tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-318342492024-03-13T14:21:41.493-03:00MINHA DOCE INFÂNCIA ...Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-76358443572730622042009-04-18T21:39:00.002-03:002010-07-03T21:56:58.622-03:00Bilhetinho...<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJ7GA-iN9uut9cDbOhl9WDaYCik18KgwV9-3QPG3vCTf4wUW1bMZjFBET8ACcG5AUqb-kWLuX4LI6n9E0Oir2fORZtqONxRC-Y6lClFY9qeXiA1DwHaCiDexFlZ-YzIrWYZKJ/s1600-h/mudanca.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 227px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302842855352482274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJ7GA-iN9uut9cDbOhl9WDaYCik18KgwV9-3QPG3vCTf4wUW1bMZjFBET8ACcG5AUqb-kWLuX4LI6n9E0Oir2fORZtqONxRC-Y6lClFY9qeXiA1DwHaCiDexFlZ-YzIrWYZKJ/s320/mudanca.jpg" /></a><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#009900;"><br /></span></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Quando comecei esse bloguinho, desejei compartilhar com você os poemas que aprendi quando era pequena e que até hoje adoçam a minha memória.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fiquei muito feliz com todas as vezes que você visitou esse blog. Receber a sua amizade e o seu carinho foi um precioso presente.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hoje eu gostaria de comentar uma novidade: vou levar os poemas desse blog para o <a href="http://oileonorcordeiro.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#009900;"><span style="color:#999900;">O</span> <span style="color:#999900;">FANTÁSTICO MUNDO DAS PALAVRAS.</span> </span></a></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Acho que será uma boa mudança, você vai continuar conhecendo os poemas que fizeram parte da minha infância e um montão de outros poemas muito especiais. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Vamos combinar essa modificação? Sempre que você pensar nesse blog, visite também o <a href="http://oileonorcordeiro.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#999900;">FANTÁSTICO MUNDO DAS PALAVRAS</span></a>, estarei esperando por você de braços abertos </span></div><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um caminhão carregadinho de abraços e beijinhos !</span><br /><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Com carinho e afeto,</span><br /><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#009900;"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#999900;">Leonor Cordeiro</span><br /></strong></span><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><div align="right"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ilustração de Alice Prina</span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-45533340274815689652009-02-14T23:54:00.008-02:002010-07-03T21:57:18.125-03:00O livro e a América<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLzntHW4K-iLcBG4Da2zjc94ma0WorI1kv0zOPHRpccSw_2p0M0Px16Dw4Q0w2X1wsdWT68c5vU4Gj9a8KERbCshdr-UHwyOu1guuoo2QsHLwmrvpzYr1FsF17Gj8o58Hi1Pu/s1600-h/ccc.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 237px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326196788036817922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLzntHW4K-iLcBG4Da2zjc94ma0WorI1kv0zOPHRpccSw_2p0M0Px16Dw4Q0w2X1wsdWT68c5vU4Gj9a8KERbCshdr-UHwyOu1guuoo2QsHLwmrvpzYr1FsF17Gj8o58Hi1Pu/s320/ccc.jpg" /></a><br /><p><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh! Bendito o que semeia </span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Livros ... livros à mão cheia ...</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">E manda o povo pensar!</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">O livro caindo n'alma</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">É gérmen – que faz a palma,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">É chuva – que faz o mar.</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></p><p align="center">Castro Alves </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">(Do poema: O livro e a América)</span></p><p align="center"></p>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-20365005465924496382009-02-06T20:01:00.003-02:002010-07-03T21:55:54.721-03:00MINHA TERRA<span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22naqnOuUAjIAaZfVC5fLlxzx9uPSW20b-nmrZDeeSGDXfVqThWFgTy2TumnMNX_P0gZklv34mljNYnJMtqEEP9C4pThe7qjVvh5VakhE-ojuw4aSljI0NMpMMESjbxzyiuBO/s1600-h/tarsilapaisagemcomtouro.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064552925846677410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22naqnOuUAjIAaZfVC5fLlxzx9uPSW20b-nmrZDeeSGDXfVqThWFgTy2TumnMNX_P0gZklv34mljNYnJMtqEEP9C4pThe7qjVvh5VakhE-ojuw4aSljI0NMpMMESjbxzyiuBO/s320/tarsilapaisagemcomtouro.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><strong> Pintura de Tarsila do Amaral</strong></span><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><span style="color:#ff6600;"><strong>Minha terra tem palmeiras<br />Onde canta o sabiá.<br />G. DIAS.<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#336666;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br />.</span><strong><br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Todos cantam sua terra,<br />Também vou cantar a minha,<br />Nas débeis cordas da lira<br />Hei de fazê-la rainha;<br />— Hei de dar-lhe a realeza<br />Nesse trono de beleza<br />Em que a mão da natureza<br />Esmerou-se em quanto tinha.<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Correi pr'as bandas do sul:<br />Debaixo dum céu de anil<br />Encontrareis o gigante<br />Santa Cruz, hoje Brasil;<br />— É uma terra de amores<br />Alcatifada de flores,<br />Onde a brisa fala amores<br />Nas belas tardes de abril.<br />(...) </strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span> </span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>É um país majestoso<br />Essa terra de Tupá,<br />Desd'o Amazonas ao Prata,<br />Do Rio Grande ao Pará!<br />— Tem serranias gigantes<br />E tem bosques verdejantes<br />Que repetem incessantes<br />Os cantos do sabiá.<br />(...)</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Quando Dirceu e Marília<br />Em terníssimos enleios<br />Se beijavam com ternura<br />Em celestes devaneios;<br />Da selva o vate inspirado,<br />O sabiá namorado,<br />Na laranjeira pousado<br />Soltava ternos gorjeios.<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Foi ali, foi no Ipiranga,<br />Que com toda a majestade<br />Rompeu de lábios augustos<br />O brado da liberdade;<br />Aquela voz soberana<br />Voou na plaga indiana<br />Desde o palácio à choupana,<br />Desde a floresta à cidade!<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Um povo ergueu-se cantando<br />— Mancebos e anciãos —<br />E, filhos da mesma terra,<br />Alegres deram-se as mãos;<br />Foi belo ver esse povo<br />Em suas glórias tão novo,<br />Bradando cheio de fogo:<br />— Portugal! somos irmãos!<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Quando nasci, esse brado<br />Já não soava na serra<br />Nem os ecos da montanha<br />Ao longe diziam — guerra!<br />Mas não sei o que sentia<br />Quando, a sós, eu repetia<br />Cheio de nobre ousadia<br />O nome da minha terra!<br />(...)</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33cc00;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><strong><br /></strong></span><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Casimiro de Abreu<br /></span><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong> </span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-12081170360862497062008-12-25T17:31:00.006-02:002010-07-03T21:54:41.588-03:00Canto de Natal<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ZPEJE8zrpkumnOiuBOt_qcnHHbGMvvVrbpguL51aOVLsMjYMPLr66jLB3C6xPBGk-PjVBBFGHctGTtQx3iKIUNVBINGOppBwIU4Nobzkp6nueSrBHs4tlTwmui6z5G8JM6Pj/s1600-h/manj.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 216px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299756871588517394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ZPEJE8zrpkumnOiuBOt_qcnHHbGMvvVrbpguL51aOVLsMjYMPLr66jLB3C6xPBGk-PjVBBFGHctGTtQx3iKIUNVBINGOppBwIU4Nobzkp6nueSrBHs4tlTwmui6z5G8JM6Pj/s320/manj.bmp" /></a> <span style="color:#000000;"><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div><br /></span><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">O nosso menino </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Nasceu em Belém.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Nasceu tão-somente </span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Para querer bem.</span></strong><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Nasceu sobre as palhas </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">O nosso menino.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Mas a mãe sabia </span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Que ele era divino.</span></strong><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /><strong>Vem para sofrer</strong> </span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">A morte na cruz,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">O nosso menino, </span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Seu nome é Jesus!</span></strong><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Por nós ele aceita </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">O humano destino:</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Louvemos a glória </span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">De Jesus menino!</span></strong><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#999900;">Manuel Bandeira</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#996633;">(Estrela da vida inteira. Editora José Olympio, p.168)</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;"></span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-57999127637843822342008-12-25T16:21:00.007-02:002010-07-03T21:53:54.873-03:00Estrela do menino pobre<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YXeudelHHEnsPj_8rhJm3QrvF5sqvnpM6J0N0v3s2Wn6lXsjKObo0fyPuVV6gJyzI_jUU6E7Px6Rey5qDaOUEZJvciJxyIfPKIboQT0QMB80f4JiR73o_amrSknbw509GhQ0/s1600-h/estrelas2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 256px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299758360037213922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YXeudelHHEnsPj_8rhJm3QrvF5sqvnpM6J0N0v3s2Wn6lXsjKObo0fyPuVV6gJyzI_jUU6E7Px6Rey5qDaOUEZJvciJxyIfPKIboQT0QMB80f4JiR73o_amrSknbw509GhQ0/s320/estrelas2.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc6600;"><strong>ESTRELA DO MENINO POBRE</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>Uma estrela pequenina,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>cintilante, de brocal,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>anuncia na vitrina: </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">hoje é dia de Natal.</span><br /></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>O menino da favela,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>sem camisa,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>pés no chão,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>acha a estrela muito bela</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">e quer tê-la em sua mão.</span><br /></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>Por amá-la e por querê-la,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>fica tempo a meditar:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>Como é bela a minha estrela !</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">e depois, põe-se a chorar.</span><br /></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>Um milagre, enquanto chora,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>Deus acaba de operar:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;"><strong>e o menino vai-se embora</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">c'o uma estrela em cada olhar !</span><br /></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#999900;"><strong>Gióia Júnior</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#996633;"><strong>(Canto Maior. Editora JUERP, p. 59)</strong></span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-30052810879902255792008-12-24T14:36:00.002-02:002008-12-24T14:39:37.801-02:00MEUS OITO ANOS<p align="center"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/q_4OvOWJEOc&hl=pt-br&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/q_4OvOWJEOc&hl=pt-br&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-76747650152578572008-11-06T19:26:00.010-02:002010-07-03T21:52:57.265-03:00HOJE É DIA DE CECÍLIA !<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Essa postagem faz parte da blogagem coletiva </strong></span><a href="http://leonorcordeiro.blogspot.com/2008/10/hoje-dia-de-ceclia.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>HOJE É DIA DE CECÍLIA </strong></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>que está homenageando Cecília Meireles na data do seu nascimento . </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Acompanhando as postagens desse blog que trazem recordações da minha infância pelos versos de poemas ensinados por minha mãe , escolhi essa crônica de Cecília:</strong></span></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtrRfeyZCo7c_zeM3mND1BIyEyuZcT7kC9l5_2hL6yr0VpbMmIfUZh41F6UWCKI8_zDX1smgmOENGaegTcbG1_cM8yVyd3X4Zv4UkXXcus2JVHQQ7Fa6OEVzcJkUj6RL4u9-X/s1600-h/fotodosobradodocosmevelho.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 235px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265659433106121538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtrRfeyZCo7c_zeM3mND1BIyEyuZcT7kC9l5_2hL6yr0VpbMmIfUZh41F6UWCKI8_zDX1smgmOENGaegTcbG1_cM8yVyd3X4Zv4UkXXcus2JVHQQ7Fa6OEVzcJkUj6RL4u9-X/s320/fotodosobradodocosmevelho.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"> Foto do sobrado do Cosme Velho</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;">.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;"></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">IMAGENS DA INFÂNCIA</span></strong><br /><span style="color:#009900;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">O grande livro está longe, mas as pálidas imagens ainda respiram: elas saem dos seus primitivos lugares, aparecem onde não as esperamos, desdobram-se de outras figuras que nos apresentam, acordam as primeiras experiências, as indeléveis curiosidades do nosso amanhecer no mundo.<br />Eis as velhinhas, as dos doces olhos cheios de coisas sábias, - as que nos ensinaram o tempo com as intricadas linhas de seu rosto, com as grossas veias de suas mãos quase paradas.<br />A doçura de viver está nas jovens sorridentes, que oscilam nos balanços embaixo das árvores. Olhai para os seus longos vestido flutuantes, para as suas tranças com fitas, para os seus olhos rápidos como borboletas – e as flores caindo dos ramos, e o sol bordado no chão seus amarelos arabescos...<br />A bondade está ali, detrás daquela porta que se abre em silêncio, na sala onde a mesa está para sempre posta, com duas mãos que caminham, servindo a fruta, o leite, o pão. O relógio marca o dia e a noite, como pára vidas sem fim. Ninguém estremece, Ninguém se lembra da morte. Todos se sucedem, todos se lembram uns dos outros, todos estão ali à espera dos que chegam. Para socorrer.<br /></span></strong><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>(...) Acertaremos os nossos relógios pelos modestos pais de família que vêm de tão longe, de tão longe – oh! De que mundos ignotos chegam os pais de família ...? – com seus embrulhos no gancho do dedo, com os seus jornais embaixo do braço, e, às costas, a sua fadiga de um dia inteiro fazendo um trabalho monótono e incessante... As crianças farejam os embrulhos como gatos, como cães.. “Café!” “Queijo!” “Sabonete!” Como são felizes as crianças , quando os pais chegam, de tão longe, de tão longe, com os embrulhos pendurados nos dedos...<br />Nos caramanchões que o luar vagamente desvenda estão os noivos inacreditáveis, falando como personagens de romance. Esses não são os que amanhã veremos casados, são os que apenas vivem o episódio de novos, com luares, caramanchões, insônias, pianos cheios de valsas, cartas cor de ametista, que um dia ficam sem resposta.<br />As professoras estão limpando o bico da pena em flanelas verdes. “Como se chama o rio maior do mundo?” Como se chamará? Estamos procurando pelas paredes, pela janela aberta, lá pelo céu azul, com muitos anjos invisíveis... Como se chamará ? Se os anjos descessem e dissessem! Mas não descem nem dizem.<br /></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span> </span><br /><strong>(...) Os vendedores de doce desaparecem pelas esquinas, soprando numa gaita de folha. O instinto bucólico fica de longe seguindo-os, e depois deixa-se esmagar pelas rodas dos carros nas ruas de pedra, enquanto leves campainhas oscilam e esmorecem no crepúsculo.<br />As crianças patinam nas praças. Os estudantes fazem vaidosos pescoços à porta dos cinemas. Os cocheiros dos coches fúnebres voltam dos cemitérios chicoteando os cavalos tristes. Todos estamos pulando corda, e não morreremos nunca. Mas os cães uivam, e a criada vira o chinelo debaixo da cama, antes de dormir.<br /></strong></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;"><strong>.</strong></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#999900;">(São Paulo, JORNAL DE NOTÍCIAS, 12 de novembro de 1948)<br /></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#999900;">In : Cecília Meireles - Obra em Prosa - CRÔNICA EM GERAL - Tomo 1. Editora Nova Fronteira, p. 279-281</span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"></span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"></div></span></span><br /><div align="center"></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-52964087005227737932008-10-24T19:47:00.004-02:002010-07-03T21:52:05.884-03:00Blogagem coletiva: HOJE É DIA DE CECÍLIA!<p align="center"><a href="http://leonorcordeiro.blogspot.com/2008/10/hoje-dia-de-ceclia.html" target="_blank"><br /><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i124.photobucket.com/albums/p4/oileonor_2006/BLOGAGEM7-1.gif" /></a></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>O dia 7 de novembro marca mais um aniversário do nascimento da escritora Cecília Meireles. O blog </strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>NA DANÇA DAS PALAVRAS deseja comemorar esta data distribuindo a poesia de Cecília pela blogosfera com a blogagem coletiva: HOJE É DIA DE CECÍLIA!<br />Clique no selinho e participe também dessa festa !</strong></span> </span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></p>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-20575786850153226782008-05-25T20:37:00.007-03:002010-07-03T21:51:34.835-03:0025 DE MAIO: Dia Internacional das Crianças e dos Adolescentes Desaparecidos<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0wiJ1NNxfd8W5C9YF0hx1WLRQQwEHZorbEMt09HvKKzksOvoYXVdhYNvtzNuupmYd_9s3v0GoGTYWqH6mrTMd1KuK3gvWy5OWgDzAOR-KwUVTDQFZWSbDsbFDfPEKuy-tJt5/s1600-h/sophiatunel.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204449954605134386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0wiJ1NNxfd8W5C9YF0hx1WLRQQwEHZorbEMt09HvKKzksOvoYXVdhYNvtzNuupmYd_9s3v0GoGTYWqH6mrTMd1KuK3gvWy5OWgDzAOR-KwUVTDQFZWSbDsbFDfPEKuy-tJt5/s320/sophiatunel.jpg" /></a><span style="color:#666666;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Fotografia de Leonor Cordeiro</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#333300;"></span></div><p align="justify"><span style="color:#333300;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;">(...) Mas por que desaparece tanta gente, todos os dias, em redor de nós, sem que possamos admitir que esses desaparecimentos sejam de origem lírica?<br />Ouço pelo rádio as famílias, os amigos, os conhecidos que indagam, inquietos, que reclamam, descrevem, dão sinais, indicam pistas. Há desaparecidos de todas as idades e cores, e ambos os sexos, das mais variadas condições sociais: quem tiver notícias de seu paradeiro é favor informar às pessoas aflitas que os procuram.<br />Mas quem vai saber o paradeiro da mocinha de blusa cor-de-rosa e saia amarela que, assim colorida, bateu asas sem se despedir dos parentes? Quem viu o menino de blusão verde e sapatos novos que saiu de casa pela tardinha e lá se foi andando – e irá andando enquanto tiver boas solas nos sapatos – por muito que os pais inconsoláveis o estejam chorando e os vizinhos não possam entender tamanha ingratidão? Que foi feito da velhinha, um pouco desmemoriada, que saiu para a missa e depois entrou por um caminho desconhecido, com seu vestido cinzento, sua bolsinha de verniz e duas travessas no cabelo?<br />Há os desaparecidos recentes: de ontem, da semana passada, de há um mês ou dois. Assim mesmo recentes não se encontram vestígios seus em parte alguma. Foram raptados? Ficaram debaixo do trem? Subiram para algum disco voador? Afogaram-se? Partiram para o secreto paraíso onde não querem ser importunados? Embarcaram para Citera? Quem sabe o que lhes aconteceu?<br />Mais comoventes, porém, é a busca de desaparecidos antigos: “procura-se uma conhecida que há três anos não se encontra...” Para onde foi a jovem Marília que há cinqüenta anos disse que ia trabalhar no Rio de Janeiro?... Que é feito do rapaz moreno, com um sinal no queixo, que usava um cordãozinho de outro com a imagem de São Jorge?<br />Todas essas pessoas e muitas outras estão sendo procuradas, pacientemente, com anúncios pelos jornais e nas emissoras. Uma incansável busca. Gente de todos os Estados do Brasil, gente com vários compromissos: eram noivos, eram chefes de família, eram donas-de-casa.. Gente miúda, que não se esperava desse capaz de meter-se em aventuras: meninotas e rapazinhos em idade escolar; mocinhas que pareciam tímidas e assustadas, moços ainda sem emprego...<br />(...) Mas os afetos vigilantes continuam, inconformados, a recordar os ausentes – todos os dias novos, todos os dias mais numerosos – e, por humildes lugares, famílias tristes cultivam longos canteiros de saudades.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size:85%;">(Trechos da crônica - GENTE DESAPARECIDA)<br />Cecília Meireles. Escolha o Seu Sonho - Editora Record, p.43-45<br />.</span></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#996633;">Você sabia que o Brasil registra mais ou menos 40 mil desaparecimentos de crianças e adolescentes por ano?<br />Você sabia que aqui não existe uma rede ou cadastro nacional para registrar informações dos desaparecidos?<br />Você sabia que não há comunicação entre a polícia militar, civis e federal, em relação ao desaparecimento de uma criança?<br />Precisamos criar no Brasil o ALERTA AMBER .<br />Esse vídeo vai explicar para você o que é o ALERTA AMBER:<br /></span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><strong>.<br /></strong></span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><embed height="355" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6GAQfP3W020&hl=" wmode="transparent"></embed></span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">Você pode participar do </span><a href="http://diganaoaerotizacaoinfantil.wordpress.com/2008/01/11/movimento-pela-criacao-do-alerta-amber-no-brasil/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">MOVIMENTO PELA CRIAÇÃO DO ALERTA AMBER NO BRASIL </span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">assinando a petição que será encaminhada à Câmara dos Deputados e ao Senado Federal . </span><a href="http://www.petitiononline.com/amber_br/petition-sign.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">CLIQUE AQUI PARA ASSINAR </span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">!<br /></span><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span></p>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-31563715461559677462007-08-31T09:38:00.002-03:002010-07-03T21:50:59.282-03:00PORQUINHO-DA-ÍNDIA<span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVrU4CZ26Vti1srraAIBsh2XVaY3gb0zuFCg40JlgbMFdFwv_Eygg9muvlq_ZDpiXJxf_zASsvYnFtRwnBIx6wWhHUNdtahZ-h0-MM978SIC-FXBLZQYXg-ge446JSTh3lJ32/s1600-h/meninino.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 165px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104844709882919058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVrU4CZ26Vti1srraAIBsh2XVaY3gb0zuFCg40JlgbMFdFwv_Eygg9muvlq_ZDpiXJxf_zASsvYnFtRwnBIx6wWhHUNdtahZ-h0-MM978SIC-FXBLZQYXg-ge446JSTh3lJ32/s320/meninino.jpg" width="207" height="240" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;">.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;">.</span></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Quando eu tinha seis anos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Ganhei um porquinho-da-índia.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que dor de coração me dava</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Porque o bichinho só queria estar debaixo do fogão!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong>Levava ele pra sala</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Pra os lugares mais bonitos, mais limpinhos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Ele não gostava:Queria era estar debaixo do fogão.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Não fazia caso nenhum das minhas ternurinhas...<br />- O meu porquinho-da-índia foi a minha primeira namorada.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#999900;"><strong>Manuel Bandeira</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span></div></span>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-70821160968020573212007-07-23T02:36:00.005-03:002010-07-03T21:50:34.511-03:00Meninos carvoeiros<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0Bxq2v0o5_Qo03vUTDQg7X_57NyAL8xxLGTaHCypammAizOFoDYc78YuuOQFYdkOdLxTgaNQhTyKSocmsPTlYbyHI6rtKp_mE-FyNYrDun2TAcmfzykmuQO_FQ1sven62oub/s1600-h/OsCarvoeirosdeNigelNoble1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090262472738497426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0Bxq2v0o5_Qo03vUTDQg7X_57NyAL8xxLGTaHCypammAizOFoDYc78YuuOQFYdkOdLxTgaNQhTyKSocmsPTlYbyHI6rtKp_mE-FyNYrDun2TAcmfzykmuQO_FQ1sven62oub/s320/OsCarvoeirosdeNigelNoble1.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"><strong>Os<span style="color:#999999;"> Carvoeiros de Nigel Noble</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Os meninos carvoeiros</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Passam a caminho da cidade.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Eh, carvoero!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E vão tocando os animais com um relho enorme.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Os burros são magrinhos e velhos.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Cada um leva seis sacos de carvão de lenha.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>A aniagem é toda remendada.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Os carvões caem.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>(Pela boca da noite vem uma velhinha que os recolhe, </strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>dobrando-se com um gemido.)</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Eh, carvoero!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Só mesmo estas crianças raquíticas</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Vão bem com estes burrinhos descadeirados.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>A madrugada ingênua parece feita para eles . . .</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Pequenina, ingênua miséria!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Adoráveis carvoeirinhos que trabalhais como se brincásseis!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>—Eh, carvoero!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Quando voltam, vêm mordendo num pão encarvoado,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Encarapitados nas alimárias,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Apostando corrida,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Dançando, bamboleando nas cangalhas como espantalhos desamparados.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Manuel bandeira</span> </strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span></strong></span></span><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-27500069321339214922007-05-13T15:29:00.006-03:002010-07-03T21:49:58.420-03:00Minha mãe<div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrB1FCo23DNzCVCnY7ucJs9lIP64r9JXLyRt7stsv7qiz9CZsbFn8dBY_3RNDVhHMl9Q_gRa-s1_tFna4Y-UHFfU4Zb-wP8OtCqcEjmPwgM-MTA6iigjanGiBSLBFiFyNsTfXi/s1600-h/JessieWillcoxSmith1.jpg"></a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064172310139873090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgafmypADwPOO_UTqXvKmswYRg86Nk8qZouhf9gnndlmaHEN2fr_4ULoJYtj1wPQm_lh7HBPOvRejfnGD-naBZncBVMav-_yzvepdsuzgP4Uq1LqKIjgeHtDiXKnttzkR_dI5Yw/s320/JessieWillcoxSmith5.jpg" /><span style="color:#ffffff;"> </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Da pátria formosa distante e saudoso,</strong></span></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><br /></strong></span><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Chorando e gemendo meus cantos de dor,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Eu guardo no peito a imagem querida</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Do mais verdadeiro, do mais santo amor:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Minha Mãe! —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Nas horas caladas das noites d’estio</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sentado sozinho co’a face na mão,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Seu choro e soluço por quem me chamava</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— “Oh filho querido do meu coração!” —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Minha Mãe! —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>No berço, pendente dos ramos floridos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Em que eu pequenino feliz dormitava:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Quem é que esse berço com todo o cuidado</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Cantando cantigas alegre embalava?</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Minha Mãe! —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>De noite, alta noite, quando eu já dormia</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sonhando esses sonhos dos anjos dos céus,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Quem é que meus lábios dormentes roçava,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Qual anjo da guarda, qual sopro de Deus?</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Minha Mãe! —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Feliz o bom filho que pode contente</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Na casa paterna de noite e de dia</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sentir as carícias do anjo de amores,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Da estrela brilhante que a vida nos guia!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Uma Mãe! —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Por isso eu agora na terra do exílio,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sentado sozinho co’a face na mão,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Suspiro e soluço por quem me chamava:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— “Oh filho querido do meu coração!” —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Minha Mãe! —</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Casimiro de Abreu</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#33cc00;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span><strong> </strong></span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154930569993067982006-08-07T02:58:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:49:10.683-03:00O VERDE TUIM<div align="center"><span style="color:#336666;">.</span></div><div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/tuim2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 86px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/tuim2.jpg" width="186" height="229" /></a><span style="color:#ffffff;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>.</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;"><strong>.</strong></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><strong><br /><span style="color:#996633;">Um verde Tuim<br />contente vivia<br />em uma gaiola<br />que do alto pendia</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Um Gato querendo<br />por força o pegar<br />um dia o convida<br />para irem brincar<br /></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Mil graças compadre<br />lhe diz o Tuim<br />já sei o que queres<br />conheço o teu fim</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Por isso daqui </strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>não hei de descer<br />caminhas que ainda<br />não me hás de comer .<br /></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">E o gato se foi<br />pra longe a miar<br />e o verde Tuim<br />se pois a cantar .</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">(Desconheço o nome do autor)</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33cc00;"><span style="color:#000000;"><br /></span><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154930165874376622006-08-07T02:52:00.005-03:002010-07-03T21:48:35.597-03:00SER MÃE<div align="center"><span style="color:#336666;"></span></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 164px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 201px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/m%3F%3Fe.0.jpg" width="195" height="213" /> <p align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span></p><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;"><strong>.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Ser mãe é desdobrar fibra por fibra o coração!<br />Ser mãe é ter no alheio<br />lábio que suga, o pedestal do seio,<br />onde a vida, onde o amor, cantando, vibra.<br /></strong><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Ser mãe é ser um anjo que se libra<br />sobre um berço dormindo!<br />É ser anseio, é ser temeridade, é ser receio,<br />é ser força que os males equilibra!</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Todo o bem que a mãe goza é bem do filho,<br />espelho em que se mira afortunada,<br />Luz que lhe põe nos olhos novo brilho!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Ser mãe é andar chorando num sorriso!<br />Ser mãe é ter um mundo e não ter nada!<br />Ser mãe é padecer num paraíso!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33cc00;"><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Coelho Neto<br /></span></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#336666;"><strong></strong></span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154824579447588052006-08-05T21:28:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:48:03.218-03:00CANÇÃO DO TAMOIO<div align="center"><span style="color:#336666;"></span></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/indio3.0.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 168px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 120px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/indio3.0.jpg" width="230" height="125" /></a> <div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Não chores, meu filho;</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Não chores, que a vida</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>É luta renhida:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Viver é lutar.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>A vida é combate,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que os fracos abate,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que os fortes, os bravos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Só pode exaltar.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>(...)</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>III</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>O forte, o cobarde</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Seus feitos inveja</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>De o ver na peleja</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Garboso e feroz;</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E os tímidos velhos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Nos graves conselhos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Curvadas as frontes,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Escutam-lhe a voz!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>(...)</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>V</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E pois que és meu filho,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Meus brios reveste;</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Tamoio nasceste,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Valente serás.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sê duro guerreiro,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Robusto, fragueiro,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Brasão dos tamoios</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Na guerra e na paz.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>VI</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Teu grito de guerra</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Retumbe aos ouvidos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>D'imigos transidos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Por vil comoção;</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E tremam d'ouvi-lo</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Pior que o sibilo</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Das setas ligeiras,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Pior que o trovão.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>(...)</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>VIII</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Porém se a fortuna,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Traindo teus passos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Te arroja nos laços</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Do imigo falaz!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Na última hora</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Teus feitos memora,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Tranqüilo nos gestos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Impávido, audaz.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>IX</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E cai como o tronco</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Do raio tocado,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Partido, rojado</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Por larga extensão;</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Assim morre o forte!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>No passo da morteTriunfa, conquista</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Mais alto brasão.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>X</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>As armas ensaia,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Penetra na vida:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Pesada ou querida,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Viver é lutar.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Se o duro combate</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Os fracos abate,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Aos fortes, aos bravos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Só pode exaltar.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Gonçalves Dias<br /></span></strong><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154824003670184822006-08-05T21:24:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:46:27.943-03:00MORENINHA<div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#336666;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064551547162175378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6Kuh8iFSSbcguPeuiPMBw4g7XZ10sqiwwl0IUyMVdRymx6NGhMxdx44Z-FfcmGl_6fmrQoLVnDkqPOnTT1YYJVDDP6h562pIi73vpO_yBDvlAO4NDN5TslHSwTyAbsrxRNwW/s320/guignardMariliaDeDirceu1957.jpg" /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><strong>Pintura de Alberto da Veiga Guignard</strong></div></span><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. </span><br /></span><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Moreninha, Moreninha,<br />Tu és do campo a rainha.<br />Tu és senhora de mim;<br />Tu matas todos d'amores,<br />Faceira, vendendo as flores<br />Que colhes no teu jardim.<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><strong><br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Quando tu passas n'aldeia<br />Diz o povo à boca cheia:<br />-"Mulher mais linda não há!<br />"Ai! Vejam como é bonita"<br />Co'as tranças presas na fita,<br />"Co'as flores no samburá!"<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>-Tu és meiga, és inocente<br />Como a rôla que contente<br />Voa e folga no rosal;<br />Envolta nas simples galas,<br />Na voz, no riso, nas falas,<br />Morena - não tens rival!<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><strong><br /></strong></span><span style="color:#999900;"><strong>Casimiro de Abreu<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#33cc00;"><strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></strong></span></span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154805004866614292006-08-05T16:05:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:45:48.973-03:00MEUS OITO ANOS<span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcxDKAc_i4WyszZg4SVSWHB1sAQ4dD-GzoGLGuGxRiZ5lpJEh4zySHSTDjtuXx7Y9TlllpVf1PHMCLvFFxNPFevONiQtn4VJGOP4JELJTFNWfkkdbNz78BvvnekR7XRzbuMgk/s1600-h/palhacinhosnagangorra.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064554124142553010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcxDKAc_i4WyszZg4SVSWHB1sAQ4dD-GzoGLGuGxRiZ5lpJEh4zySHSTDjtuXx7Y9TlllpVf1PHMCLvFFxNPFevONiQtn4VJGOP4JELJTFNWfkkdbNz78BvvnekR7XRzbuMgk/s320/palhacinhosnagangorra.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong> Pintura de Portinari</strong></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">.</span><br /></span><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Oh! que saudades que tenho<br />Da aurora da minha vida,<br />Da minha infância querida<br />Que os anos não trazem mais!<br />Que amor, que sonhos, que flores,<br />Naquelas tardes fagueiras<br />À sombra das bananeiras,<br />Debaixo dos laranjais!<br /></strong><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Como são belos os dias<br />Do despontar da existência!<br />— Respira a alma inocência<br />Como perfumes a flor;<br />O mar é — lago sereno,<br />O céu — um manto azulado,<br />O mundo — um sonho dourado,<br />A vida — um hino d'amor!<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Que aurora, que sol, que vida,<br />Que noites de melodia<br />Naquela doce alegria,<br />Naquele ingênuo folgar!<br />O céu bordado d'estrelas,<br />A terra de aromas cheia<br />As ondas beijando a areia<br />E a lua beijando o mar!<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Oh! dias da minha infância!<br />Oh! meu céu de primavera!<br />Que doce a vida não era<br />Nessa risonha manhã!<br />Em vez das mágoas de agora,<br />Eu tinha nessas delícias<br />De minha mãe as carícias<br />E beijos de minhã irmã!<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Livre filho das montanhas,<br />Eu ia bem satisfeito,<br />Da camisa aberta o peito,<br />— Pés descalços, braços nus<br />—Correndo pelas campinas<br />A roda das cachoeiras,<br />Atrás das asas ligeiras<br />Das borboletas azuis!<br /></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span><br /></span><strong>Naqueles tempos ditosos</strong><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Ia colher as pitangas,<br />Trepava a tirar as mangas,<br />Brincava à beira do mar;<br />Rezava às Ave-Marias,<br />Achava o céu sempre lindo.<br />Adormecia sorrindo<br />E despertava a cantar! </span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">. </span><br /></span><strong>................................ </strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">. </span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Oh! que saudades que tenho<br />Da aurora da minha vida,<br />Da minha infância querida<br />Que os anos não trazem mais!<br />— Que amor, que sonhos, que flores,<br />Naquelas tardes fagueiras<br />A sombra das bananeiras<br />Debaixo dos laranjais!<br /></strong><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><span style="color:#999900;"><strong>Casimiro de Abreu<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span></span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154804728633765052006-08-05T16:02:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:44:47.613-03:00DEUS<span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br />.<br /></span><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPTPu8YvMEb4Ys_mLhIQoQuyqELv2bZRTvQmbU2-VdrDbuPnbZ2vTBl0AYidUmTdy42t4U-dqrHqFvnV7fLUWzh-U1VeEyAudBHPBIP__98aOORjy2YneT977jls96BzzW0Up/s1600-h/anitamalfattiOnda.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 208px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 159px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064554837107124162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPTPu8YvMEb4Ys_mLhIQoQuyqELv2bZRTvQmbU2-VdrDbuPnbZ2vTBl0AYidUmTdy42t4U-dqrHqFvnV7fLUWzh-U1VeEyAudBHPBIP__98aOORjy2YneT977jls96BzzW0Up/s320/anitamalfattiOnda.jpg" width="192" height="146" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong> Pintura de Anita Malfatti</strong></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>Eu me lembro! Eu me lembro! - Era pequeno</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>E brincava na praia; o mar bramia,</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>E, erguendo o dorso altivo, sacudia,</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>A branca espuma para o céu sereno. </strong></span><br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>E eu disse a minha mãe nesse momento:</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>"Que dura orquestra! Que furor insano!</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>Que pode haver de maior do que o oceano</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>Ou que seja mais forte do que o vento?" </strong></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">. </span><br /></span><strong>Minha mãe a sorrir, olhou pros céus</strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">E respondeu: - Um ser que nós não vemos,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">É maior do que o mar que nós tememos,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mais forte que o tufão, meu filho, é Deus.</span><br /></strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#999900;"><strong>Casimiro de Abreu</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154782995799065712006-08-05T09:57:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:44:14.601-03:00A ESTRELA<div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/Estrela1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 119px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 127px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/Estrela1.jpg" width="180" height="169" /></a> <div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#336666;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Vi uma estrela tão alta,<br />Vi uma estrela tão fria!<br />Vi uma estrela luzindo<br />na minha vida vazia.<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Era uma estrela tão alta!<br />Era uma estrela tão fria!<br />Era uma estrela sozinha<br />Luzindo no fim do dia.<br /></span></strong><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Por que da sua distância<br />Para a minha companhia<br />Não baixava aquela estrela?<br />Por que tão alta luzia?<br /></strong></span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>E ouvi-a na sombra funda<br />Responder que assim fazia<br />Para dar uma esperança<br />mais triste ao fim do meu dia.</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:78%;">. </span><br /></span><span style="color:#999900;"><strong>Manuel Bandeira</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154782172745613122006-08-05T09:39:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:43:36.538-03:00TREM DE FERRO<div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 145px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 192px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/trem.jpg" width="171" height="232" /><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"> .</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span></p></span><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#336666;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Café com pão</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Café com pão</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Café com pão</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Virge Maria que foi isso maquinista?</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Agora sim</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Café com pão</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Agora sim</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Voa, fumaça</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Corre, cerca</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Ai seu foguista</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Bota fogo</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Na fornalha</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Que eu preciso</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Muita força</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Muita força</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Muita força</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Oô...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Foge, bicho</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Foge, povo</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Passa ponte</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Passa poste</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Passa pasto</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Passa boi</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Passa boiada</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Passa galho</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Da ingazeira</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Debruçada</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>No riacho</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Que vontade</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>De cantar!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Oô...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Quando me prendero</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>No canaviá</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Cada pé de cana</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Era um oficiá</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Oô...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Menina bonita</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Do vestido verde</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Me dá tua boca</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Pra matar minha sede</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Oô...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Vou mimbora vou mimbora</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Não gosto daqui</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Nasci no sertão</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Sou de Ouricuri</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Oô...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Vou depressa</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Vou correndo</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Vou na toda</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Que só levo </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Pouca gente</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Pouca gente</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#663300;"><strong>Pouca gente...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#999900;"><strong>Manuel Bandeira</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33cc00;"><strong></strong></span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154451024732541102006-08-01T13:41:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:41:40.361-03:00OS SAPOS<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/pula.jpg"></a><span style="color:#336666;"><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/sapo2.jpg"></a><span style="color:#006600;"></span><br /></span><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/gifanimal22004.png"></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/gifnr107.0.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 105px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 115px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/gifnr107.0.gif" width="143" height="159" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#336666;"><strong></strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Enfunando os papos, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Saem da penumbra, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Aos pulos, os sapos. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>A luz os deslumbra. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Em ronco que aterra,</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Berra o sapo-boi: </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>- "Meu pai foi à guerra!"</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>- "Não foi!" - "Foi!" - "Não foi!". </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>O sapo-tanoeiro,</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Parnasiano aguado, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Diz: - "Meu cancioneiro </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>É bem martelado. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Vede como primo</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Em comer os hiatos!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que arte! E nunca rimo </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>Os termos cognatos</strong></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>.</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><strong><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span></strong></span><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>O meu verso é bom</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Frumento sem joio.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Faço rimas com </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Consoantes de apoio. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Vai por cinquüenta anos</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que lhes dei a norma:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Reduzi sem danos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>A formas a forma. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Clame a saparia</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Em críticas céticas: </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Não há mais poesia, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Mas há artes poéticas..." </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Urra o sapo-boi:</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>- "Meu pai foi rei!"- "Foi!" </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>- "Não foi!" - "Foi!" - "Não foi!". </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Brada em um assomo</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>O sapo-tanoeiro:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>- A grande arte é como</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Lavor de joalheiro. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Ou bem de estatuário.</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Tudo quanto é belo, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Tudo quanto é vário, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Canta no martelo". </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Outros, sapos-pipas</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>(Um mal em si cabe), </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Falam pelas tripas, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>- "Sei!" - "Não sabe!" - "Sabe!". </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Longe dessa grita,</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Lá onde mais densa</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>A noite infinita </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Veste a sombra imensa; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Lá, fugido ao mundo,</strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sem glória, sem fé, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>No perau profundo</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E solitário, é </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"><br /></span><strong>Que soluças tu,</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Transido de frio, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sapo-cururu </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Da beira do rio...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#999900;">Manuel Bandeira</span> </span><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/estre.jpg"></a></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/estrela.0.jpg"><span style="color:#996633;"></span></a><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/estrela.jpg"></a></strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:78%;color:#33cc00;"></span></strong></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154403413229638692006-08-01T00:34:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:40:13.647-03:00IRENE NO CÉU<div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/anji.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 89px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 162px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/anji.gif" width="117" height="185" /> <p align="center"></a><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"><strong><br /></strong></span></p><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;"><strong>. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Irene preta</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Irene boa</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Irene sempre de bom humor.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Imagino Irene entrando no céu:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Licença, meu branco!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>E São Pedro bonachão:</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>— Entra, Irene. Você não precisa pedir licença.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Manuel Bandeira</span><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/estre.0.jpg"></a></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154403115230539562006-08-01T00:28:00.003-03:002010-07-03T21:39:45.019-03:00O LAÇO DE FITA<span style="color:#336666;"></span><div align="center"><br /></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/la.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/la.png" /></a><span style="color:#336666;"> </span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span></strong></span> <div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span></strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Não sabes, criança! 'Stou louco de amores...<br />Prendi meus afetos, formosa Pepita.<br />Mas onde? No templo, no espaço, nas névoas?!<br />Não rias, prendi-me<br />Num laço de fita.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Na selva sombria de tuas madeixas,<br />Nos negros cabelos de moça bonita,<br />Fingindo serpente qu'enlaça a folhagem,<br />Formoso enroscava-se<br />O laço de fita.</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Meu ser, que voava nas luzes da festa,<br />Qual pássaro bravo, que os ares agita,<br />Eu vi de repente cativo, submisso<br />Rolar prisioneiro<br />Num laço de fita.</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">E agora enleada na tênue cadeia<br />Debalde minh'alma se embate, se irrita...<br />O braço, que rompe cadeias de ferro,<br />Não quebra teus elos,<br />Ó laço de fita!</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Meu Deus! As falenas têm asas de opala,<br />Os astros se libram na plaga infinita.<br />Os anjos repousam nas penas brilhantes...<br />Mas tu... tens por asas<br />Um laço de fita.</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Há pouco voavas na célebre valsa<br />Na valsa que anseia, que estua e palpita<br />Por que é que tremeste? Não eram meus lábios...<br />Beijava-te apenas...<br />Teu laço de fita.</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Mas ai! findo o baile, despindo os adornos<br />N'alcova onde vela ciosa... crepita,<br />Talvez da cadeia libertes as tranças<br />Mas eu... fico preso<br />No laço de fita.</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Pois bem! Quando um dia na sombra do vale<br />Abrirem-me a cova..., formosa Pepita!<br />Ao menos arranca meus louros da fronte,<br />E dá-me por c'roa...<br />Teu laço de fita.</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Castro Alves</span></strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#33cc00;"></span></strong></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154402900052180892006-08-01T00:24:00.002-03:002010-07-03T21:38:49.561-03:00AS DUAS FLORES<div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/rosas.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 107px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 125px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/rosas.jpg" width="222" height="125" /></a><span style="color:#ffffff;"> .<br /></span><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/rosa5.png"></a><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></strong></span><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;">São duas flores unidas</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>São duas rosas nascidas</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Talvez do mesmo arrebol,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Vivendo, no mesmo galho,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Da mesma gota de orvalho,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Do mesmo raio de sol.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Unidas, bem como as penas</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>das duas asas pequenas</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>De um passarinho do céu...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Como um casal de rolinhas,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Como a tribo de andorinhas</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Da tarde no frouxo véu.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Unidas, bem como os prantos,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que em parelha descem tantos</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Das profundezas do olhar...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Como o suspiro e o desgosto,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Como as covinhas do rosto,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Como as estrelas do mar.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Unidas... Ai quem pudera</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Numa eterna primavera</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Viver, qual vive esta flor.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Juntar as rosas da vida</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Na rama verde e florida,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33cc00;"><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Na verde rama do amor!<br /></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><br /></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#999900;">Castro Alves</span><br /></span></strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31834249.post-1154396376685669172006-07-31T22:37:00.002-03:002010-07-03T21:38:08.086-03:00CANÇÃO DO EXÍLIO<p align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#336666;"></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></p><p align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/1600/sabia.jpg"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><img style="WIDTH: 114px; HEIGHT: 115px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2832/3469/320/sabia.jpg" width="195" height="76" /></span></a></p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ffffff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#336666;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span></div></span><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Minha terra tem palmeiras, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Onde canta o Sabiá; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>As aves, que aqui gorjeiam, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Não gorjeiam como lá. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">. </span><br /></span><strong>Nosso céu tem mais estrelas,</strong> </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Nossas várzeas têm mais flores, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Nossos bosques têm mais vida,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Nossa vida mais amores. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Em cismar, sozinho, à noite,</strong> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Mais prazer eu encontro lá;</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Minha terra tem palmeiras, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Onde canta o Sabiá. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Minha terra tem primores,</strong> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que tais não encontro eu cá; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Em cismar –sozinho, à noite– </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Mais prazer eu encontro lá; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Minha terra tem palmeiras, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Onde canta o Sabiá. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.<br /></span><strong>Não permita Deus que eu morra,</strong> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sem que eu volte para lá; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sem que disfrute os primores </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Que não encontro por cá; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Sem qu'inda aviste as palmeiras, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#996633;"><strong>Onde canta o Sabiá. </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span><strong><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span></strong></span><strong><span style="color:#999900;">Gonçalves Dias</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;color:#ffffff;">.</span></div>Leonor Cordeirohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16853629760414116808noreply@blogger.com2