tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40039044416271107652024-03-20T08:26:52.179+00:00o verbo hesitar«Viesses tu, Poesia, / e o mais estava certo.» (Sebastião da Gama)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger188125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-69240876598328814202022-02-17T13:29:00.001+00:002022-02-17T13:29:00.206+00:003 versos de Roberto Piva<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZOTtXrtJFnrhNudc88QURm4K1vsVmf-nU0ruitj2Q0g0pQV121IG2hbSQDgDWT4K8oO43OmIoRXFU3gT-Jo407cE3eM-uD3Gg6DdGdyfbV40JgWDGWNPDt5JwV2tDKec4t9IJDkNn3GfRVH5npVHw9BxnUmo1VrxNO0rIg9JeuMJ0RlppKVkyRLLU=s225" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="225" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZOTtXrtJFnrhNudc88QURm4K1vsVmf-nU0ruitj2Q0g0pQV121IG2hbSQDgDWT4K8oO43OmIoRXFU3gT-Jo407cE3eM-uD3Gg6DdGdyfbV40JgWDGWNPDt5JwV2tDKec4t9IJDkNn3GfRVH5npVHw9BxnUmo1VrxNO0rIg9JeuMJ0RlppKVkyRLLU=w200-h180" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">[...]</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">«os veterinários passam lentos lendo Dom Casmurro / há jovens pederastas embebidos em lilás / e putas com a noite passeando em torno de suas unhas»</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;">[...]</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;">«Praça da República dos meus sonhos»</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">in </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">Heloisa Buarque de Hollanda, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">26 Poetas Hoje </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">(1976)</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-29887035148386859572022-02-11T13:51:00.002+00:002022-02-11T13:51:00.205+00:004 versos de José Tolentino Mendonça<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqIASKeT6vKC3nCGCI8JN9xXi9Un7Uo3QIgLjbVw_QTQviM9xyp6V-xOCwdJuNjHCk1aFmmJUMz2NRGuNzIw9eFz-T5kk8WHX3839p9Dy_RpCWfR-WT5dNcQVTtzCc4wO-lZPW0PTdlyZL0yH_E4E3NHcFANPhCUi9QnNJ4F6DBeo6YJ_OJJ2Bblzu=s275" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqIASKeT6vKC3nCGCI8JN9xXi9Un7Uo3QIgLjbVw_QTQviM9xyp6V-xOCwdJuNjHCk1aFmmJUMz2NRGuNzIw9eFz-T5kk8WHX3839p9Dy_RpCWfR-WT5dNcQVTtzCc4wO-lZPW0PTdlyZL0yH_E4E3NHcFANPhCUi9QnNJ4F6DBeo6YJ_OJJ2Bblzu=w200-h133" width="200" /></a></div>«Os versos assemelham-se a um corpo / quando cai / ao tentar de escuridão a escuridão / a sua sorte»<p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>[...]</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span> <i>Baldios</i> (1999)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-45976595512340431582022-02-10T13:18:00.000+00:002022-02-10T13:18:00.202+00:003 versos de Sebastião Alba<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoHt4qojVBqI4EyXW2b1PcFxdkxgR3p9CPF7MdT3eNywyZjpJfEMJFkgfRFE3TPjMOy8BA3AU1HcGdOjvxLFms-dF85Q4CNP9W6ilP-FTEd-v0VOKQYV3a4R_3XdX_riQz1P_jIvyt4tVvOfFzi1sgF3Gn6Vzs8MqQ4urwEmMxlSkGAajtu_n72X67=s200" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoHt4qojVBqI4EyXW2b1PcFxdkxgR3p9CPF7MdT3eNywyZjpJfEMJFkgfRFE3TPjMOy8BA3AU1HcGdOjvxLFms-dF85Q4CNP9W6ilP-FTEd-v0VOKQYV3a4R_3XdX_riQz1P_jIvyt4tVvOfFzi1sgF3Gn6Vzs8MqQ4urwEmMxlSkGAajtu_n72X67=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></div><span style="text-align: justify;">[...]</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span>A uma fogueira entrevista / torsos lampejam / lastrando a luz</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>[...]</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><i>A Noite Dividida </i>(1996)</span> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-71767888019819343342022-02-09T13:12:00.002+00:002022-02-09T13:12:00.216+00:004 versos de Antonio Carlos de Brito / Cacaso<p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLTNmClnUMqJ4A0P3YVt8duWkDHUZ-p7aQGVTn9aFIdOoxXNsZzRg5Oob7OtxL3yWV3iMESlh58v3FsmGvvIPer6cOiiqxhgcM53iPU3Q_vfKL9ClEiZeFCNf3b9Jgt2I6bGBmOYGySWdzp0tYDc_DpCjB5kZy8vuVigvNaSiMT03zffSHacOZB406=s225" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="224" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLTNmClnUMqJ4A0P3YVt8duWkDHUZ-p7aQGVTn9aFIdOoxXNsZzRg5Oob7OtxL3yWV3iMESlh58v3FsmGvvIPer6cOiiqxhgcM53iPU3Q_vfKL9ClEiZeFCNf3b9Jgt2I6bGBmOYGySWdzp0tYDc_DpCjB5kZy8vuVigvNaSiMT03zffSHacOZB406=w199-h200" width="199" /></a></span></div><span>«Sonhei com um general de ombros largos que fedia / e que no sonho me apontava a poesia / enquanto um pássaro pensava suas penas / e já sem resistência resistia.»</span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>«Grupo Escolar»</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><i>in </i>Heloisa Buarque de Hollanda, <i>26 Poetas Hoje </i>(1976)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-41241183223095999442022-02-08T22:02:00.004+00:002022-02-08T22:02:52.189+00:003 versos de Cristóvão de Aguiar<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiogBI6kMytf9YAyaWhsyHX66sxUDeKHkhNCg8d8K-A-3Gr4k3pAzAV5EJBIG4KVvHAyDoaKwhKoiaEOLgjkeL6KVhPZDjyJEMUTlSIxwMhI_Dwynq-67KOIbmQkoHE8sZQpWmYTbQRJwV5X-QRNzlB1tiG4JOgCmAUs5wpFW2JUXi-6M_1xZ4SNXpb=s400" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="310" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiogBI6kMytf9YAyaWhsyHX66sxUDeKHkhNCg8d8K-A-3Gr4k3pAzAV5EJBIG4KVvHAyDoaKwhKoiaEOLgjkeL6KVhPZDjyJEMUTlSIxwMhI_Dwynq-67KOIbmQkoHE8sZQpWmYTbQRJwV5X-QRNzlB1tiG4JOgCmAUs5wpFW2JUXi-6M_1xZ4SNXpb=w155-h200" width="155" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: left;">[...] </span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">«por amor de ti traguei milhas de mar / em naufrágios de tantas travessias / -- está a sede ainda por matar.» </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: right;"><i style="text-align: left;">Sonetos de Amor Ilhéu </i><span style="text-align: left;">(1992)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-58511160709305720782022-02-04T21:36:00.001+00:002022-02-04T21:36:00.201+00:005 versos de Ana Hatherly<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq8xghCnVaDSJ0hi2UZa8f9hV22SkGQj_i_yctrBIg-dav_uIbgPDFyfgHTUtHlM9qtApv1TEhviiuo6bmGCVg9q3hmIVoOEa0_971W05YfchkaFGJ4hGI5EzgQUseydi5pziSDdewG26589Vlwm3h_1r_7OpNnyVw7ikGvFIFev4i2JBltdWKXZbY=s200" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="155" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq8xghCnVaDSJ0hi2UZa8f9hV22SkGQj_i_yctrBIg-dav_uIbgPDFyfgHTUtHlM9qtApv1TEhviiuo6bmGCVg9q3hmIVoOEa0_971W05YfchkaFGJ4hGI5EzgQUseydi5pziSDdewG26589Vlwm3h_1r_7OpNnyVw7ikGvFIFev4i2JBltdWKXZbY=w155-h200" width="155" /></a></div><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">[...]</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span>«mestre da alegria // até o lobo / louva / São / Francisco»</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>«A São Francisco, o São Santo» (1982)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-28812439455048090112022-02-03T13:00:00.000+00:002022-02-03T13:00:00.195+00:002 versos de Pedro Tamen<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsGM7gT7HIsEQn-WJmev4IYFI4cLo5Dp7rrUYFi7kAf3it6eOVPrttPaUGRmHzhQYVGrEYd-HDRzg9wwucV-OFgSpCxxxsfdGmgNovjKT34x0DTNDWDbOlt1Ebba5n3aDVBS9aDoR5bLDNRDp29rkY8d3bbhTGZsgxaNM-okrZa6EKQ6U2RQWEqPlC=s260" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="186" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsGM7gT7HIsEQn-WJmev4IYFI4cLo5Dp7rrUYFi7kAf3it6eOVPrttPaUGRmHzhQYVGrEYd-HDRzg9wwucV-OFgSpCxxxsfdGmgNovjKT34x0DTNDWDbOlt1Ebba5n3aDVBS9aDoR5bLDNRDp29rkY8d3bbhTGZsgxaNM-okrZa6EKQ6U2RQWEqPlC=w143-h200" width="143" /></a></div> <span style="text-align: left;">«Não tenho graves defeitos / nem tão-pouco grandes qualidades.» </span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;">[...] </span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><i style="text-align: left;">Guião de Caronte </i><span style="text-align: left;">(1997)</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-36045462259168636012022-02-02T13:50:00.000+00:002022-02-02T13:50:00.215+00:005 versos de João de Deus<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivnRO5rBYSRVBXFhQu39zrM45GLiX-JYXs237eW7jY5XyEZ65nJwcY6VhF8kwYsKiSKgm85ryAX5i5SA3cnQnxZw9XBkJqHN11wJxlqszHgdGlZRYw8KWmBYGh6oEILu1bnK7zwQDZFJ3xhvSZwiOUtX3tgwsHx4cu8_c0wlwevPc2cKgafzWxdic4=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivnRO5rBYSRVBXFhQu39zrM45GLiX-JYXs237eW7jY5XyEZ65nJwcY6VhF8kwYsKiSKgm85ryAX5i5SA3cnQnxZw9XBkJqHN11wJxlqszHgdGlZRYw8KWmBYGh6oEILu1bnK7zwQDZFJ3xhvSZwiOUtX3tgwsHx4cu8_c0wlwevPc2cKgafzWxdic4=w160-h200" width="160" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"> [...] </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">«<span style="font-size: medium;">Eu amo-te, e sigo / / Teus passos, bem vês! / O cão do mendigo / Não é mais amigo / Do dono, talvez!»</span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <i>Campo de Flores</i> (1893)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-2957846098210689182022-02-01T18:11:00.001+00:002022-02-01T18:11:00.202+00:004 versos de João Cabral de Melo Neto<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjy9u9zyy0eZ5G00nX3ph62D6r9DTdcJsWrqNH6wUtx5qY1MidmGfAjG8RNa7CHPgOhzS9IPOjN8MT_empexP4w7XWNjS6W1v_3JqEoTWrmSvp5QDinTTcNE3uuD45n4k3Xst7EQzQKGyzkRi0a2PdeIouBHKCrHJ5qVX0mQJmU5fO1-f7rwgBOGFlG=s301" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="301" data-original-width="238" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjy9u9zyy0eZ5G00nX3ph62D6r9DTdcJsWrqNH6wUtx5qY1MidmGfAjG8RNa7CHPgOhzS9IPOjN8MT_empexP4w7XWNjS6W1v_3JqEoTWrmSvp5QDinTTcNE3uuD45n4k3Xst7EQzQKGyzkRi0a2PdeIouBHKCrHJ5qVX0mQJmU5fO1-f7rwgBOGFlG=w158-h200" width="158" /></a></div><br />«A fala a nível do sertanejo engana: / as palavras dele vêm como rebuçadas / (palavras confeito, pílula) na glace / de uma entonação lisa, de adocicada »<p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span> <i>A Educação pela Pedra </i>(1966)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-39491169379942658802022-01-30T03:03:00.006+00:002022-01-30T03:03:35.510+00:002 versos de Pedro Homem de Mello<p> <br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;">[...] </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span>«"--Que dás, Poesia / Castigos eternos?"» </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span>[...]» </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivYkNclsp9hSlgjBLxCXf6mLzSw90UicT9e1crJxDCOPUT0ncryXyEN-TLTaV-3-G2rkf5Spt3N-Gcp9DE4eZGG3SzFhmi3rOLlb4hKhG1ocL6XtZVxaqyvLbhjUM7grRVL4waRQblSY1YwSsE9UWe6WrFkVIZaT_YYkWu9b_eKTQpaot7xWZ5FsFX=s628" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="628" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivYkNclsp9hSlgjBLxCXf6mLzSw90UicT9e1crJxDCOPUT0ncryXyEN-TLTaV-3-G2rkf5Spt3N-Gcp9DE4eZGG3SzFhmi3rOLlb4hKhG1ocL6XtZVxaqyvLbhjUM7grRVL4waRQblSY1YwSsE9UWe6WrFkVIZaT_YYkWu9b_eKTQpaot7xWZ5FsFX=w200-h149" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: right;"><span><span style="text-align: left;"> «Pântano», </span><i style="text-align: left;">Eu Hei-de Voltar um Dia</i><span style="text-align: left;"> (1966)</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-80004797828419091332022-01-27T01:05:00.003+00:002022-01-27T01:05:22.500+00:004 versos de Alexandre Dáskalos<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br /> <span style="text-align: left;">[...] </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span>«Onda sobre onda infinita como o mar / como o mar inquieto / num jeito / de nunca mais parar.» </span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span>[...] </span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><span style="text-align: left;">Alexandre Dáskalos, </span><i style="text-align: left;">Poesia </i><span style="text-align: left;">(1961)</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhav2GRVA5AAfv5nlQyA4JzHOvZaMO8rZnCaY_FApzCYI2tvpFrfnG1H2CqHreI0ILBVm2b87MQ-5_39d8JDG-hiFTmwmY58T3Xa2opwyqmG1ormes9mbuU3TIVnxPKybhlXek0n0MH2ekNmBnk2bQnwgPP5x4f7CLpES1RZxYWjx0znRf4s8B6EjCO=s381" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="244" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhav2GRVA5AAfv5nlQyA4JzHOvZaMO8rZnCaY_FApzCYI2tvpFrfnG1H2CqHreI0ILBVm2b87MQ-5_39d8JDG-hiFTmwmY58T3Xa2opwyqmG1ormes9mbuU3TIVnxPKybhlXek0n0MH2ekNmBnk2bQnwgPP5x4f7CLpES1RZxYWjx0znRf4s8B6EjCO=w128-h200" width="128" /></a></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-63288669646554628902022-01-26T18:36:00.000+00:002022-01-26T18:36:00.211+00:004 versos de José Afonso<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmYOPb5O9OnPBLJ6RWPc9mpCUxyUwaml0WmueCsotMBxNoKM_tI1NyF48h4GvBlJ4_V-phB5SDhuH-USpeFs-_7OyscAJaBP9qGIdcI4aaP88Su-qBJy5W-wB4O_pb6j2D2jLjU1FgMyV4qQZI6BIYxs2RdFpwjwOIaRqH7t5Zu27jSonROJAftkPE=s1024" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1024" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmYOPb5O9OnPBLJ6RWPc9mpCUxyUwaml0WmueCsotMBxNoKM_tI1NyF48h4GvBlJ4_V-phB5SDhuH-USpeFs-_7OyscAJaBP9qGIdcI4aaP88Su-qBJy5W-wB4O_pb6j2D2jLjU1FgMyV4qQZI6BIYxs2RdFpwjwOIaRqH7t5Zu27jSonROJAftkPE=w200-h141" width="200" /></a></div> <span style="text-align: left;">[...] </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">«Na sala há cinco meninas / E um botão de sardinheira / Feitas de fruta madura / Nos braços duma rameira» </span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;">[...] </span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span>José Afonso, «Avenida de Angola»</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-6189417808335216952022-01-25T23:39:00.005+00:002022-01-25T23:39:41.464+00:00dois versos de Carlos Saldanha / Zuca Sardan<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgD1pZjtOIqt6mpXs145KWtfYC-c55XVqOrNIraPDj53GzvVxDipgPm_EFtZfBTvJBxl7L4CdmUcyb7pEAGZaURCEx_ePSRtw6dtFvv5TTYU3jBA-KscvrmH7cJdBs91NfchFg49V_it8BDKhBsXhhEo-bNj9hQ9Xxgo1ZU0YaVNwRvpNZgG_OalgEJ=s468" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="468" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgD1pZjtOIqt6mpXs145KWtfYC-c55XVqOrNIraPDj53GzvVxDipgPm_EFtZfBTvJBxl7L4CdmUcyb7pEAGZaURCEx_ePSRtw6dtFvv5TTYU3jBA-KscvrmH7cJdBs91NfchFg49V_it8BDKhBsXhhEo-bNj9hQ9Xxgo1ZU0YaVNwRvpNZgG_OalgEJ=w200-h143" width="200" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;">«De cem favoritos reais / noventa e seis foram guilhotinados.</span><span style="text-align: left;">» </span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><span style="text-align: left;">[...] </span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><span style="text-align: left;">«Pesquisa utilitária», </span><i style="text-align: left;">26 Poetas Hoje</i><span style="text-align: left;"> (1976)</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-40787594493491559212022-01-24T13:44:00.005+00:002022-01-24T13:44:00.199+00:003 versos de Pedro Tamen<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0p2CpRDrkFJDnudC2Bvjmfq0Fo16w1IP3S9ZCUZRVyXCUrZEg2AWUXybHNAanqraF99W7iU7CKfIWggWNu3B5Y9FDrrZfpmH4lVxgw55g4DYvsKVj51AtpU8LWjXh4dQ-M6SiM1HkP_wJEKTd3evD2RKLZMylBXD_u9fERXuHZINK7nDKKqw1LsNc=s260" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="186" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0p2CpRDrkFJDnudC2Bvjmfq0Fo16w1IP3S9ZCUZRVyXCUrZEg2AWUXybHNAanqraF99W7iU7CKfIWggWNu3B5Y9FDrrZfpmH4lVxgw55g4DYvsKVj51AtpU8LWjXh4dQ-M6SiM1HkP_wJEKTd3evD2RKLZMylBXD_u9fERXuHZINK7nDKKqw1LsNc=w143-h200" width="143" /></a></div><b><span style="text-align: left;">«Como se na boca da trompete / coloca-se a surdina sobre a vida / e a memória irrompe qual um vento» </span></b><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span style="text-align: left;">[...] </span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><i style="text-align: left;">Memória Indiscritível </i><span style="text-align: left;">(2000<span style="font-size: medium;">)</span></span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-45285275253510099652022-01-21T19:08:00.004+00:002022-01-25T23:40:22.324+00:002 versos de Cecília Meireles<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvoUNFFUJCPiNOECA8A9LJJVfjQlxmChyLyrBgmYBDfBQfPitoQo_DDdYv3_0wOeHinZUuTPobaW6Rcp67oqjwqzeVqHm0KUqSMZLmj_Ngdm-rL74M43Y7jA-V8jE8hOil_2V-ddbnOQ9BZTVvcBErsPDmFkDo3EYvDqExx94k49JG6gmWG7r82w_N=s757" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvoUNFFUJCPiNOECA8A9LJJVfjQlxmChyLyrBgmYBDfBQfPitoQo_DDdYv3_0wOeHinZUuTPobaW6Rcp67oqjwqzeVqHm0KUqSMZLmj_Ngdm-rL74M43Y7jA-V8jE8hOil_2V-ddbnOQ9BZTVvcBErsPDmFkDo3EYvDqExx94k49JG6gmWG7r82w_N=w127-h200" width="127" /></a></div> <span>«Sei que canto. / E a canção é tudo. »<b> </b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>«Motivo», <i>Viagem </i>/ <i>Antologia Poética</i> (1963)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-80019252514529582782022-01-21T14:35:00.004+00:002022-01-21T14:35:41.501+00:004 versos de Carlos Daniel<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;">«O princípio / Foi uma mancha maravilhosa e branca / Adequada e plana / Sem mistérios nem respostas.»</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><i>Os Meus Dias </i>(2018)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhYHx8RW6kaCZBtnGjlbRAq7eImLiKvN_pzNYCQO_cxJe_1WR2_BSgJ2766WGm2E_B9Nwc0IefYLzus8k_7FJ-19vkCR7P53JjwuoR4-8nN_JnU3EHM9BiyRnSS_jD_IEO8iNJAZrqCi22rWXSmgUus4ljmdDACE-HbeFauu3yjU92nkYzs30zvTfQ=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1595" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhYHx8RW6kaCZBtnGjlbRAq7eImLiKvN_pzNYCQO_cxJe_1WR2_BSgJ2766WGm2E_B9Nwc0IefYLzus8k_7FJ-19vkCR7P53JjwuoR4-8nN_JnU3EHM9BiyRnSS_jD_IEO8iNJAZrqCi22rWXSmgUus4ljmdDACE-HbeFauu3yjU92nkYzs30zvTfQ=w156-h200" width="156" /></a></div></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-73426199724155122272022-01-12T13:16:00.004+00:002022-01-12T13:16:00.267+00:002 versos de Manuel Matos Nunes<p> <b> </b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFh9qH5wMTG8YWWD_IUqeAjRZan4xyLVLfKoVuN1hMhPP8P3rcJmT8wRUCQG1xEvpRLb2kcslrI0D360bfEaY8L665n-KFJBtPNAZh4vRz9gHbuvdUyMXZJ2FqBibSmaLp-uj53xo27LV9vaVlIJ_YdPhudb_sJSbCk4AA3ggO-s_dRKRNDros0yyh=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1386" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFh9qH5wMTG8YWWD_IUqeAjRZan4xyLVLfKoVuN1hMhPP8P3rcJmT8wRUCQG1xEvpRLb2kcslrI0D360bfEaY8L665n-KFJBtPNAZh4vRz9gHbuvdUyMXZJ2FqBibSmaLp-uj53xo27LV9vaVlIJ_YdPhudb_sJSbCk4AA3ggO-s_dRKRNDros0yyh=w136-h200" width="136" /></a></b></div><b><br />«Lança o brilho da sua lâmina / ao manto plúmbeo do céu.» </b><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>[...]</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span>Manuel Matos Nunes, «Gadanheiro (1945), de Júlio Pomar», <i>Cadernos do Verão </i>(2021)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-72639636443314292802022-01-09T19:30:00.003+00:002022-01-09T23:01:31.973+00:002 versos de Pedro Tamen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzj_kFuHvwpJuxouye2OAdubCYNqKzeJmnKYb-b7Y7zKpIrtw-e4Zstj27rRZi-ovFl3B5uNwNcxboU53bFQCiQXklPl5-z5qdnXEX_b_Fw8o_ydIFNXBGSTZAhGNDPnRUcjRn0IqM8V81PP0y6zq7K4uUMwgb140Ls0M5DkY1VIPwFes9zTsePkrt=s260" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="186" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzj_kFuHvwpJuxouye2OAdubCYNqKzeJmnKYb-b7Y7zKpIrtw-e4Zstj27rRZi-ovFl3B5uNwNcxboU53bFQCiQXklPl5-z5qdnXEX_b_Fw8o_ydIFNXBGSTZAhGNDPnRUcjRn0IqM8V81PP0y6zq7K4uUMwgb140Ls0M5DkY1VIPwFes9zTsePkrt=w143-h200" width="143" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">[...]</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">«</span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fui pai de Tordesilhas e também / de Lucrécia paternal pirilampo</span>.» </span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;">[...]</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;">«Alexandre VI», <i>Analogia e Dedos </i>(2006)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-40139170067420233662022-01-07T13:46:00.000+00:002022-01-07T13:46:00.182+00:002 versos de Antero Abreu<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIzpeFiVf95lXgylLgJLcwIo65qDZaDx439Zch3JAJpHIYUkwzAzClS_yLAZxkO-a71YZUWjgbeD4YBC33RbqNruUJqTMFXIP9fzpCZphA39xqu67CAbIGapS22-RCu2OhlWAMfWykGYsxH7WYq3v-tlqiu9yd0TLxURg6CjC26BSVMC8to6cODF1f=s286" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="270" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIzpeFiVf95lXgylLgJLcwIo65qDZaDx439Zch3JAJpHIYUkwzAzClS_yLAZxkO-a71YZUWjgbeD4YBC33RbqNruUJqTMFXIP9fzpCZphA39xqu67CAbIGapS22-RCu2OhlWAMfWykGYsxH7WYq3v-tlqiu9yd0TLxURg6CjC26BSVMC8to6cODF1f=w189-h200" width="189" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;">«Forma-se a onda e depois outra e outra / E enquanto se desfazem outras vêm» </span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><span style="text-align: left;">Antero Abreu, «</span><span style="text-align: left;">Onda vai onda vem», <i>Poesia Intermitente </i>(1987)</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-45942227237522627682022-01-06T13:04:00.000+00:002022-01-06T13:04:00.198+00:002 versos de José Pascoal<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqyBlLVTS82GihJHTAOJX19JTtzKB2DLnLF7NqhFyGlJ_PzE1b-bR2MUMghcUPKqBPUWhCWJaGkg1M5ZHiFZJeYe-eGkja6hrNfJKRNjWCAp4GmKmjAwT1XnndHCozdVd1p62CoyZwwOD6CQnDJHCqTaA2TpulO62Pth3G2vu-tylbeBmUYBx62pae=s150" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqyBlLVTS82GihJHTAOJX19JTtzKB2DLnLF7NqhFyGlJ_PzE1b-bR2MUMghcUPKqBPUWhCWJaGkg1M5ZHiFZJeYe-eGkja6hrNfJKRNjWCAp4GmKmjAwT1XnndHCozdVd1p62CoyZwwOD6CQnDJHCqTaA2TpulO62Pth3G2vu-tylbeBmUYBx62pae=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: left;">«Estas palavras não são minhas / estas palavras são oferta da casa»</span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: left;">«</span><span style="text-align: left;">Oferenda», <i>Branza</i> (2019)</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-49596743609734567932022-01-05T13:31:00.004+00:002022-01-05T13:31:00.203+00:002 versos de Francisco Alvim<p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjZtdz-zntUW3oYm_G2YQZfnv3zSNJINgSvj03_gO-tCADMgL4Af6cBsjgRJjf-FoLrgq5EvzuRDvhKyDnsECvq82-6QBtIgS8sX8LqR8GEkjOz96xcjgQNyZtnuxQiJn-Fcg5llaGCJ8-N_iQyC-TqiVyLWnEti5-obRwhMTsF4qtNG4em6bTE4S0=s275" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjZtdz-zntUW3oYm_G2YQZfnv3zSNJINgSvj03_gO-tCADMgL4Af6cBsjgRJjf-FoLrgq5EvzuRDvhKyDnsECvq82-6QBtIgS8sX8LqR8GEkjOz96xcjgQNyZtnuxQiJn-Fcg5llaGCJ8-N_iQyC-TqiVyLWnEti5-obRwhMTsF4qtNG4em6bTE4S0=w133-h200" width="133" /></a></span></span></div><span><span><br />«Bonita vista / Pena que nunca a aviste»</span> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span> <i>Muito Obrigado</i></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span><i>in </i>Heloisa Buarque de Hollanda, <i>26 Poetas Hoje </i>(1976)</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-42310087043248862822021-11-19T13:46:00.000+00:002021-11-19T13:46:00.206+00:005 versos de Luís de Camões<p><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">«Ter nuns olhos tão fermosos / os sentidos enlevados, / bem sei que em baixos estados / são cuidados perigosos; / <i>Mas porém, ah! que cuidados!</i>»</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: right;">da glosa «Tanto maiores tormentos», <i>Poesia Lírica</i></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: right;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_qxgnM91qOB-dDbj7fJeRWSLkdxcxQBanoHYzqZ8v_AJdOFgJ9J9e-5nxIjRv-gBSgkXIQhztbhnuNzYlBk0xSNTGfEMWHRBt2TlmCei64x1xUdVD19TeDvydGqvOdAGQP_hc1O88eQ/s714/LuisDeCamoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_qxgnM91qOB-dDbj7fJeRWSLkdxcxQBanoHYzqZ8v_AJdOFgJ9J9e-5nxIjRv-gBSgkXIQhztbhnuNzYlBk0xSNTGfEMWHRBt2TlmCei64x1xUdVD19TeDvydGqvOdAGQP_hc1O88eQ/w179-h200/LuisDeCamoes.jpg" width="179" /></a></span></div><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-40916843351643127912020-11-04T13:52:00.002+00:002021-11-19T11:41:06.500+00:006 versos de Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen<p>«Pois o tempo me corta / O tempo me divide / O tempo me atravessa / E me separa viva / Do chão e da parede / Da casa primitiva»</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: right;">«Musa», <i>Livro Sexto </i>(1962)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw-0eOGGN0JIxdhSX3pI6KwlGwo4yFWuRcYi_L58x9pjUOpo_WqgGhd6Kiq4gt-3Cp-KzRFBmR2begF8MXVBF7AlXX4vGlquYBVNDdHTLjkt3gZTLMzFTGQIDg7nNkE2Lk-Jou40LZyM/s200/SophiaDeMelloBreynerAndresen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="143" data-original-width="200" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw-0eOGGN0JIxdhSX3pI6KwlGwo4yFWuRcYi_L58x9pjUOpo_WqgGhd6Kiq4gt-3Cp-KzRFBmR2begF8MXVBF7AlXX4vGlquYBVNDdHTLjkt3gZTLMzFTGQIDg7nNkE2Lk-Jou40LZyM/w200-h143/SophiaDeMelloBreynerAndresen.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-24125203875392676682020-07-07T13:45:00.000+01:002020-07-07T13:45:10.579+01:002 versos de Eucanaã Ferraz<div align="justify">
<strong>«Nossos amores assassinados / devíamos todos coroar em rainha.»</strong></div>
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«O pavão do 4.º andar», <i>O Pavão do 4.º Andar e Outros Poemas Portugueses </i>(2020)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4003904441627110765.post-87720849372011629842020-07-05T14:21:00.000+01:002020-07-05T14:21:32.307+01:001 verso de Alexandre de Córdova<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>«Num só horizonte a vida não se cinge.»</b></div>
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<i>Primavera Voluptuosa </i>(1953)<br />
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