tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49403135881675842092012-02-16T02:42:22.459-08:00Sonho que se sonha só é só um sonho... Independente de qualquer um, a minha realidadeSonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.comBlogger411100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-58721979039632228182011-09-04T04:48:00.001-07:002011-09-04T04:52:31.649-07:00<span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">A lua arabesca</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">Se odalisca</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me belisca os anseios</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">E desce ao umbigo</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">A lua </span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">Vestida de nua</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">Transcende</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">E faz estrelas comigo</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">A lua</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">De manhã </span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">é D'alva</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">Cantando a noite</span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span> <br /><em><span style="color:#990000;">M. C sta</span></em> <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-5872197903963222818?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-70474654043193026702011-06-03T21:28:00.000-07:002011-06-03T21:32:41.120-07:00<div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Não sou Deus</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mas uni<span class="Apple-style-span">V</span>erso</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >ao oposto de falar</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Pra sentir que no silêncio de estrelas</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >estala as palavras</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >tropeçadas em mar de céu</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Não sou Deus</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mas posso unir o inverso</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >pois amar, é</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >falante de meu aposto.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span">M.C sta</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7047465404319302670?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-10036904180266737222011-04-10T16:28:00.000-07:002011-04-10T20:14:03.130-07:00<div><span style="color:#660000;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#660000;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>. . .<br />+ *<br /><br />.<br />Abril(-se) o céu em</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Chuvas</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>E em cada gota</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>descem -mentos</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Pensa-</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong><br /></strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Desordenadas,</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong><br /></strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>locadas à (des-)posição</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>dos ensejos,</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>trazendo ao chão </strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Vapores dos desejos</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong><br /><br />- a chuva é nostálgica</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>sem saudade referida - </strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong><br /><br />A chuva é patética</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>e só cessa</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>em meu (dez-)maio</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong> </div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div><span style="color:#660000;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div><em><span style="color:#660000;"><br /><br />M.C.</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-1003690418026673722?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-74428110023677313102011-03-09T16:26:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:37:04.598-08:00<span style="color:#990000;">Minha sobrinha é manoelesca. Sem saber ler me escreve nos nossos olhos. Tentei criar uma história com ela, mas é muito agudo pra ser crônica.... essa "as pessoas"... <br /> <br /></span> <br /> <br /><span style="color:#990000;">Ernie chorava periquitos <br />E da sua boca <br />caíram dois dentes <br /> <br />Ela queria amigos <br />e ganhou formigas <br /> <br /> <br />(-não, assim não) <br /> <br /> <br />Zernie chorava na cadeira <br />E das águas brotei periquitos <br />Com dentes subindo a parede <br /> <br /> <br />(-é quase, é Ernies) <br /> <br /> <br />Ernies é doida! <br />Não sabe se chora <br />Ou se borboleta. <br />Fica presa na laranja <br />E não sai arco-íris <br /> <br /> <br />(-e as formigas? <br />elas são dançadoras!!!) <br /> <br /> <br />É festa de sono, <br />Vamos dormir? <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /><strong><em>M.C. <br />L.za</em></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7442811002367731310?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-38075136768429719972010-06-02T22:01:00.000-07:002011-03-16T14:22:26.351-07:00<span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">O que sai do trajeto de casa para o trabalho... é o que dá dar aula em Lucena....</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><strong><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">A Balsa e a Chuva</span></strong><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">O porto </span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">Comporta o mar</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">Que repete a chuva</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">O Barco</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">vê o cais vestido de noiva</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">rangendo a música</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">das agulhas</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">e de água chinesa</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">tricor<br />tando as costas</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">A alma é o resto</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">e</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">vê no porto-sol</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">O pôr-da-noite...</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">trafegáveis vagas</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">nas malhas</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">do destino</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">***********************</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><strong><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">M.aresia</span></strong><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">No mar</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">Vi um agulhão</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">Que nadava para o prato</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">Enquanto isso</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">Alimentava os olhos</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)"></span><br /><em><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">M.C.</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-3807513676842971997?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-72923792615607538402010-03-08T20:39:00.000-08:002010-05-29T21:42:11.234-07:00<strong><span style="color:#000066;">É bom vermos no coração do outro</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Um ninho onde re pousar.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Onde pausar e refletir.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Sentir a lã do carinho</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">e com ela tecer outras mensagens...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Na extensão plena destas teias</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">dons de sermos felizes com palavras</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">e com risos</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">numa simples página azul...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;"></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Sim, a vida também é azul.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">E branda. e ForTe.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">E onde ela não alcançar</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">não faz mal.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">No além da memória</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Caminhamos de outras formas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">os mesmos passos...</span></strong><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;">M.C.</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7292379261560753840?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-65642732677698412992010-01-03T21:56:00.000-08:002010-01-03T22:25:56.536-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/S0GIPw1qFkI/AAAAAAAAADo/OSVs0wXIv4M/s1600-h/Bigio.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 121px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 231px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422765230720161346" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/S0GIPw1qFkI/AAAAAAAAADo/OSVs0wXIv4M/s320/Bigio.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="color:#000000;">Poesia é dádiva compartilhada. Em tudo, arte armada no circo do caminho. Dos sonhos, inclusive os que não sonhamos, mas que florescem em outras mentes.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Verso pernambucado, embolante-bambado. Verso violão.<br /><br />Nas curvas das letras, um pouco de Bigio pra vocês.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color:#000000;"><p></p><p></p><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">POEMA NO TOM</span></strong><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcc66;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">.................</span>.</span><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">Para Milla Bigio</span></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">"Esse ACORDE</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">É para que você se deite.</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">..............</span>E sinta o toque...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">As cordas de aço</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">......</span>Gritam:</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Dó(i), Dó(i)!</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">...</span>E o som majestoso se faz</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Numa frequência física</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Hertz</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">..</span>Hearts</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Uma só batida</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Pode dar Samba</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">...</span>Pode dar Samba;"</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;"><em><span style="color:#ffcc99;">.....</span>Mariane Bigio</em></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-6564273267769841299?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-751086656859429832009-10-18T19:45:00.000-07:002011-03-16T14:28:25.378-07:00<strong><span style="color:#660000;">As águas matam</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">de inanição com o ar</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">da tua espera</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Minhas raízes</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Encharcadas de pó<br />Minhas lágrimas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Esquecidas da arte de chorar</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">tudo e nada</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">de uma sede úmida</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">de talhar palavras</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">No alquebrar de gotas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">por uma vida que </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">não espera<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><span style="color:#660000;"></span><br /><em><span style="color:#660000;">M.C.</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-75108665685942983?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-9655424705800997592009-10-05T06:53:00.000-07:002009-10-05T07:03:01.342-07:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Ssn7Z68Ml-I/AAAAAAAAADg/9QD5wI36VF0/s1600-h/La+Negra.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389114851862550498" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 252px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 245px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Ssn7Z68Ml-I/AAAAAAAAADg/9QD5wI36VF0/s320/La+Negra.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><em>Homenagem à Mercedes Sosa, La Negra, que nos deixou este domingo, partindo em sonos e sonhos de uma América do Sul Livre.</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><br /><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><br /><strong>La Negra</strong><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Morre</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">e nós, de luto<br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">Cantamos</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">A voz escura</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">de bandeiras vermelhas</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">- e nós,</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Cantamos -</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Fronteiras</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Sem paredes...</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Andina,</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Nordestina,</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">de uma luta</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">que não cabe na caixa</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">se espalha</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Ao fim de uma sina</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">vestida de mar.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Duerme à tua hora,</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Estrellita del alma</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Duerme</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">que nosso corpo</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">segue à tua canção</span><br /><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#660000;">M. C.</span> </em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-965542470580099759?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-55936672796194038702009-10-02T11:13:00.000-07:002009-10-02T11:17:28.118-07:00<strong><span style="color:#990000;">Te proponho um beijar caudaloso,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">desprendido e ácido</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Sem amarras que vão além dos lábios<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">E os braços deslaçados como camas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">feito um aberto exercício de mantra<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Te proponho meus pés e os teus</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Num miraculoso caminhar para a via</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">E nesse amor incomum, palavras-mudas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">semeadas no jardim.<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Quem sabe o que floresce das cartas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Neste jogo de pele?<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Carne acima e abaixo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">da umidade,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Me traz por completo<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">E eu três vezes me infinito.<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;">M.C </span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-5593667279619403870?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-28268568264476730832009-09-08T20:24:00.000-07:002009-09-14T22:11:21.336-07:00<strong><span style="color:#990000;">Meu amor,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Explícito em via pública,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Atenta</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">o pudor púbico<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Meu amor,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">distribuído em teus ouvidos,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">a.garra o vermelho sim</span></strong><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>do não pudico</strong><br /></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Meu amor...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">é </span></strong><strong><span style="color:#990000;">primata e antecipado<br /></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Meu amor...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Casca de nuvem<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">e<br />Calhamaço inaudito<br />.</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Esse amor,</span></strong> <strong><span style="color:#990000;">(?!)</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">ah se tivesse coragem!!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><em><strong><span style="color:#990000;">M.C.</span></strong></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-2826856826447673083?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-3179307523357654812009-09-02T05:23:00.000-07:002009-09-02T05:27:13.799-07:00<strong><span style="color:#660000;">Ontem pensei em ti</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">E esta é uma bela imagem...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">A memória é um quadro</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"> Fun da me n tal</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Pra quem pensa com o peito.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">..</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Ontem vi a lua</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">E o sol.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Ele</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">guardava seus cabelos</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">acalmava o seu furor </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">em reverências</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">(só por ela)</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">que não é só lua</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Não é só astro</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Mas os rostos que amamos,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Sem linha nem tempo.. .</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">Eu vi a lua</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">E a saudade</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;">das águas sem fim</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><em>M.C</em> </span></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-317930752335765481?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-52010699636458281332009-07-13T21:03:00.000-07:002010-04-26T06:40:43.460-07:00<p><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Carneiros envoltos<br />em algodão<br />doce é<br />Brincar de ser<br />Aprendiz de amar<br />Nas m i n u <em>cio</em> sas noites<br />de Luar<br /></strong></span></p><p><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span></p><p><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Pulando pra espantar o sono<br />Quem ama não dorme<br />Antes de ser feliz<br />Antes de um lápis<br />ou giz<br />Riscar temporal<br />Antes de uma manhã<br />de Carnaval<br /></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong><br /><br /></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Carneiros de volta<br />Algodão de ser<br />Aprendiz de Luar<br />Nas minuciosas noites<br />de Amar<br /><br /><em></em></strong></span></p><p><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong><em></em></strong></span></p><p><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong><em>M.C.</em></strong></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-5201069963645828133?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-60684842254358911352009-06-23T21:00:00.000-07:002009-06-23T21:07:24.691-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SkGlx0OOipI/AAAAAAAAAC4/fHzBfkxn9xw/s1600-h/flor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 176px; height: 194px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SkGlx0OOipI/AAAAAAAAAC4/fHzBfkxn9xw/s320/flor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350740107543349906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />A natureza mais bela</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Soa antes do florescer</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Reside na espera.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />no ribeirão. .</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">em suas margens de tempo</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Por isso nada perturbo</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Deixo</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Qu'in natura</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">reza a </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;">c</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">alma</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Em natura reza a forma</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Verde verde</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">que em mim deita,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />acende estopim de lua...</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">M.C.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-6068484225435891135?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-45829910285746909192009-05-04T21:26:00.000-07:002009-05-04T21:43:29.081-07:00<strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><br /><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Sf_DJJazxII/AAAAAAAAACw/PNe60RD1xho/s1600-h/Espelho.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332195045744559234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 153px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 182px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Sf_DJJazxII/AAAAAAAAACw/PNe60RD1xho/s320/Espelho.bmp" border="0" /></a></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Sf_DJJazxII/AAAAAAAAACw/PNe60RD1xho/s1600-h/Espelho.bmp"></a></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Sf_DJJazxII/AAAAAAAAACw/PNe60RD1xho/s1600-h/Espelho.bmp"></a></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/Sf_DJJazxII/AAAAAAAAACw/PNe60RD1xho/s1600-h/Espelho.bmp"></a></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong></p><p><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Aprendi a escutar o reflex -</strong>I<strong><br />dos nossos desejos<br />a harpa cotidiana<br />dos nossos gritos<br />e todas as pedras<br />renitentes em seu silêncio<br /></strong></p></span><br /><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;">E neste espelho<br />me encontrei n'outras faces...<br /><em></em></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><em></em></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><em>M.C.</em></span></strong></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-4582991028574690919?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-52121008899160272522009-04-01T21:21:00.000-07:002009-04-02T08:07:36.781-07:00<span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Me era uma vez</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Não há muito tempo</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>A fonte</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>de Desejos</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>moedas e do ensejo.</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Por ela passaram copos</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Baldes e árvores. Cada</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>qual com seu intento:</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Ser pássaro, ser folha<br />e objeto.<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Desaguava nas ondas do vento<br />da respiração da terra<br />até sumir uma rocha do rio.</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Saí fortuito à ver o espelho</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>E vi que uma alma minguava.</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Inumana, tácita e distante</strong></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Sem reflexo, seca e passante...</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>Na solidão das pedras</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><strong>As águas eram quem tinham sede.</strong></span><br /><br /><em style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">M.C.</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-5212100889916027252?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-72935811065098627982009-03-23T09:47:00.000-07:002009-03-23T09:53:32.146-07:00<span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">É sempre quando alguém vem e nos desperta um poder de céu nos olhos. Com carinho, </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Menina lírio</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">dos olhos de lagoa</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">ginga no vento tua vaga</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">e teus véus</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Menina lírio</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">dos olhos navegáveis</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Porto de atenção </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">E inquietas brumas</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">(...)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Ancoro neste rio e penso:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Quantas e quais imagens</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">para descrever um sonho?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Menina Lírio dos olhos...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">M.C.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7293581106509862798?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-7423720109595208852008-12-21T21:51:00.000-08:002008-12-21T22:06:31.766-08:00<strong><span style="color:#990000;">Quem não sente</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">O peso das palavras,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Que malhe a cabeça</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Com a marra da</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">SenSibilidaDe</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Tenha no cabedal</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">A flor</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">As marcas do anjo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Querobem</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Os pesos de Colombo<br />E de Sísifo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">E saiba que</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">a cada restan</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">te</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">de tempo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Mercúrio passa</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Toxicamente</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Alisando aqueles</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Que despesam</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">a potência do sermo</span></strong><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#ffff99;">.....</span><span style="color:#990000;">M.C.</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-742372010959520885?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-77286920132436626772008-11-13T20:37:00.001-08:002008-11-13T20:56:02.022-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SR0A3id6oPI/AAAAAAAAACU/PlomRg0Vo_Y/s1600-h/citara+vagina.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268368093238436082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 189px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SR0A3id6oPI/AAAAAAAAACU/PlomRg0Vo_Y/s320/citara+vagina.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Poema Sexo</span></strong></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Olhar tua pele</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">E escrever com a língua</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">as linhas do arrepio</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span><span style="color:#ffffcc;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Olhar-te o monte</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">e cavar</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">com dentes</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">curvas de fome</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">descer</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">equatorial</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">dividindo em duas</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">tuas (e minhas) vontades</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">(...respira...)</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Quero abrir pro meu mundo</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Teu vale, tua lava</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Queimar, queimar</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Até amanhecer(de novo)</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Cinza em teus braços... </span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="color:#ffff99;">........</span><em>Michel Costa</em></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">*************************************</span></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Poema Afobiado</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></strong></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">É na crina dos instintos</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Que me agarro descabelado</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Na esquina dos sentidos</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">De suor e espasmos</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Coração a galope</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">que corre sem chegar</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">A tensão da espera</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">que não venha o findar</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Pele curtida na língua</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">E no suor</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Crepúsculo de meu Eu</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Que desabe sobre ti,</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Cama de desejos </span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><em><span style="color:#990000;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="color:#ffff99;">....</span>Michel Costa</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#990000;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#990000;">*****************************</span></em></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Agógica</strong></span></div><div><strong><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></strong></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">queria fazer música...</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">tuas curvas em glissando</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">tocando com dedos arqueados</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">A respiração agógica</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">de dois corpos em sinfonia</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffff99;">.</span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="color:#ffffcc;">........</span><em>Michel Costa</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7728692013243662677?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-19871302903843992332008-10-13T20:06:00.000-07:002008-10-13T20:33:18.856-07:00<span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Dos vivos sabemos</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Mas como matar fantasmas?</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>A frieira quente que come os dedos...</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Como matar fantasmas...</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>O medo que</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong><span style="color:#ffff99;">..</span>pula</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Na esquina ou no andor</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">e do mesmo céu</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">das mesmas estrelas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">ninguém entende os fantasmas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Esquecem que vem da flor</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Antes do espinho...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Planta criada à des-razão</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Raiz de peito,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">mas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">ninguém entende os fantasmas</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">mesmo.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Ula</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">o Pulo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">bola pra frente</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">e as pegadas no sumiço</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="color:#ffff99;">...</span>(<em>Michel Costa</em>)</span></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-1987130290384399233?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-6211558521085827412008-09-28T16:18:00.000-07:002009-05-14T20:59:49.000-07:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SOARPeAPWVI/AAAAAAAAACE/7bKDG3m0oIs/s1600-h/Imag046.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 228px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251216122963777874" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SOARPeAPWVI/AAAAAAAAACE/7bKDG3m0oIs/s320/Imag046.jpg" width="255" height="194" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Um sulco</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Um líquido aberto no tempo</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Uvas e uma lembrança</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Todo domingo é dia de uva</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Um suco </strong></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Assim diz meu pai</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>e assim faço</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Todo domingo </strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Mil olhos negros</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>e neles mil rostos meus</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Em cada rosto uma saudade</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Triturada</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Riscada no templo-motor</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Li.qu.i.di;fica.dor </strong></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Depois de batido</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Meu sumo</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Bebo </strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>E já é segunda... </strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;"></span><br /><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="color:#ffff99;">...</span>(Michel Costa)</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-621155852108582741?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-6118924556382739122008-09-24T20:29:00.000-07:002008-09-25T06:06:17.048-07:00<span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Poema</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Quando os olhos falam<br />o que a boca cala<br />e o medo esconde</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>O riso amarelo</strong><br /><strong>que encapa a fronte</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Quando o onde se foi</strong><br /><strong>E o não sei</strong><br /><strong>nada</strong><br /><strong>diz, portanto...</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>quando as palavras</strong><br /><strong>caem das flores</strong><br /><strong>para alimentar as raízes</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Eu silencio</strong><br /><strong>Meu Canto.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Sou margem</strong><br /><strong>água ferida e cristalina</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Sou pária</strong><br /><strong>numa dança só de simetria</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Neste canivete aberto em salão</strong><br /><strong>Passos riscados na multidão</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>E neste balé da minha vida</strong><br /><strong>quanto mais amor, mais pinga</strong><br /><strong>Uma labareda de 10 quilos*</strong><br /><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>"doce pra quem descobrir que eu sou triste"**</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>**Verso de Antonio Mariano.</strong><br /><strong>*Poema de Michel Costa</strong></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-611892455638273912?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-9738155108493303752008-09-17T21:09:00.000-07:002008-09-18T15:48:26.898-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SNHVfFbw0DI/AAAAAAAAAB8/YyDvy13K1Ks/s1600-h/S%C3%83%C2%B3+risos.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247209770874622002" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 221px; height: 203px;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SNHVfFbw0DI/AAAAAAAAAB8/YyDvy13K1Ks/s320/S%C3%B3+risos.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">engraçado...<br /></span></strong></div><strong></strong><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><br />ao vermos um sorriso</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">nada mais é,</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">que só riso.<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">riso, só.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">parcela dividual</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">in vida<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">ponto racional<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">apenas riso<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Solitário</span></strong></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div><em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">...</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Michel Costa</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-973815510849330375?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-30312086680797105102008-09-07T11:16:00.000-07:002008-09-07T11:20:10.007-07:00<strong>É preciso trabalhar</strong><br /><strong>Sem trégua</strong><br /><strong>Sol a Pino, revolver</strong><br /><strong>A má-água da terra</strong><br /><strong>Secar a areia fina</strong><br /><strong>E debulhar os Grãos</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>É preciso trabalhar sem régua</strong><br /><strong>Secar o suor das mãos,</strong><br /><strong>Engilhadas por pão e calmaria</strong><br /><strong>Pouvilhos nas feridas</strong><br /><strong>De uma tarde Aberta</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>É preciso a quem interessar possa</strong><br /><strong>Dormir sonhos de paz</strong><br /><strong>E acordá-los nos pés</strong><br /><strong>Caminhando os bons</strong><br /><strong>e os maus rios</strong><br /><strong>Cheios de pão e pó...</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>E as árvores continuam verdes</strong><br /><strong>no Caminho...</strong><br /><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#ffcc99;">...</span>Michel Costa</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-3031208668079710510?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-89110250365645602402008-08-26T01:19:00.000-07:002008-08-26T01:52:01.877-07:00Antes de lá<br />que estivesse aqui...<br />Horizonte inalcansável<br />uma mentira amiga<br /><br />A felicidade é estar presente<br />feito gota de orvalho<br />quando beija a folha<br />quando cheira-flor<br /><br />E que cansa de esperar<br />Pois "a vida é pra valer<br />a vida é pra levar"<br />êh pai vinícius<br />Velho Saravá<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-8911025036564560240?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-60742426961169113952008-08-24T14:55:00.000-07:002008-08-24T15:26:45.555-07:00<strong><span style="color:#990000;">Aos mortos em Vida<br />não despenco lágrimas<br />sem abanar o pó<br />da lembrança<br />sem ritmo<br /><br />Aos mortos em Vida<br />Não me dou lírio.<br />nem cicuta.<br />Já basta a vida Morta.<br /><br />Sobre os mortos em Vida<br />Que me esquecem andando<br />e tropeçando na própria cova,<br />o que pensar?<br /><br />Aos Vivos, caminhem comigo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;"><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">....</span>Michel Costa</em></span></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-6074242696116911395?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-80384624177607738692008-08-12T20:47:00.000-07:002008-08-12T20:55:07.981-07:00<span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Antes do fim,</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Vem o último verso</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Um pouco de mim,</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>a frente do avesso.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Antes de mim, </strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>O primeiro verso.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Cidadão talhado</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Com o mínimo cuidado</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>por olhos e marés...</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Rouge Carmim.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>É o último verso</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Do tempo tártaro.</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Pele esquecida da vida</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Que nem o livro roeu...</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Antes? Qualquer coisa...</strong></span><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#cc9933;">. . .</span> <span style="color:#990000;">Michel Costa</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-8038462417760773869?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-47705164497767764742008-08-09T21:51:00.000-07:002008-08-09T22:02:24.701-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SJ52JDjzN8I/AAAAAAAAAB0/m0eIHlgu7R8/s1600-h/nostalgia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SJ52JDjzN8I/AAAAAAAAAB0/m0eIHlgu7R8/s320/nostalgia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232749714997458882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Tanto verso...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">tanta coisa boa...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">mas o me</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">l</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">ho</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">r está além das letras</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">que é quand</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">o o coração se </span> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">abre<br />pra elas saír</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">em</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Quando a garganta seca</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">para elas passarem</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">E o mesmo coração</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">se cala<br />para falar de amor</span><br /><br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Michel Costa</span>)<br /><br />Foto por <span style="font-style: italic;">Michel Téo Sin</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-4770516449776776474?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-5119893581198739762008-08-05T20:23:00.000-07:002008-08-05T20:46:52.988-07:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SJkd1lhpdiI/AAAAAAAAABk/i4XgPGA8QUA/s1600-h/solidao.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231245248611055138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 220px" height="246" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SJkd1lhpdiI/AAAAAAAAABk/i4XgPGA8QUA/s320/solidao.jpg" width="207" border="0" /></a><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>Tato, tato, tá...tu...</strong></div><div><strong>É quando o peito em</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>silêncio</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>pede diálogos em</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>silêncio</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Abrindo uma ponte entre</strong></div><div><strong>dois Mundos, o</strong></div><div><strong>mEu</strong></div><div><strong>e o de fOra</strong></div><div><strong>Bolas</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Tece pontos de ar, </strong></div><div><strong>Linha cruz</strong></div><div><strong>e vela.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>Fogo, ensejo de mar.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Uma presa calmaria</strong></div><div><strong>Outra </strong></div><div><strong> so </strong></div><br /><div><strong>li dão</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>Quandos dedos (ainda) prenderei</strong></div><div><strong>Pra poder acordar?</strong></div><div><strong>...</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><em> Michel Costa</em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-511989358119873976?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-72261758749721494092008-08-03T18:00:00.000-07:002008-08-03T18:09:04.915-07:00<span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Um fo<span style="color:#cc9933;">gão</span><br />com entra<span style="color:#cc9933;">da</span> <span style="color:#cc9933;">USB</span><span style="color:#cc9933;">...</span><br />Cozinhava <span style="color:#cc9933;">idéias?</span><br /><br />Uma noiva sem ros<span style="color:#cc9933;">to...<br /></span>Quem será ela<span style="color:#cc9933;">?<br /></span><br />Centrífuga de so<span style="color:#cc9933;">ns</span><br />e retalhos lançados...<br /><br />Que dirá a alma<br />quando abrir <span style="color:#cc9933;">a</span>os olhos<span style="color:#cc9933;">?</span></strong></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7226175874972149409?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-48474929517839301932008-08-01T05:12:00.000-07:002008-08-01T05:23:05.412-07:00<p style="font-weight: bold;" class="listp"><span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">Caçado</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">É ter na mira o mote</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">à moita do sentido</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Na espera silenciosa</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Do primeiro bote</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Ter o gosto acre</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">da presa vernácula</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">que nos salta das mãos</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">os olhos da pele</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Em sentido São...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Michel Costa</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-4847492951783930193?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-33750672951025368252008-07-29T21:49:00.000-07:002008-07-29T22:01:19.777-07:00<span style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Um dia me vi futuro</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Com uma casa de flores</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Saindo pela janela</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">E voando para loonge,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fugiam. fugiam.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">As cores tomavam outras</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">e também outras as flores</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Neste jardim, eram de pedra</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Os botões gozozos...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Assim como estes dedos</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Estas cordas</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">o fóssil ambulante de meus arcos</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">E o vento velho</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">clamando tempestade</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Neste jardim, eram de pedra</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Os botões gozozos...</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-3375067295102536825?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-82395245792689272702008-07-20T09:54:00.000-07:002008-07-20T09:59:31.377-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SINt8zrCgTI/AAAAAAAAABc/wNH4rryOJIw/s1600-h/MIchel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SINt8zrCgTI/AAAAAAAAABc/wNH4rryOJIw/s320/MIchel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225140884110213426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" >Sob a luz da ribalta, Madama Butterfly, de Puccini</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" >Já no palco da vida, o ator principal faz sua cena...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(<span style="font-family: courier new;">Theatro Mvnicipal de São Paulo</span>)<br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:100%;">Foto by Serginho Costa</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-8239524579268927270?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-88033101820258719362008-07-18T21:00:00.001-07:002008-07-19T14:26:26.119-07:00<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">Antes de acordar</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Minha alma orvalha<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">E levanto impregnado</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">De mim</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Escorro pelo mundo,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Cheirando, táctil,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As curvas da Estrada...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">É a minha condição!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Só assim retorno</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Repleto de outras almas</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Onde também restei...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Até não ser inteiro</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Porém mais belo</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Me olho no espelho</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">E vejo tantos rostos</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Traços que nunca vi...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Espumas de mar</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">e Ana, e Luís</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">De fera, de pedra</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Até mesmo a alma do ar</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Com seus pés de vapores</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Que tocam o chão sem marcar</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">És meu orgulho</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Ser todo em mim</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Durante toda nossa vida...</span><br /><br /></span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)font-size:130%;" ></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-8803310182025871936?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-79259757329199409452008-07-15T21:10:00.001-07:002010-04-26T06:41:43.266-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SH18Y7adfXI/AAAAAAAAABU/-4uKkUkF2qU/s1600-h/passaro.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 163px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SH18Y7adfXI/AAAAAAAAABU/-4uKkUkF2qU/s320/passaro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223467910527024498" border="0" /></a><br />Nem sempre sabem<br />O que dizem os poetas...<br /><br />Quando digo Rio<br />Vai além da águas<br />e da minha Boca<br /><br />Por isso sou Pássaro Verde.<br />Tenho sede<br />que cruza o rio, mata rio<br />e sacia na terra<br />(...)<br />Nem sempre entendo<br />o que sinto poeta<br /><br />Fantasmas de águas<br />E revoltas ribeirinhas<br />um choro verde<br />e um vento me treme<br /><br />poeta Nem sempre poeta<br />Humano em tantos ramos<br />Uma floresta de sentidos<br />Um morro sem planos<br /><br />Poeta quiçá poeta....<br /><br />(Michel Costa)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-7925975732919940945?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-89477888517927715212008-06-23T12:28:00.000-07:002008-06-25T21:52:07.652-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SGEpZy7x5dI/AAAAAAAAABM/oxctJESEd7k/s1600-h/teia+bela.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215495366617720274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 241px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 205px" height="219" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SGEpZy7x5dI/AAAAAAAAABM/oxctJESEd7k/s320/teia+bela.jpg" width="264" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">As Aranhas<br />Arquitetas do Universo<br />Tecem poemas,<br />Muito antes deles existirem...<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"> </p><br />E voam, voam paradas<br />Feito telas de ar<br />Uma foto-satélite<br />Orbitando a realidade<br />Se aproximando, se aproximando<br />Até a mente humana<br />Captar seu recado:<br /><br />Poesia são palavras orvalhadas<br />Na teia da vida<br /><br /></span><br />(<em>Michel Costa</em>)<br /><br />Foto by <em>Sergio Hildo</em> (<strong>Gracias!!</strong>)<br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-8947788851792771521?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-35248693147069682922008-06-09T09:21:00.000-07:002008-08-03T06:34:35.052-07:00<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(51,0,0)"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SE1cZLdPkDI/AAAAAAAAABE/XLQO_q8KNck/s1600-h/arremesso+de+música.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209921931579461682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" height="230" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SE1cZLdPkDI/AAAAAAAAABE/XLQO_q8KNck/s320/arremesso+de+m%C3%BAsica.jpg" width="150" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />O que acontece com as pedras</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(51,0,0)">Se esvaindo pelos dedos?</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">Onde estão os fios de lã</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">Que com tanto amor as segurava?</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">Foram as moiras?</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">Essas facas...tão reais...foi isso?</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">Sinto um sonho querendo acordar...</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">O que fazer, quando,</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)"><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,51,0)">As coisas ganha<span style="COLOR: rgb(102,51,51)">m</span></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,51,51)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,51,0)"><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,51,51)">s</span>ent</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,0)">ido d</span>emais?</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)">Será o real este acizentado?</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)">São 07:00h e o sono não veio</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)">Não tem poesia? Não, não.</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)">O que m<span style="COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)">e falta então?</span></span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(204,153,51)">Desconh<span style="COLOR: rgb(255,204,51)">eço...</span></span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,204,51)">O que preciso...</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,204,51)">Minhas flores cheirando pra mim...</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,204,51)">A lín<span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)">gua lisa</span></span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)">E os absurdos</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)"><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)">Se es<span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)">coran</span></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)">do</span></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)"> </span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,255)"><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)">Em minha me</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,153)">n</span></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,153)">te...</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-3524869314706968292?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-89086315978595511602008-06-02T15:27:00.000-07:002008-06-02T15:39:52.598-07:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SER1ZBJr9HI/AAAAAAAAAA0/gW_ICrhoV5I/s1600-h/Moenda+Mar.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207416141813380210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SER1ZBJr9HI/AAAAAAAAAA0/gW_ICrhoV5I/s320/Moenda+Mar.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p><br /><br /></p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Meu cais de palavras<br />Aboio das sereias<br />Filho dos avessos...<br />Vem me torcer o mel<br /></p></span><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Vem trazer meu lume<br />de mar e verde<br />Trazer meu leme<br />Feito de ar e céu<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Aporta no peito<br />tuas fragas<br />Aperta na ponta a lança<br />Vem trazer o Sol<br /></span><br /></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Vem,<br />Tu moinho<br />Espreme minha cana<br />Bebe meu sumo<br />Espalha sobre a terra<br />E faz nascer usinas<br /></span></p><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Que de mim quero o pó<br />Fecundante do mundo<br />E encher outros prumos<br />de novas paisagens</span></p><br /><br /><p align="left">(<em>Michel Costa</em>)</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-8908631597859551160?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-18620888497946561472008-05-28T14:02:00.000-07:002008-05-28T14:13:52.002-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SD3Kly-JygI/AAAAAAAAAAg/jlePRtQLxMs/s1600-h/Beradero.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205539494996593154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SD3Kly-JygI/AAAAAAAAAAg/jlePRtQLxMs/s320/Beradero.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div><em>Dentre tantos sonhos, este é acordado...é escutado, é sentido... a imagem daquele que longe de casa olha para a pá do ventilador, vê o sol e a poeira da estrada, e lembra do ventre donde saiu a correr sem pensar...</em></div><br /><div></div><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>Beradêro </strong><br /></div><div> </div><div>Os olhos tristes da fita</div><div>Rodando no gravador</div><div>Uma moça cosendo roupa</div><div>Com a linha do Equador</div><div>E a voz da Santa dizendo</div><div>O que é que eu tô fazendo</div><div>Cá em cima desse andor</div><br /><div></div><div>A tinta pinta o asfalto</div><div>Enfeita a alma motorista</div><div>É a cor na cor da cidade</div><div>Batom no lábio nortista</div><div>O olhar vê tons tão sudestes</div><div>E o beijo que vós me nordestes</div><div>Arranha céu da boca paulista</div><br /><div></div><div>Cadeiras elétricas da baiana</div><div>Sentença que o turista cheire</div><div>E os sem amor os sem teto</div><div>Os sem paixão sem alqueire</div><div>No peito dos sem peito uma seta</div><div>E a cigana analfabeta</div><div>Lendo a mão de Paulo Freire</div><br /><div></div><div>A contenteza do triste</div><div>Tristezura do contente</div><div>Vozes de faca cortando</div><div>Como o riso da serpente</div><div>São sons de sins, não contudo</div><div>Pé quebrado verso mudo</div><div>Grito no hospital da gente</div><br /><div></div><div>São sons, são sons de sins</div><div>São sons, são sons de sins</div><div>São sons, são sons de sins</div><div>Não contudoPé quebrado, verso mudo</div><div>Grito no hospital da gente</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>(<em>Chico César</em>)</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-1862088849794656147?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-51770915027111690812008-05-27T07:34:00.000-07:002008-05-27T07:52:17.037-07:00Um anjo Loiro<br />Desses, da Incompreensão<br />Pousou nas minhas águas<br />Durante o sono...<br /><br />E como era bela!<br />Seus cabelos, ah...seus cabelos<br />Me escorriam à face<br />Numa tão reta silhueta<br />Que alinhava o Sol...<br /><br />Me disse das penas, punhos<br />Caiu nos meus braços<br />Pediu colo, disse "te amo"<br />E partiu...<br />Antes que o Agosto<br />A levasse nas chuvas...<br /><br />Encontrei nisso sua classificação<br />Assim como estas rimas<br />Que de tanto soarem<br />Espantaram o sono, os anjos<br />As águas e os cabelos,<br />Deixando apenas o sol<br />Sussurrando nas frestas do caminho<br />O dia em meus olhos...<br /><br /><br />(<em>Michel Costa</em>)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-5177091502711169081?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4940313588167584209.post-52945583082189751042008-05-26T17:33:00.000-07:002008-08-19T21:35:09.844-07:00<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SDtYUi-JyfI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/gIYWtm7bLyI/s1600-h/cafe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204850904364861938" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 199px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 168px" height="177" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_-B2U14gsn38/SDtYUi-JyfI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/gIYWtm7bLyI/s320/cafe.jpg" width="216" border="0" /></a><br /><strong><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></strong></div>Sonhei ter feito café<br />Um velho café<br />de ordem diáfana, para minha avó<br />que à categoria chamo Mãe.<br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Desde que ela o provou<br />Disse ter o gosto de saudade...<br />Não acreditei até prová-lo<br />e no mesmo instante chorei<br />como não fazia desde bebê,<br />quando me desliguei do ventre<br />e me liguei ao umbigo do mundo</div><br /><div><br />Lá estavam as memórias<br />as corroídas tardes<br />e as espumantes luas<br />as sombras de agosto<br />que me trilhavam meu avô<br />meus cachorros<br />minhas aventuras<br /></div><br /><div>Foi estranho</div><br /><div><br />Cada pessoa adquirindo sabor<br />Menta, gengibre, chocolate<br />Tardes limão<br />E o Sol não fecundado<br />Se espalhando sangue<br />Para nascer a noite...<br /></div><br /><div>Nessa hora olhei pra janela<br />e vi que o outono chegara...<br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>(Michel Costa)</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4940313588167584209-5294558308218975104?l=sonhoscronicos.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sonhos Crônicoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07319536331148972624noreply@blogger.com4