe7wA0ahfYvJ9nFajUf2NnqzADFRDGndwbSNQRvVC5Blw1n16f_tXMEtwMVTP1AthXO7qKP-wqJ0JPwYe4dCcFE4EYxRrd0TlPvhKCg_TfLhw_Wtuje/w640-h528/Abra%C3%A7o%20-%20Lu%C3%ADs%20Desenha.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.luisdesenha.com/2022/07/abraco.html">(Abraço - Luís Desenha)</a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ontem<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">vi-te<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">amor<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">viste-me<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">tu?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eJwSZIajEvI" title="YouTube video player" width="200"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Dhafer Youssef - Soupir Eternel)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5631984203950211055.post-52117568454471443252022-07-09T22:18:00.000+01:002022-07-09T22:18:38.354+01:00Poeminha(s) - um<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9M0ybQY8ZpkccgdKxP_dxEPgIhOfadWy7M0kJqvA5zAoYy1MBtkd1JrpFl_3M01l8MynIbamHACtBVb33wHNmvseTXdRJtYI3e2_7ixIVcnkdcbIinsvYNzsX1k6PlXpmtsevg7swm16rqf-h_7jVo61K7Jb7V6XHPKrd6qdV6o00LNTNCBltWUq/s1091/John%20Singer%20Sargent.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="753" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9M0ybQY8ZpkccgdKxP_dxEPgIhOfadWy7M0kJqvA5zAoYy1MBtkd1JrpFl_3M01l8MynIbamHACtBVb33wHNmvseTXdRJtYI3e2_7ixIVcnkdcbIinsvYNzsX1k6PlXpmtsevg7swm16rqf-h_7jVo61K7Jb7V6XHPKrd6qdV6o00LNTNCBltWUq/w442-h640/John%20Singer%20Sargent.jpg" width="442" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="https://www.johnsingersargent.org/">John Singer Sargent</a>)</span></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">O branco<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">alvo<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">do <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">teu vestido <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">um oásis</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></p><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="35" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/q7ucSisSMnM" title="YouTube video player" width="150"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7ucSisSMnM">(<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: var(--ytd-video-primary-info-renderer-title-color,var(--yt-spec-text-primary)); font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Hania Rani - Esja)</span></a></span></div>Maria Euhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701594715431283931noreply@blogger.com12