tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59317909583788323002024-03-14T13:17:11.799-03:00PER TEMPUSEm tempo; Latim sempre me soou misteriosamente poético...Então, longa a caminhada rabiscando, inventando,tentando, agora veio a coragem de, "Per Tempus" dividir e compartilhar com vocês alguns de meus poemas.Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-63506579355752671742013-07-22T12:27:00.001-03:002013-07-22T12:27:50.518-03:00Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-39896579826294488542013-01-09T16:24:00.000-02:002013-01-09T16:24:17.991-02:00<br />
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CONSTATAÇÃO<br />
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<br />Hoje sou um olho trapo<br />
espio tua ausência<br />
em frestas mofadas<br />
em dobras de lenços<br />
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Hoje estou uma boca míope<br />
língua farpada<br />
mãos em silêncio...<br />
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Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-22507713854205480382012-07-06T00:10:00.003-03:002012-07-06T00:10:57.938-03:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3AQ6OksPmv9irwwtjr0AFRyS3Y7dai6eq39YFzW7qxqLiN24OMlXMB2Mptn9HMR1bA6lm5al-iUVwwo7_AHaoKugVvA2tOEIy59P7YWfCLeEKcK_EXqSnBvqs6gdDUhXo0g___4p3NZc/s1600/marilyn7+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3AQ6OksPmv9irwwtjr0AFRyS3Y7dai6eq39YFzW7qxqLiN24OMlXMB2Mptn9HMR1bA6lm5al-iUVwwo7_AHaoKugVvA2tOEIy59P7YWfCLeEKcK_EXqSnBvqs6gdDUhXo0g___4p3NZc/s400/marilyn7+(1).jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #38761d;">Cara de santa</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d;">quando a saia levanta</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d;">o coração dispara</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d;">que de santa...</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #38761d;">só tem a cara</span></strong><br />
<br />Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-48969407623120336572012-03-13T00:12:00.002-03:002012-03-13T00:21:47.500-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpH2Lq7RtpvvJtMkMQrZQAsurLWvAJEoEpL-M01-CvAKSrl-L-A-644b0Stet-7Xc1unYK30nbdOTNwaWZ9C6gT4iXODkCL3dK1cPcTvCxTGQfdgK6YCSux2Ms-vVaQFyrtXFcs6cEHU/s1600/IMG_3248.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719216349083423394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpH2Lq7RtpvvJtMkMQrZQAsurLWvAJEoEpL-M01-CvAKSrl-L-A-644b0Stet-7Xc1unYK30nbdOTNwaWZ9C6gT4iXODkCL3dK1cPcTvCxTGQfdgK6YCSux2Ms-vVaQFyrtXFcs6cEHU/s400/IMG_3248.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Simplismente</strong></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#000099;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000099;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>A palavra que me encanta<br />não tem que fecundar nada<br />dar brilho ao amanhecer<br />polir o dia<br />enamorar lua<br />e banco de praça<br /><br />a palavra que me encanta<br />é fruto figo<br />peixe em correnteza<br />marulho no olhar<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>é qualquer palavra<br />que dignifique<br />a simples existência...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-89226435569285459082012-02-28T12:45:00.001-03:002012-02-28T12:51:00.421-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDagWnOZH-TfJ6Xv8OjSLr-1lnXWpmRd_bR_4_tVpCP3b3ZSFc0McqchYZBZwGY7cEWhiid9szUp81fPIPgA-A3ogaaO3hkweLAwZ7WDcU-70MX49kgjhNk5e9TYBee3f6kyLF7awfYNw/s1600/cat+e+cortina.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 272px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714214101945693458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDagWnOZH-TfJ6Xv8OjSLr-1lnXWpmRd_bR_4_tVpCP3b3ZSFc0McqchYZBZwGY7cEWhiid9szUp81fPIPgA-A3ogaaO3hkweLAwZ7WDcU-70MX49kgjhNk5e9TYBee3f6kyLF7awfYNw/s400/cat+e+cortina.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>GATO NO SOFÁ</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>AFIANDO AS UNHAS</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>VIGIA A LUA...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-41846072580617938702012-02-07T23:19:00.002-02:002012-02-07T23:29:23.993-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWCDE9rKP-PTzTb1MLdsrLrY13NYBn-bLL_S9wygzgsqBZiHso7ABxKETcNTdH1H1eiiR1PPO_Wf3J6-D69894cxD4BlY_HywK2pQYyqfVL3NYPUJKGFAEKUmSdZPceiziioIWvozZmc/s1600/pintura+petit.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706570283767198690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWCDE9rKP-PTzTb1MLdsrLrY13NYBn-bLL_S9wygzgsqBZiHso7ABxKETcNTdH1H1eiiR1PPO_Wf3J6-D69894cxD4BlY_HywK2pQYyqfVL3NYPUJKGFAEKUmSdZPceiziioIWvozZmc/s400/pintura+petit.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#006600;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;">Mãos insaciáveis</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;">á deriva de seus desejos</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;">boca gêmea de sua língua</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;">invade</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">-vai...<br /></span></div></span></strong>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-34515538460536680642011-04-03T18:22:00.002-03:002011-04-03T18:27:35.054-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfaoP5O0Rv9lbwsfGtPW5wKS-O8q2Nnz0UKkgf9q0ga6Y6ePHU9wqfSsGuHvtKC5NtfUsnOVRxtR3987n-1JLIVBQd-mqcJWFPwj2aL5Rre6hsRRvJDphuumrrkQyYljIcMjcrMlNapE/s1600/coracao+alado.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 180px; HEIGHT: 140px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591471875228789634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfaoP5O0Rv9lbwsfGtPW5wKS-O8q2Nnz0UKkgf9q0ga6Y6ePHU9wqfSsGuHvtKC5NtfUsnOVRxtR3987n-1JLIVBQd-mqcJWFPwj2aL5Rre6hsRRvJDphuumrrkQyYljIcMjcrMlNapE/s400/coracao+alado.jpg" /></a> <span style="color:#003300;">O AMOR VALE A PENA</span> <br /><p><span style="color:#003300;"></span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#003300;"></p></span><span style="color:#003300;"></span><span style="color:#003300;"></span><span style="color:#003300;">QUANDO VIRA POEMA...</span>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-80858679045263805392011-01-02T00:22:00.002-02:002011-01-02T00:41:01.993-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqld2HsRFj55BuHHe31LLtI54RwdkNjfPw9NGmKxe_sep_waPmvboNrrHWWGqZoHtRtg_auATQ-Y7Y_Luos4Aqs9ODjtj8pB8lxcm9MC5PpYP9Qa3gMSXQ1aovy3VKFMD1eBVAaoFuNQw/s1600/William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_%25281825-1905%2529_-_Return_of_Spring_%25281886%2529.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 227px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557412567970699634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqld2HsRFj55BuHHe31LLtI54RwdkNjfPw9NGmKxe_sep_waPmvboNrrHWWGqZoHtRtg_auATQ-Y7Y_Luos4Aqs9ODjtj8pB8lxcm9MC5PpYP9Qa3gMSXQ1aovy3VKFMD1eBVAaoFuNQw/s400/William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_%25281825-1905%2529_-_Return_of_Spring_%25281886%2529.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>O AMOR<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />O amor teima nuances<br />desafia regras<br />brinca com a lua<br />desliza na teia<br /><br /><br /><br />O amor tem um anjo guardião<br />cego de um olho<br />que sussurra quente<br />em minha nuca<br />se contorce<br />fala uma língua desconhecida<br />lambe </strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>- me lambe<br />e sempre volta...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-22283230562608145302010-07-13T00:45:00.003-03:002010-07-13T01:05:08.395-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gE9fZGA7hcsHrtXMg0PqtdQ_mTOjG84IRuk6fDwvOSEFwVEYMO8fh3BhGwwSLNTfHwRTWDHQHm9ER6nWfxQXsSatGLrPzNfHC-rrFIHqtaXLxeHfpfIvQSW5EwJPtKTfpwN20IC2YvA/s1600/mulher+e+sombrinha.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 186px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493234798339954146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gE9fZGA7hcsHrtXMg0PqtdQ_mTOjG84IRuk6fDwvOSEFwVEYMO8fh3BhGwwSLNTfHwRTWDHQHm9ER6nWfxQXsSatGLrPzNfHC-rrFIHqtaXLxeHfpfIvQSW5EwJPtKTfpwN20IC2YvA/s320/mulher+e+sombrinha.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>Espera</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>Serpenteei distâncias</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>e te reconheci</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>poesia sobre as ondas</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>marulho crepuscular</strong></span><br /><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;"><strong>suave brisa advinhando</strong></span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;"><strong>temporais</strong></span></p><p><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">pescando estrelas</span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">dourando borboletas</span></strong></p><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>mal-me-quer</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>bem-me-quer</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>estampando as manhãs</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>pétalas ao chão</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>e mais nada...</strong></span>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-34458595595486295062010-02-24T12:55:00.002-03:002010-02-24T12:59:40.819-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzuwNV_ty75apQDZat22K798SjEs0ejAFpHGTsKB5xOmIJzdk87biFgzVP7vngezyIBl_h9FbRfmevkYQt4eY7-qSqWYxcsxsi9JKKlFeXEi2THhlKPa0CVZH9-TN4oMCYc8TmSJP504/s1600-h/corrego.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441840194985978418" style="WIDTH: 204px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzuwNV_ty75apQDZat22K798SjEs0ejAFpHGTsKB5xOmIJzdk87biFgzVP7vngezyIBl_h9FbRfmevkYQt4eY7-qSqWYxcsxsi9JKKlFeXEi2THhlKPa0CVZH9-TN4oMCYc8TmSJP504/s400/corrego.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>AVESSO</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>O dia nasceu</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>amarrotado</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>dormi do avesso</strong></span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>estou rangendo os dentes</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>pelas horas que se arrastam</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>o tempo devorando</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>minhas incertezas</strong></span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>tua imagem virou pedra</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>áspera e fria</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>- Queria nesse momento</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>ser apenas córrego...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-59333144468637556952010-01-10T23:39:00.005-02:002010-01-10T23:49:48.767-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWvgPwAlSpI4puA9O6vMr_U0FsNieg5MkE1WnO8oAnrySo05JjxwTriiCKscfNycGnPkePjUt2r9MzjKASzJ421QPFDWom8JWAO6Y4ZEZJUaBiXvBce7bf0he99xW3iMuvP6U2nRdOf0/s1600-h/BXK19564_primavera800.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425292322898580450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWvgPwAlSpI4puA9O6vMr_U0FsNieg5MkE1WnO8oAnrySo05JjxwTriiCKscfNycGnPkePjUt2r9MzjKASzJ421QPFDWom8JWAO6Y4ZEZJUaBiXvBce7bf0he99xW3iMuvP6U2nRdOf0/s400/BXK19564_primavera800.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>EU<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Falo rápido</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>como se a vida fosse se esvair</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>como se o tempo fugisse</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>como se quisesse aprisionar o momento</strong></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>falo rápido para que a vida não me fuja</strong></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>o tempo não me aprisione</strong></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>o momento não se esvaia</strong></span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>falo rápido para enganar o ócio</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>confundir os anjos</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>afastar alguns demônios</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><br /><div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>aproximar a alma...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-84137295945964231152009-11-10T23:44:00.002-02:002009-11-11T00:05:35.269-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh881fkvfwGJ7FpHVpJ-gJx9yRY9jHBTmHbW_yAzBj3BPw49BhsuKnNfxd-eu9xhCVyWE_q5aSsYSrkroK6uS_0Q0h3Hene7en57_lF63sG-XQonTzqq3ioLATYl0cjo6PqDkgcKMn6CzE/s1600-h/eu-queria-ser-amor-geisa.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 227px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402661362353156322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh881fkvfwGJ7FpHVpJ-gJx9yRY9jHBTmHbW_yAzBj3BPw49BhsuKnNfxd-eu9xhCVyWE_q5aSsYSrkroK6uS_0Q0h3Hene7en57_lF63sG-XQonTzqq3ioLATYl0cjo6PqDkgcKMn6CzE/s320/eu-queria-ser-amor-geisa.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>ESTANHO E AÇO</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>Gana de pele</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>a palavra vertendo</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>úmida de ti</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>olhos adentrando </strong></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>olhos</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>descobrindo</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>estanho e aço</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>e um mar</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003300;"><strong>que não tem tamanho...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-47935836112870277222009-11-02T15:44:00.004-02:002009-11-04T13:32:08.142-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlHIJcHmxWNS5guNu099y2Sb-Vt-0JUNnjSY_dNtuNU7hkxscPWJd4wqRmENtkf7P_Inv7NvTifsz68eDrEvwS6b_YtALKVVtzvsV3sCkTYbnw-ThuPon_QHxRmTFv3IlCkojWj8XhYc/s1600-h/Marcin+025.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399564519336882738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlHIJcHmxWNS5guNu099y2Sb-Vt-0JUNnjSY_dNtuNU7hkxscPWJd4wqRmENtkf7P_Inv7NvTifsz68eDrEvwS6b_YtALKVVtzvsV3sCkTYbnw-ThuPon_QHxRmTFv3IlCkojWj8XhYc/s320/Marcin+025.JPG" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Amanhecer em flores</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">sons</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">cores...</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">constato silêncios</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">que gritam</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">contornos</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">aromas</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">desejos</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">- tudo passarinhando no dia</span></strong></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-51561902593194580902009-10-28T23:56:00.002-02:002009-10-29T00:13:03.843-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIuLtYj-ur1bB_2aFWOE4FSuZnpSS5JJulUAODpSkeYFJEzCBo85f-7QUK1KTla-ymjaaAU7UNjEvqqh-6-qhJgXwrpDRhYqV-iVNyCDY0YNhOvNKWMlekMZWk8QaJuJ2a4n1xOjdH5Kg/s1600-h/torta.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397839144500531330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIuLtYj-ur1bB_2aFWOE4FSuZnpSS5JJulUAODpSkeYFJEzCBo85f-7QUK1KTla-ymjaaAU7UNjEvqqh-6-qhJgXwrpDRhYqV-iVNyCDY0YNhOvNKWMlekMZWk8QaJuJ2a4n1xOjdH5Kg/s320/torta.jpg" /></a><br /><div>ESPERA</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Ando ao relento</div><br /><div>às vezes vento</div><br /><div>outras transbordo</div><br /><div>em densas nuvens</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>relampejo</div><br /><div>em noites solitárias</div><br /><div>mas quando chega </div><br /><div>o verão</div><br /><div>viro mar</div><br /><div>girassol</div><br /><div>borboleta</div><br /><div>sóis e azuis</div><br /><div>até o infinito...</div><br /><div></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-6669749598596703582009-10-25T12:19:00.003-02:002009-10-25T12:38:58.051-02:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzwB4rqLWfxofPKrNDho-f46X8uZ2S3K84mY36zPpOM4pOm1BgAKDACol3y9bXO8Uy6SZgZvqlmweg9Pgz8KFnB9cbDlbJ76_n9TcEIepplDInXoM-oeaO0MtgCRAf7BPWiqTj4IBhMM/s1600-h/OS+CORPOS.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 223px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396546761495371362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzwB4rqLWfxofPKrNDho-f46X8uZ2S3K84mY36zPpOM4pOm1BgAKDACol3y9bXO8Uy6SZgZvqlmweg9Pgz8KFnB9cbDlbJ76_n9TcEIepplDInXoM-oeaO0MtgCRAf7BPWiqTj4IBhMM/s320/OS+CORPOS.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNJoQ5r8Ie7FsDL2m-8J97kH4mW3hzDtTAqnRPk39zUxNYnOREALX-BPdsQ39ssJ3YcRqd9a232gFPf-4esroWTltD4F0YdosUpm6avhwLyfZcWjsbY4aJ7tl-6JABobUirNHEoonChs/s1600-h/due+de+toulouse.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">DOCE</span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;"></span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;"></span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">Volúvel</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">volátil</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">derrete na boca</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">feito algodão doce</span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;"></span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">te queria bom-bocado</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">baba-de-moça</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">ninho-doce</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">bom de repetir</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">BIS</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">BIS</span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;"></span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">queria poder me deliciar</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">a todo momento</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">ou em algum momento</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">mas o tempo te faz</span></strong><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;">tão agridoce...</span></strong></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-50887770724238695082009-10-05T22:26:00.002-03:002009-10-05T22:47:30.386-03:00<strong><span style="color:#006600;">ESTAÇÕES</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;">Me ilumino de auroras</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;">desboto em outonos</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;">emudesço invernos</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;">floresço primaveras</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#006600;">renasço em verões.</span></strong>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-38341647350811112492009-09-04T01:16:00.002-03:002009-09-04T01:22:04.211-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6O1UhBllQDp-tUUVe7ele55yr-axQ7XzL4gjo2o8jf17Y7Cu-XBj8BPo3GBIZzlpvGc8BP-GezlVDxAA2_eAnpnkuw310pZVEXKESz0gZ5wHJOcJGFFcCDmzDdgIsuSmlSCCBPiK5LMA/s1600-h/cat+e+cortina.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 218px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377462694812325890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6O1UhBllQDp-tUUVe7ele55yr-axQ7XzL4gjo2o8jf17Y7Cu-XBj8BPo3GBIZzlpvGc8BP-GezlVDxAA2_eAnpnkuw310pZVEXKESz0gZ5wHJOcJGFFcCDmzDdgIsuSmlSCCBPiK5LMA/s320/cat+e+cortina.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>NOTÍCIAS</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>A brisa cochicha</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>segredos com a lua</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>no muro um gato preto</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>arranha as últimas horas</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>madrugada de partida</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>Pássaros em revoada</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>advinhando a primavera,</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>farfalhar de folhas</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>anunciando os passos do jornaleiro</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><strong>- e o dia começa...</strong></span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-57415544830568153462009-07-15T00:42:00.004-03:002009-07-15T00:59:09.381-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLddfbrWw02tsc86WGOhZOMI2VpS5_Fd4TFlMQY7yhsikmuOsXYqPDqItmFm2IhKUNtelozo_hXXmBEUth_9v_aFhaW6Vzq0M0RR5K3nOO8Skl8e24-bmSKmcvoY92_Z5pl6uFjP80Qfk/s1600-h/linda.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358530032182473730" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLddfbrWw02tsc86WGOhZOMI2VpS5_Fd4TFlMQY7yhsikmuOsXYqPDqItmFm2IhKUNtelozo_hXXmBEUth_9v_aFhaW6Vzq0M0RR5K3nOO8Skl8e24-bmSKmcvoY92_Z5pl6uFjP80Qfk/s400/linda.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">BIOGRAFIA<br /><br /></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;"><br /><br />Sou misto de escolhas</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">caminhos idas e vindas</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">ganhos e perdas</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">prazeres</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">lugares </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">sorrisos e acenos</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#003300;"></span></strong> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">um tanto blues,</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">nos fins de tarde; bossa nova,</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">nas madrugadas rock</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">pra espantar os demônios,</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">ópera nas manhãs cinza </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">para cortejar os anjos</span></strong></div><div><br /><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">sou começos e fins </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">desejos e planos </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">toques suaves </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">pegada forte</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">flores e arco-íris</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">marulhos na lembrança</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">saudades na íris</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#003300;">esperança na proa...</span></strong></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-30629968405234578632009-06-13T23:55:00.003-03:002009-06-14T00:04:16.469-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BeRW248HuKrOCneUUHajQoNpInlBgvnDs6zPuedKPay258mRkxmujbH0pUCcy051h-EL_yDkfHEYAZPHBDtoWXUhxE_QaSlF2pw6RTYINCRgntCAyD5CiWfqvrIpu_cu1kAubHcENGs/s1600-h/32203-waterhouse_boreas_small.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347013461913432338" style="WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BeRW248HuKrOCneUUHajQoNpInlBgvnDs6zPuedKPay258mRkxmujbH0pUCcy051h-EL_yDkfHEYAZPHBDtoWXUhxE_QaSlF2pw6RTYINCRgntCAyD5CiWfqvrIpu_cu1kAubHcENGs/s400/32203-waterhouse_boreas_small.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">FUGA<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">Noite fria</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">às vezes o vento</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">é doce</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">passa sua língua</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">ligeira nas nuvens</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">e muros da cidade</span></strong></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">gatos e cães arrepiam</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">Eu,</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">escondo pele e pêlo</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;">fujo </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#003300;"><br />docemente...</span></strong></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-48308142494771686042009-05-21T00:11:00.004-03:002009-05-21T00:27:17.981-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdI57OXKWZXtIiV3IUDzNAmXNL2nrKKSRAdlE4TqgtOQp5VYkhyphenhyphenNXJYAaB8tq2nPKU8fuqrqJE83efsAM-36jGjzaBNMsqhEw1q-7SS-cGZYdtcdb0xJYLnhn_1EDKPACDR1sUCP2SXJ0/s1600-h/toulosse.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338111428470636258" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 245px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdI57OXKWZXtIiV3IUDzNAmXNL2nrKKSRAdlE4TqgtOQp5VYkhyphenhyphenNXJYAaB8tq2nPKU8fuqrqJE83efsAM-36jGjzaBNMsqhEw1q-7SS-cGZYdtcdb0xJYLnhn_1EDKPACDR1sUCP2SXJ0/s320/toulosse.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">PREFERÊNCIAS</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">Qual o doce que mais gosto?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">O doce da tua língua</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">quando percorre</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">pêlos e poros</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">e eu viro</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">baba-de-moça .</span></strong>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-46267032732887862812009-05-18T00:26:00.004-03:002009-05-18T21:30:40.614-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk50MD66vYYsPre6S7cs8d3XSlniv_owUe7pxzRPpX3pnJgazRjBdeywSL2vp-hxEhkGZVVpxrIA5z5YM9O4O9YGzvJYXmrNpHX7S4ZNsp0JGtwfkK9RkFn-aWHzKHBHnWFugojXhckYg/s1600-h/ver10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337001420348528690" style="WIDTH: 220px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 125px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk50MD66vYYsPre6S7cs8d3XSlniv_owUe7pxzRPpX3pnJgazRjBdeywSL2vp-hxEhkGZVVpxrIA5z5YM9O4O9YGzvJYXmrNpHX7S4ZNsp0JGtwfkK9RkFn-aWHzKHBHnWFugojXhckYg/s400/ver10.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>RUBENS DA CUNHA</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>Da Obra Vertebrais<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>" O barulho do sapo acordou a palavra.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>coaxa-me.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>Antes que o sono senzale meus olhos, transcrevo essa melodia</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>de escuros num papel higiênico.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>Amanhã, recupero o descartável".</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>*Estou encantada, o trabalho do Rubens é maravilhoso; O livro está lindo, interessante...imagens e poemas que tocam vértebra e vértices, que azul sangue traduzem a sensibildade , o homem e seus ângulos , o feminino e seu corpo nudez. Poemas para "Pai lavra-nos", para os "não adestrados". Comunguem comigo, este livro- Arte-Poema ( podem espiar os textos dele no blog ; Casa de Paragens, está linkado aqui)</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Vertebrais<br />Caixa-Poema</span><br /></strong></span><a class="quickedit" title="Editar" onclick="'return" href="http://www.blogger.com/rearrange?blogID=15345749&widgetType=Image&widgetId=Image2&action=editWidget" target="configImage2"></a><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>* Oferta Especial<br />Caixa-Poema Vertebrais:R$ 25,00Com mais R$ 10,00 você pode levar o livro de crônicas "Aço e Nada"Contato: rubensdacunha@hotmail.com</strong></span>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-18495585552869515412009-05-11T00:20:00.005-03:002009-05-11T01:05:46.817-03:00AVE NEUSA,AVE COMPULSÃO!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_W75PUTLAv8BUDMQsbtwS1aqZCGjFNODwG9G7uiXlA6zVQzZqLkj03Sgy3kC5rFhZWQ7n3SZetHiuHyf_JXtZJ3nobRkTrSBjPYa7T5E3dzL0EVdAtOkLit9Lc0IRbocmL985FQ4KOE/s1600-h/drag+do+julio.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334403811983060930" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_W75PUTLAv8BUDMQsbtwS1aqZCGjFNODwG9G7uiXlA6zVQzZqLkj03Sgy3kC5rFhZWQ7n3SZetHiuHyf_JXtZJ3nobRkTrSBjPYa7T5E3dzL0EVdAtOkLit9Lc0IRbocmL985FQ4KOE/s320/drag+do+julio.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;color:#003333;"><strong>Foto de Júlio Appel/recorte Pintura no templo Budista</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;"></span></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Salve Jorge e a Poesia Salve a matéria definida de afinidade Salve!<br /><br />(Louvadas palavrinhas do can can e do seu poema O triângulo <strong>Per-Tempus da Compulsão e</strong> <strong>Sinceridade</strong> Salve a poesia falada e a dor escrita Salve a força de vontade de imitar Caetano O escândalo do amor humano Salve a saúde e o sistema A sua dor a minha e a dela Salve o sonho e a malandragem Sobretudo o amor e a coragem A pele a cicatriz e o não Salve o contra Mas Salve o sim de você pra mim Salve o alto-nada e a ressurreição Salve o mundo que pariu e salve você que partiu, salve Jorge! Salve Jorge e a matéria definidade de afinidade,salve!bjo</span></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">* Em nossa homenagem: Para Compulsão, Para você e pra mim!</span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-1834570643115714212009-05-07T00:10:00.003-03:002009-05-07T00:29:18.399-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWIkDUCJxJBwkkfEA7Z8TLj5t6nGBsq95cp1Q1dX43F89pTa6f0wb903_aC6_9G0psbYJAC1o7vvjr3M3E7h7vZiuAcgcjIFFQosAXnoRO_VHF1D_KCy13FwsdACPgCOXNeLORAU8CKs/s1600-h/Salvador+Dali.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332918676845524738" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWIkDUCJxJBwkkfEA7Z8TLj5t6nGBsq95cp1Q1dX43F89pTa6f0wb903_aC6_9G0psbYJAC1o7vvjr3M3E7h7vZiuAcgcjIFFQosAXnoRO_VHF1D_KCy13FwsdACPgCOXNeLORAU8CKs/s320/Salvador+Dali.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>CONSTATAÇÃO<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hoje sou um olho trapo</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>espio tua ausência</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>em frestas mofadas</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>em dobras de lenços</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong></strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong></strong></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>Hoje estou uma boca míope</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>língua farpada</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;"><strong>mãos em silêncio...</strong></span>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-67122820860531727972009-05-02T14:33:00.002-03:002009-05-02T14:40:40.855-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZx8MB011Jj2B1OV736uHRqbsvWYeX9kr_WBtBT3b6nV57DH62e6D3q1L6yDUwOL41udGoN3T1cJCHFOjYOz4m0j-spMILJUqQ14nreG4bOL65u3ok2r6Fzj5wHDK_QN_g7gTrjzldtc/s1600-h/itacare+travessia+de+balsa.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331282626016978274" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZx8MB011Jj2B1OV736uHRqbsvWYeX9kr_WBtBT3b6nV57DH62e6D3q1L6yDUwOL41udGoN3T1cJCHFOjYOz4m0j-spMILJUqQ14nreG4bOL65u3ok2r6Fzj5wHDK_QN_g7gTrjzldtc/s320/itacare+travessia+de+balsa.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#006600;">DECISÃO<br /><br /><br /><br />O vento guilhotinando<br />minha saudade<br />solta a brincar sobre as ondas<br />e eu doendo em vermelhos e distâncias<br /><br /><br /><br />Hoje adormecerei<br />Pôr-do-sol...</span></strong></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5931790958378832300.post-88314770868007496942009-05-02T14:23:00.003-03:002009-05-02T14:32:38.550-03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYwWJroEyFgfROKikqXdNGkvMQGKkuWSAlBSbaGtg5fUY0PqDijs3LSikd_78biPgmS8P6txTG_G5J8Vlm26jSQd3piVE15SlJaXMT-I11hyTjS_9n6qQ-usunRNnH7DKkMIj9co-rp4/s1600-h/CARTAO++FOTO+DO+JULIO.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331279999772362226" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYwWJroEyFgfROKikqXdNGkvMQGKkuWSAlBSbaGtg5fUY0PqDijs3LSikd_78biPgmS8P6txTG_G5J8Vlm26jSQd3piVE15SlJaXMT-I11hyTjS_9n6qQ-usunRNnH7DKkMIj9co-rp4/s320/CARTAO++FOTO+DO+JULIO.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;">Foto (cartão) do amigo Júlio Appel</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#003300;"><br /><br /></span></strong><strong><span style="color:#003300;"></span></strong><div align="center"><span style="color:#003300;"><strong>sala de amores (brutos?)<br /><br /></strong><br /><br />Fazer versos nem sempre é fácil. Às vezes faltam palavras. O pensamento busca lá longe algum dizer que combine com angústia, luxo, medo, saudade, mensagem, deserto, fogo, pluma. Busca nos arquivos e traz solidão, amor, ameaça, rosa, rio, fome, diluição. Depois, são os objetos que saltam aos olhos e dizem que também estão na brincadeira, querem ser vistos, pensados, citados no poema. Então, é hora de encaixar o castiçal, a mesa redonda, as vidraças sujas e a garrafa vazia. Em momentos de devaneio surgem as moscas descaradas, as pontes curvadas, o velho sem dentes e a árvore enrugada.Então me retiro e deixo que as palavras se encontrem, conversem entre si, mostrem o que uma tem a ver com a outra e vou até a janela em sinal de respeito à reunião das autoridades que agora estão frente a frente.Depois de anos separadas devem ter muito a dizer. Talvez conversem sobre o passado, talvez encontrem no presente seu sentido mais avançado. Isso de ir até a janela ou ao boteco comprar cigarros foi um jeito que arrumei para que depois me convidem ao encontro. Descobri que com as palavras não posso mais do que elas querem me dar. É preciso ser direto, sem nove horas, sem diz-que-me-diz-que. São questões muito sérias as que as palavras tem pra dizer. E pensar que talvez seja o primeiro contato que esse conjunto de palavras se faça - castiçal, moscas descaradas, luxo e ameaça - me tranqüiliza, me dá nome. O que poderia eu falar delas antes de elas com elas mesmas. Seria abuso da minha parte supor que as palavras não tenham o que dizer entre elas. Ao contrário, têm muito a contar. São mais velhas que o mais velho dos meus antepassados, mais antigas que as ruas, que as árvores, que os tempos que posso imaginar. Devem ter muito a falar. Deixo de lado o imaginário e solto essas majestades ao tempo de agora.Um jogo de palavras vence guerras, vence fome, vence a dor, vence a fúria. Um jogo bem feito ganha o mundo, gira tempos, atravessa planos, constrói amor. Aparentemente tão simples e, comprovadamente, tão fortes, são decididas e vorazes essas benditas. Concordo que algumas palavras nos surpreendam pelo impacto, pois revelam com um modesto conjunto de letras o mais conturbado desejo que estava lá dentro do peito, bem guardado na redoma da arrogância do eu. E então, vem uma palavra e abre as jaulas, solta a criatura medonha e vai embora com o vento. Sim, as palavras são objetivas, não importa por que vieram e o que causaram, importa que conseguem diluir um bruto amor e consertar o mais antigo dissabor. Da criatura solta resolva quem a criou, isso não é problema dessas palavras, que outras venham e se responsabilizem pelo próximo ato. Palavras são responsáveis pela prisão e pela libertação.E passados alguns minutos em que já concedi o tempo para apresentações, discussões, lembranças e apaixonamentos, posso então, voltar ao posto e encará-las de frente. Agora, são outras palavras que encontro, mais dóceis, mais redondas, mais dispostas, posso vê-las na construção dos versos. Aprendi que esse respeito com as palavras é fundamental, pois são elas que me emprestam suas vidas para que eu possa continuar viva na escritura.<br /><br /><br />(Barbara Corsetti)</span></div>Mara faturihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840050995706883055noreply@blogger.com2