<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041</id><updated>2011-10-10T03:35:30.482-07:00</updated><title type='text'>minha poética</title><subtitle type='html'>ESSE BLOG FOI FEITO PARA TRANSMITIR A POESIA DE MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES; TITULAR DA SOCIEDADE MINEIRA DOS POETAS VIVOS E AFINS</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>98</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115714161428079679</id><published>2006-09-01T13:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T13:13:34.283-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Versos em Flor</title><content type='html'>Perguntas se te amei, mas nada digo&lt;br /&gt;Pois sempre duvidaste do que sinto;&lt;br /&gt;Por isso se disser que não conigo&lt;br /&gt;De todo te esquecer, dirás que eu minto!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fosse eu, de ti, somente um grande amigo&lt;br /&gt;Que se perdeu, no extenso labirinto&lt;br /&gt;Da vida, em que a tristeza fez abrigo,&lt;br /&gt;Estaria este amor, há muito extinto!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Assim, é bem melhor que hoje me cale,&lt;br /&gt;Deixando que o silêncio, por mim, fale&lt;br /&gt;Da Musa em que, na vida, me inspirei...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talvez, mais tarde, ao fim da caminhada,&lt;br /&gt;Relendo os versos que deixei na estrada,&lt;br /&gt;Ver que foste a mulher que sempre amei...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115714161428079679?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115714161428079679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115714161428079679&amp;isPopup=true' title='25 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714161428079679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714161428079679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/versos-em-flor.html' title='Versos em Flor'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115714134987709438</id><published>2006-09-01T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T13:09:09.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O Teu Silêncio Fala</title><content type='html'>Constantemente, o teu silêncio fala,&lt;br /&gt;Na solidão das noites sem luar,&lt;br /&gt;Quando te vejo, entrando pela sala&lt;br /&gt;Dos sonhos que deixaste em teu lugar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se tudo em volta, esta lembrança embala,&lt;br /&gt;Sentir posso melhor, o teu olhar!&lt;br /&gt;E na emoção que este meu sonho exala,&lt;br /&gt;Doces momentos posso recordar...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O teu perfume, em pétalas, evola&lt;br /&gt;Do etéreo corpo que, entre luzes, vejo&lt;br /&gt;E, jogando de lado a camisola,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ficas ali, como um cristal de jade,&lt;br /&gt;A refletir, na paz do meu desejo,&lt;br /&gt;As cores eternais de uma saudade...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115714134987709438?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115714134987709438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115714134987709438&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714134987709438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714134987709438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/o-teu-silncio-fala.html' title='O Teu Silêncio Fala'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115714108860593131</id><published>2006-09-01T13:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T13:04:48.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Triste coração</title><content type='html'>.&lt;br /&gt;Maria Feijó e Marcos Coutinho Loures&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cantando sonhos, ilusões fagueiras,&lt;br /&gt;Os sons encheram os meus dias sós;&lt;br /&gt;Notas sublimes, ternas e brejeiras,&lt;br /&gt;Elas trouxeram paz, à minha vida...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas como as ilusões são passageiras,&lt;br /&gt;Só me restou este silêncio atroz;&lt;br /&gt;Sumiram do horizonte, nas esteiras,&lt;br /&gt;Os sonhos meus, nas asas do albatroz!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E quando a tempestade deu lugar&lt;br /&gt;Às virações das tardes mais amenas,&lt;br /&gt;Nas lembranças febris, fui procurar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquele canto que a tristeza embuça;&lt;br /&gt;E vi que me restou, do sonho, apenas,&lt;br /&gt;Um coração tristonho que soluça...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115714108860593131?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115714108860593131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115714108860593131&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714108860593131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714108860593131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/triste-corao.html' title='Triste coração'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115714082414624425</id><published>2006-09-01T12:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T13:00:24.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Renascer dos Sonhos</title><content type='html'>A poetisa Maria Feijó, deu-me as duas quadras, desafiando-me a terminar o soneto. Assim nasceu esse Soneto a quatro mãos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dos muitos sonhos que sonhei, na vida,&lt;br /&gt;Ficou o teu somente, a me trazer&lt;br /&gt;Doces lembranças de uma fase, tida&lt;br /&gt;Como a mais linda, deste meu viver!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foi palmilhar de estrada colorida,&lt;br /&gt;Iluminada ao sol entardecer...&lt;br /&gt;Das ilusões, enfim, a mais querida,&lt;br /&gt;Um doce encanto, me enfeitando o ser!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Assim, quando a tristeza, o peito oprime&lt;br /&gt;E a lágrima que cai molha o meu rosto,&lt;br /&gt;Posso sentir o quanto foi sublime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ter tido, em vida, o amor-eternidade,&lt;br /&gt;Que afastando, de mim, todo o desgosto,&lt;br /&gt;Traz-me a alegria, em forma de saudade...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115714082414624425?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115714082414624425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115714082414624425&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714082414624425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714082414624425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/renascer-dos-sonhos.html' title='Renascer dos Sonhos'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115714050886394332</id><published>2006-09-01T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T12:55:08.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Consolação</title><content type='html'>Muitas vezes, sozinho, eu me apavoro,&lt;br /&gt;Ao ver que as ilusões de minha vida,&lt;br /&gt;Como plantas num vaso, ressequida,&lt;br /&gt;Morreram devagar! Então eu choro...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nem mesmo ao sofrimento dou guarida&lt;br /&gt;Neste meu verso autêntico que adoro,&lt;br /&gt;Pois se este pranto é meu, eu já deploro,&lt;br /&gt;Que vejam minha dor deconcebida...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A vida assim, eu vejo que se arrasta,&lt;br /&gt;Numa tristeza muda e permanente,&lt;br /&gt;E ao consolar-me, um pensamento basta:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de saber que a dor que a gente sente,&lt;br /&gt;Que nos maltrata e os sonhos nos devasta,&lt;br /&gt;Existe em todo o ser, ocultamente...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115714050886394332?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115714050886394332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115714050886394332&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714050886394332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714050886394332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/consolao.html' title='Consolação'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115714018267376991</id><published>2006-09-01T12:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T12:49:42.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Meus Demônios</title><content type='html'>No meu silêncio, há gritos sufocados,&lt;br /&gt;Tentando dominar-me o corpo e a mente;&lt;br /&gt;Dos demônios, em mim, escuto os brados&lt;br /&gt;E os enfrento, sem medo, frente a frente!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depois de vê-los todos, derrotados,&lt;br /&gt;Imensa paz, então, minh’alma sente;&lt;br /&gt;Na remissão de todos os meus pecados,&lt;br /&gt;Desta vitória, a Deus, faço um presente!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tempos depois, esses demônios voltam,&lt;br /&gt;Com  mais força, alarido e mais vigor,&lt;br /&gt;Numa noite de insônia e de terror;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E em meio aos gritos que os demônios soltam,&lt;br /&gt;A voz de Deus, mais forte, em mim ressoa&lt;br /&gt;E minh’alma, ao vencê-los, os perdoa!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115714018267376991?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115714018267376991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115714018267376991&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714018267376991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115714018267376991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/meus-demnios.html' title='Meus Demônios'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115713987562502504</id><published>2006-09-01T12:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T12:44:35.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O Verdadeiro Bem que se Procura...</title><content type='html'>De que valem palavras de ternura,&lt;br /&gt;Se o coração não sente o que se diz?&lt;br /&gt;O verdadeiro bem que se procura,&lt;br /&gt;Não se contenta sem parecer feliz!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O poder das palavras só perdura,&lt;br /&gt;Se o sentimento não as contradiz,&lt;br /&gt;De que vale um momento, que não dura,&lt;br /&gt;Pra quem a eternidade sempre quis?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por mais que, nesta vida, se acelere&lt;br /&gt;O passo, em busca da suprema glória,&lt;br /&gt;Por mais que o humano ser deconsidere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os limites da própria humanidade,&lt;br /&gt;Somente poderão cantar vitória,&lt;br /&gt;Os que não se apartassem da verdade!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115713987562502504?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115713987562502504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115713987562502504&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713987562502504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713987562502504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/o-verdadeiro-bem-que-se-procura.html' title='O Verdadeiro Bem que se Procura...'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115713965150379282</id><published>2006-09-01T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T12:40:51.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Perdão, Mulher!</title><content type='html'>-Perdão, se em pensamentos te magoei,&lt;br /&gt;Pois este ultraje sei que não mereces.&lt;br /&gt;-Perdão, se quando fiz as minhas preces,&lt;br /&gt;Pela Santa, um instante, eu te troquei...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Perdão, se nos meu sonhos, apareces&lt;br /&gt;Nas formas em que mais te desejei...&lt;br /&gt;-Perdão, se dos teus olhos eu me afastei,&lt;br /&gt;Antes que deste afeto, tu soubesses...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Perdão, pelos poemas que não fiz,&lt;br /&gt;Falando deste amor com que sonhei!&lt;br /&gt;-Perdão, mulher se as emoções febris&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guardei-as, para mim, em pensamento&lt;br /&gt;E se busco olvidar-te – agora sei -,&lt;br /&gt;Não consigo esquecer-te, um só momento!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115713965150379282?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115713965150379282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115713965150379282&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713965150379282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713965150379282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/perdo-mulher.html' title='Perdão, Mulher!'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115713930801436440</id><published>2006-09-01T12:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T12:35:08.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Falar de Amor</title><content type='html'>-Falar de amor... Às vezes eu me ponho&lt;br /&gt;E nas tramas de verso me embaraço,&lt;br /&gt;Pois se ele é realidade, é também sonho&lt;br /&gt;E sonho não se exprime, nesses espaço.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da inútil tentativa me envergonho&lt;br /&gt;Ao ver tão limitado este meu passe:&lt;br /&gt;Mas se a pensar, em tempo, me disponho,&lt;br /&gt;Não posso lamentar o meu fracasso;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pois sendo o amor, um puro sentimento,&lt;br /&gt;Melhor senti-lo, um vibrações febris,&lt;br /&gt;Que buscar descrevê-lo, como tento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E se ela a vida inteira contagia,&lt;br /&gt;Quem tem amor, consegue ser feliz,&lt;br /&gt;E ser feliz, também é Poesia...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115713930801436440?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115713930801436440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115713930801436440&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713930801436440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713930801436440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/falar-de-amor.html' title='Falar de Amor'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115713903654970981</id><published>2006-09-01T12:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T12:30:36.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pela Vida Passei...</title><content type='html'>Pela vida que passei, plantando flores&lt;br /&gt;Que são, de Deus, as grandes maravilhas!&lt;br /&gt;Dos corações fui retirando as dores&lt;br /&gt;E desarmei, da estrada, as armadilhas...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trouxe alegria aos olhos sofredores&lt;br /&gt;E, ao caminheiro, enumerei as trilhas:&lt;br /&gt;Pintei os muros, das mais vivas cores&lt;br /&gt;E coqueiros plantei, em muitas ilhas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ingratidões sofri mas não lamento&lt;br /&gt;Pois é do humano ser a provação&lt;br /&gt;E, do Bem recebido, o esquecimento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, se a tristeza, acaso, o peito invade,&lt;br /&gt;Olho o jardim e vê, meu coração,&lt;br /&gt;Que na vida também plantei saudade...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115713903654970981?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115713903654970981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115713903654970981&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713903654970981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115713903654970981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/09/pela-vida-passei.html' title='Pela Vida Passei...'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559541806017613</id><published>2006-08-14T15:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T15:43:38.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tuas mãos</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As tuas mãos são jóias delicadas&lt;br /&gt;A refletir os brilhos do cristal;&lt;br /&gt;São pétalas de flores, perfumadas,&lt;br /&gt;Na textura macia do percal!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O toque dessas mãos aveludadas,&lt;br /&gt;O mais sutil, mais leve e casual,&lt;br /&gt;Diz que foram, por Deus, esculturadas.&lt;br /&gt;Num dia que Ele fez, especial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por isso, se a beijá-las, eu me ponho&lt;br /&gt;Posso sentir-me, mergulhado, em sonho,&lt;br /&gt;A mais feliz de todas as criaturas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E descubro que, além de graciosas,&lt;br /&gt;Exalando o perfume de mil rosas,&lt;br /&gt;Têm o sabor de tâmaras maduras....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559541806017613?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559541806017613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559541806017613&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559541806017613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559541806017613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/tuas-mos.html' title='Tuas mãos'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559512218972321</id><published>2006-08-14T15:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T15:38:42.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Vida</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que vale a vida, imensa fantasia,&lt;br /&gt;Que não se pode, ao menos, descrever?&lt;br /&gt;Um sonho? Uma ilusão? Uma utopia,&lt;br /&gt;E provar a existência do não-ser?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se tudo se resume em energia,&lt;br /&gt;Em energia, tudo há de volver;&lt;br /&gt;Nada que existe, existirá, um dia,&lt;br /&gt;Somente o Belo irá permanecer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por isso a morte não me traz o medo,&lt;br /&gt;Ela venha mais tarde, eu venho cedo,&lt;br /&gt;Não tirará de mim, noturno grito,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pois creio que morrer é transição&lt;br /&gt;E, quando apodrecer meu coração,&lt;br /&gt;Minh’alma sorrirá, lá no infinito!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559512218972321?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559512218972321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559512218972321&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559512218972321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559512218972321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/vida.html' title='A Vida'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559489956871481</id><published>2006-08-14T15:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T15:34:59.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Esperança</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se alguém disser, um dia: “Sê discreto,&lt;br /&gt;Não ostentes a dor que te consome,&lt;br /&gt;Pensa na angústia de um amor secreto&lt;br /&gt;E, então a todos, tu dirás o nome&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De quem merece o teu profundo afeto!&lt;br /&gt;Depois, se a dor, o luto, o tédio e a fome&lt;br /&gt;Se abrigarem debaixo do mesmo teto&lt;br /&gt;Fica em paz, a esperar que o tempo dome&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A fúria sanguinária da tristeza!&lt;br /&gt;O sofrimento é gêmeo da beleza!&lt;br /&gt; Talvez então aí, se abrisse a porta&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do cárcere de dor que assim te prende,&lt;br /&gt;E a voz de Deus se ouvisse- que se entende-&lt;br /&gt;Iluminado uma esperança morta...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nota – Mais um soneto a quatro mãos: Os versos ímpares são de Marcos Coutinho Loures e os pares de Antonio Viçoso Magalhães.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559489956871481?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559489956871481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559489956871481&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559489956871481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559489956871481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/esperana.html' title='Esperança'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559456136257056</id><published>2006-08-14T15:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T15:29:21.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O Tempo</title><content type='html'>O tempo foi dividido&lt;br /&gt;Em dias, meses e anos&lt;br /&gt;E até chego a acreditar,&lt;br /&gt;No mais cruel dos enganos,&lt;br /&gt;Que é o tempo que vai passando...&lt;br /&gt;Mas, para a minha desgraça,&lt;br /&gt;Eu vejo que, em vez do tempo,&lt;br /&gt;É mesmo, a gente que passa...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559456136257056?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559456136257056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559456136257056&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559456136257056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559456136257056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/o-tempo.html' title='O Tempo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559254906575132</id><published>2006-08-14T14:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T14:55:49.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Soneto a Quatro Mãos</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Num certo dia de 1958, o Prof Antonio Viçoso Magalhães entregou-me uma quadra e fez o desafio: “Termine o soneto”. Assim nasceu mais um, a quatro mãos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beijo-te os pés cansados e feridos,&lt;br /&gt;Pelas urzes e pedras e os espinhos;&lt;br /&gt;Nos meus olhos, tristonhos e perdidos,&lt;br /&gt;Trago-te flores, sonhos e carinhos...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu te encontro nos sonhos mais queridos,&lt;br /&gt;No espírito das flores e dos vinhos!&lt;br /&gt;E suplantando as dores e os gemidos,&lt;br /&gt;Da vida, iremos sós, pelos caminhos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E quanto mais for árida a subida,&lt;br /&gt;Mais estaremos juntos , pela prece&lt;br /&gt;De um amor que, tão grande, nos merece...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E como é curta demais a nossa vida,&lt;br /&gt;Este amor que sentimos, tão bonito,&lt;br /&gt;Que ele sendo imortal , seja infinito!...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559254906575132?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559254906575132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559254906575132&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559254906575132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559254906575132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/soneto-quatro-mos.html' title='Soneto a Quatro Mãos'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559199809215287</id><published>2006-08-14T14:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T14:46:38.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Falar de amor</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Falar de amor... Às vezes eu me ponho&lt;br /&gt;E nas tramas do verso me embaraço,&lt;br /&gt;Pois se ele é a realidade, é também sonho&lt;br /&gt;E sonho não se exprime, neste espaço.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da inútil tentativa me envergonho&lt;br /&gt;Ao ver tão limitado este meu passo;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se a pensar, em tempo, me disponho,&lt;br /&gt;Não posso lamentar o meu fracasso!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pois sendo o amor, um puro sentimento,&lt;br /&gt;Melhor senti-lo em vibrações febris&lt;br /&gt;Que buscar descrevê-lo, como tento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E se ele a vida inteira contagia,&lt;br /&gt;Quem tem amor, consegue ser feliz&lt;br /&gt;E ser feliz, também é Poesia...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559199809215287?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559199809215287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559199809215287&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559199809215287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559199809215287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/falar-de-amor.html' title='Falar de amor'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115559173657025790</id><published>2006-08-14T14:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T14:42:16.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pela vida passei...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pela vida passei, plantando flores&lt;br /&gt;Que são, de Deus, as grandes maravilhas!&lt;br /&gt;Dos corações fui retirando as dores&lt;br /&gt;E desarmei, da estradas, as armadilhas...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trouxe alegrias aos olhos sofredores&lt;img alt="Negrito" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.bold.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E, ao caminheiro, enumerei as trilhas;&lt;br /&gt;Pintei os muros, das mais vivas cores&lt;br /&gt;E coqueirais plantei, em muitas ilhas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ingratidões sofri mas não lamento&lt;br /&gt;Pois é do humano ser a provação&lt;br /&gt;E, do Bem recebido, o esquecimento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, se a tristeza, acaso, o peito invade,&lt;br /&gt;Olho o jardim e vê meu coração,&lt;br /&gt;Germinar a semente da saudade....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115559173657025790?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115559173657025790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115559173657025790&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559173657025790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115559173657025790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/pela-vida-passei.html' title='Pela vida passei...'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115480818782108652</id><published>2006-08-05T13:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-05T13:03:07.833-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O meu Cristo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei o meu Cristo num barquinho&lt;br /&gt;À deriva, num mar assustador;&lt;br /&gt;E Ele, sereno, dominava as ondas,&lt;br /&gt;Com seu olhar de Velho pescador...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei o meu Cristo num menino&lt;br /&gt;Que chorava, deitado na calçada;&lt;br /&gt;O rosto sujo, a roupa maltrapilha,&lt;br /&gt;Era o Cristo, Criança Abandonada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei o meu Cristo, numa Igreja,&lt;br /&gt;Que o brilho dos cristais, toda enfeitava;&lt;br /&gt;Mas Ele estava à porta: era um mendigo&lt;br /&gt;Que pedia um auxílio a quem passava...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei o meu Cristo num artista&lt;br /&gt;Que falava co’a voz do coração;&lt;br /&gt;Cantava o amor, na fria madrugada,&lt;br /&gt;Era o meu Cristo, em forma de canção...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei o meu Cristo confinado,&lt;br /&gt;Num leito de total isolamento;&lt;br /&gt;E seus lábios se abriam, num sorriso,&lt;br /&gt;E não se ouvia dele, um só lamento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei o meu Cristo na mulher&lt;br /&gt;Que me tirou da vida o que era triste!&lt;br /&gt;Que sofreu por amor e fez-me ver&lt;br /&gt;Que este CRISTO-MULHER também existe...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Este o Cristo que eu amo! É toda gente&lt;br /&gt;Que acredita no amor, na humanidade!&lt;br /&gt;Este Cristo não morre! E sempre vive,&lt;br /&gt;Num gesto de ternura e de bondade...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115480818782108652?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115480818782108652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115480818782108652&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115480818782108652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115480818782108652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/o-meu-cristo.html' title='O meu Cristo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115480740748873354</id><published>2006-08-05T12:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-05T12:50:07.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inverno&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Libra balança,&lt;br /&gt;Entre o sentido e a razão;&lt;br /&gt;O equilíbrio não alcança:&lt;br /&gt;Pesa mais, seu coração.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpiana é iluminada,&lt;br /&gt;Nada deixa pra depois:&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo três vezes casada,&lt;br /&gt;Não larga dos outros dois...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De Sagitário, á mulher,&lt;br /&gt;Não adianta conselho:&lt;br /&gt;Quando sair ela quer,&lt;br /&gt;Passar três horas ao espelho...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio, ao mundo veio&lt;br /&gt;Para agir sempre sozinha:&lt;br /&gt;E, quando sai a passeio,&lt;br /&gt;O marido é que cozinha...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Aquário, lamenta&lt;br /&gt;A sua malvada sorte:&lt;br /&gt;Se, por fora, a febre aumenta,&lt;br /&gt;Por dentro, só Pólo Norte...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pisciana, não é crime&lt;br /&gt;Manter a forma a que anseias:&lt;br /&gt;Se não fizeres regime,&lt;br /&gt;Ficarás como as baleias...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mulher que é de Carneiro,&lt;br /&gt;Tem sempre alguém a seu lado;&lt;br /&gt;Se não for moço solteiro,&lt;br /&gt;Olhem no dedo, é casado...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vênus, regente de Touro,&lt;br /&gt;É, do amor, a inspiração:&lt;br /&gt;Deixando os ricos sem ouro,&lt;br /&gt;Deixa os pobres sem razão...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Gêmeos não trai&lt;br /&gt;Mas bem sabe dar o troco,&lt;br /&gt;Ao ser traída, ela vai,&lt;br /&gt;Ser santinha de pau oco...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Câncer adora&lt;br /&gt;Ser cortejada, na vida;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, quando a coitada chora,&lt;br /&gt;É manteiga derretida...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A leonina não se verga,&lt;br /&gt;Gasta tanto que “dá febre”;&lt;br /&gt;Comprando tudo o que enxerga,&lt;br /&gt;Vai comprar gato por lebre...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Virgem – que droga-&lt;br /&gt;Eu chego a sentir vertigem:&lt;br /&gt;Tem filhos, marido e sogra&lt;br /&gt;E acaba morrendo virgem.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115480740748873354?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115480740748873354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115480740748873354&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115480740748873354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115480740748873354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_115480740748873354.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115480661065207042</id><published>2006-08-05T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-05T12:36:50.656-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HORÓSCOPO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inverno&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cavalheiros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de Libra é justiceiro,&lt;br /&gt;Justiceiro, até demais;&lt;br /&gt;Se não chegar em primeiro,&lt;br /&gt;Desclassifica os rivais...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpiano, desde cedo,&lt;br /&gt;Já se mostra o mais arisco:&lt;br /&gt;Na briga, mar e rochedo,&lt;br /&gt;Ele, jamais, é o marisco...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aos homens de Sagitário,&lt;br /&gt;Muito cuidado é preciso;&lt;br /&gt;No seu mundo imaginário,&lt;br /&gt;Imitam sempre o Narciso...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio, nada mal,&lt;br /&gt;Bem sabe a força que tem;&lt;br /&gt;Sendo mais que pontual,&lt;br /&gt;Ele jamais perde o trem...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de Aquário, sem desdouro,&lt;br /&gt;Segue por duros caminhos;&lt;br /&gt;Quase nunca dá no couro,&lt;br /&gt;Só sabe “fritar bolinhos”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Peixe, que sina&lt;br /&gt;Deu-lhes o destino malvado;&lt;br /&gt;Sendo Peixes, na piscina,&lt;br /&gt;Pode morrer afogado...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ariano, sempre impulsivo,&lt;br /&gt;Tem Marte como regente;&lt;br /&gt;No trabalho, é dispersivo&lt;br /&gt;Mas, quando fala, não mente...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de Touro – logo ensino-&lt;br /&gt;É muito trabalhador:&lt;br /&gt;Mas quem gosta do taurino&lt;br /&gt;É mesmo o toureador...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Gêmeos tem, em Mercúrio,&lt;br /&gt;O seu regente – pois é;&lt;br /&gt;Em fases de mau augúrio,&lt;br /&gt;Sabe mesmo é “dar no pé”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os de Câncer tem, na lua,&lt;br /&gt;O mais perfeito regente;&lt;br /&gt;Quando a mulher e insinua,&lt;br /&gt;Descerra a face aparente...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vem do sol, toda a imponência&lt;br /&gt;Que o Leão nos apresenta;&lt;br /&gt;Senilidade, impotência?&lt;br /&gt;Somente após os noventa...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Virgem, cautela,&lt;br /&gt;Com menininha travessa;&lt;br /&gt;Por causa de uma donzela,&lt;br /&gt;Não vás perder a cabeça...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115480661065207042?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115480661065207042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115480661065207042&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115480661065207042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115480661065207042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_115480661065207042.html' title='HORÓSCOPO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115465103885927142</id><published>2006-08-03T17:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T17:23:58.870-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outono&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As de Libra (um só momento:&lt;br /&gt;Não digam que faço intriga),&lt;br /&gt;Em questão de casamento,&lt;br /&gt;Roubam o noivo da amiga...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulheres de Escorpião,&lt;br /&gt;Têm um sétimo sentido;&lt;br /&gt;Por sua grande visão,&lt;br /&gt;Acabarão sem marido...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mulher de Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;É elegante, rebuscada,&lt;br /&gt;Mas, no seu aniversário,&lt;br /&gt;Só não quer saber de Lambada...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio rege a vida&lt;br /&gt;Na Esperança, muitas vezes;&lt;br /&gt;Mas a espera mais sentida,&lt;br /&gt;É aquela, de nove meses...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como boa Aquariana,&lt;br /&gt;Fazes, do amor, um mistério:&lt;br /&gt;Um marido, por semana&lt;br /&gt;E Vinte, no cemitério...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pisciana, o casamento&lt;br /&gt;Vai “te assentar, como luva”;&lt;br /&gt;Mas teu destino, lamento,&lt;br /&gt;Das vezes serás viúva...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ariana, quanta beleza&lt;br /&gt;Tens, na sorte legendária:&lt;br /&gt;Se não morres na pobreza,&lt;br /&gt;Só morrerás milionária...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Taurinas são tenazes,&lt;br /&gt;E de morte não tÊm medo;&lt;br /&gt;São louquinhas por rapazes&lt;br /&gt;Mas disso fazem segredo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As mulheres Geminianas&lt;br /&gt;São gentis e muito belas;&lt;br /&gt;Passam dias e semanas,&lt;br /&gt;Ligadinhas nas novelas...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se é de Câncer, desta vida&lt;br /&gt;Terás a pior fatia:&lt;br /&gt;Viverás, sempre querida,&lt;br /&gt;Sendo chamada titia...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Leonina é consagrada&lt;br /&gt;Ao lar e com muita graça;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se o Leão não quer nada,&lt;br /&gt;Ela sempre vai à caça...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moça de Virgem (não brinco),&lt;br /&gt;Tem a sorte lisonjeira:&lt;br /&gt;Se passar dos trinta e cinco,&lt;br /&gt;A Virgem morre solteira...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115465103885927142?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115465103885927142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115465103885927142&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115465103885927142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115465103885927142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_115465103885927142.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115465007369715244</id><published>2006-08-03T16:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T17:07:53.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outono&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cavalheiros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Faz, o de Libra, co’ardor,&lt;br /&gt;Com que a Norma prevaleça;&lt;br /&gt;Mas quando o caso é de amor,&lt;br /&gt;Coitado, perde a cabeça...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpiano é gente boa,&lt;br /&gt;Enxerga além do jardim;&lt;br /&gt;Não gasta conversa à toa,&lt;br /&gt;Mas vive dizendo “sim”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário é vaidoso&lt;br /&gt;E gosta do jogo aberto;&lt;br /&gt;Mas fica todo orgulhoso,&lt;br /&gt;Se encontra espelho por perto...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio é paciente&lt;br /&gt;E não há quem o decifre.&lt;br /&gt;Se não for mais previdente,&lt;br /&gt;Vai lhe nascer outro chifre...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Aquário é um “barato”&lt;br /&gt;E, no amor, não arrefece:&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo casado, de fato,&lt;br /&gt;Das outras, nunca se esquece...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Peixes- que horror-,&lt;br /&gt;Tem costumes que eu estranho:&lt;br /&gt;Seja no frio ou calor,&lt;br /&gt;Não gosta de tomar banho...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries, signo muito forte,&lt;br /&gt;Dos que têm talento e bossa;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, no amor, não tendo sorte,&lt;br /&gt;Acabem sempre na fossa...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Touro, és carinho,&lt;br /&gt;Os teus méritos invejo;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, se não cuidas do ninho,&lt;br /&gt;“a vaca vai para o brejo”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se és de Gêmeos, não insistas&lt;br /&gt;Em mudar o teu destino:&lt;br /&gt;Na vida, grandes artistas,&lt;br /&gt;Uns falam grosso, outros fino...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os de Câncer, são vidrados&lt;br /&gt;No verso mais intimista;&lt;br /&gt;Ao lerem os “pés-quebrados”,&lt;br /&gt;Chamam, logo, o ortopedista...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Leão tem, no cabelo,&lt;br /&gt;A fortaleza tranqüila;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se não cuidar do “pelo”,&lt;br /&gt;Vai achar sua Dalila...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Virgem é ousado,&lt;br /&gt;Embora às vezes se fira;&lt;br /&gt;Ao morrer, pobre coitado,&lt;br /&gt;Morro “virgem” (que mentira!)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115465007369715244?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115465007369715244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115465007369715244&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115465007369715244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115465007369715244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_115465007369715244.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115464922048146594</id><published>2006-08-03T16:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T16:53:40.493-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A de Libra, sempre alcança&lt;br /&gt;Um equilíbrio perfeito:&lt;br /&gt;Põe dois homens na balança&lt;br /&gt;E mais dois, dentro do peito...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De Escorpião, na verdade,&lt;br /&gt;A mulher é cem por cento;&lt;br /&gt;Na sua felicidade,&lt;br /&gt;Só trai, mesmo, em pensamento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem nasceu em Sagitário,&lt;br /&gt;Se for mulher, que barato:&lt;br /&gt;Casando com milionário,&lt;br /&gt;Faz, dele, gato e sapato...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Capricórnio é a rainha&lt;br /&gt;Que não se perde no jogo:&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo viúva “fresquinha”,&lt;br /&gt;Chora, mas “pega fogo”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Aquário é um perigo,&lt;br /&gt;Fazem do amor um brinquedo.&lt;br /&gt;Mas já temo seu castigo:&lt;br /&gt;Acabam “chupando o dedo”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A de Peixes é formosa,&lt;br /&gt;Especialmente em carinho.&lt;br /&gt;Mas quem levar essa rosa,&lt;br /&gt;Há de querer seu espinho...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arianas são bem legais,&lt;br /&gt;Preservam muito o seu nome;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, quando comem demais,&lt;br /&gt;Acabam perdendo a fome...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Taurina é conformada;&lt;br /&gt;(eu te peço que a decifres)&lt;br /&gt;Sendo noivinha ou casada,&lt;br /&gt;Carrega, sempre, dois chifres...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De gêmeos, mulher fatal,&lt;br /&gt;Faz o que pode e não pode;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, como se sente mal,&lt;br /&gt;Se não raspar o bigode!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Câncer se agita&lt;br /&gt;Quando se vê preferido;&lt;br /&gt;E ficando toda aflita,&lt;br /&gt;Vai descontar no marido...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A de Leão faz regime&lt;br /&gt;Mas, de gordura, transborda,&lt;br /&gt;Como comer não é crime,&lt;br /&gt;Só come aquilo que engorda...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Virgem não pára&lt;br /&gt;E tudo faz, a seu gosto;&lt;br /&gt;Aquelas que não têm “tara”,&lt;br /&gt;Só param, no mês de agosto...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115464922048146594?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115464922048146594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115464922048146594&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464922048146594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464922048146594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_115464922048146594.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115464825624882643</id><published>2006-08-03T16:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T16:37:36.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VERÃO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cavalheiros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nas normas mais complicadas,&lt;br /&gt;São os de Libra, os primeiros;&lt;br /&gt;Todas mulheres, casadas.&lt;br /&gt;Todos os homens, solteiros...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião não perdoa&lt;br /&gt;É, de longe, o mais ousado:&lt;br /&gt;Quando encontra uma coroa,&lt;br /&gt;Se esquece que é casado...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Sagitário é “pirado”,&lt;br /&gt;Não bate bem da cachola!&lt;br /&gt;Quando não dorme pelado,&lt;br /&gt;Dorme só de camisola...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio não se oprime,&lt;br /&gt;Faz do amor o seu refrão,&lt;br /&gt;E como amar não é crime,&lt;br /&gt;Não livra nem sapatão...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aos em Aquário nascidos,&lt;br /&gt;Ninguém engana nem logra:&lt;br /&gt;São os melhores maridos,&lt;br /&gt;Casam co’a filha e co’a sogra...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Home de Peixes se amarra&lt;br /&gt;Em passear pela praia:&lt;br /&gt;Seja no Leme ou na Barra,&lt;br /&gt;Seu fraco é rabo de saia...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries tem muita saúde,&lt;br /&gt;Doença não chega perto;&lt;br /&gt;Por essa grande virtude,&lt;br /&gt;Só morre no tempo certo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro, no amor, com certeza,&lt;br /&gt;Escorrega, feito azougue;&lt;br /&gt;Sendo fiel – que beleza!-&lt;br /&gt;Só topa vaca, no açougue...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homens, em Gêmeos nascidos,&lt;br /&gt;Brilham tanto quanto o sol.&lt;br /&gt;Mas são péssimos maridos;&lt;br /&gt;Só dormem de baby doll...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de Câncer vive tenso,&lt;br /&gt;Quase sempre, na enrascada;&lt;br /&gt;Pelo seu labor imenso,&lt;br /&gt;Com mulheres, não quer nada!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No Leão sempre recai&lt;br /&gt;Trabalho descomunal;&lt;br /&gt;Pra relaxar, ele sai,&lt;br /&gt;De mulher, no carnaval...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Virgem, no amor,&lt;br /&gt;Vive fazendo das suas;&lt;br /&gt;Para não ter dissabor,&lt;br /&gt;Casa-se, logo, com duas...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115464825624882643?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115464825624882643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115464825624882643&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464825624882643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464825624882643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_115464825624882643.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115464741461455727</id><published>2006-08-03T16:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T16:23:34.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PRIMAVERA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Libra não mede&lt;br /&gt;Esforços pra ser sincera;&lt;br /&gt;Contudo, às vezes, se excede&lt;br /&gt;E só trai, na primavera...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Co’a jovem de Escorpião,&lt;br /&gt;Pode até ser eu que implico,&lt;br /&gt;É sensata, como não?&lt;br /&gt;Só casa com noivo rico...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Sagitário é legal&lt;br /&gt;Mas não aceita conselho,&lt;br /&gt;O seu hobby principal;&lt;br /&gt;Fazer careta no espelho...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De Capricórnio, a senhora,&lt;br /&gt;Da vaidade ganha o cetro;&lt;br /&gt;Põe jóias, a qualquer hora&lt;br /&gt;E só compra livro, a metro...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Aquário, tem dono&lt;br /&gt;E, nem por isso, reclama;&lt;br /&gt;Pegando logo, no sono,&lt;br /&gt;É aquela, “boa de cama”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De Peixes nascem princesas,&lt;br /&gt;Nas noites de lua cheia;&lt;br /&gt;As feias, serão altezas,&lt;br /&gt;Mas uma, será sereia...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É de Áries a mais prendada&lt;br /&gt;Mulher que o mundo há querido;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, estando apaixonada,&lt;br /&gt;Descarta logo o marido...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A de Touro – é bem sabido-&lt;br /&gt;De todas, é a mais querida.&lt;br /&gt;Mas, quando arranja marido,&lt;br /&gt;Pelo seu touro é traída...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É de Gêmeos a mulher&lt;br /&gt;Mais bela que o mundo fez,&lt;br /&gt;Tá tendo aquele a quem quer,&lt;br /&gt;Namora mais outros três...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É de Leão a mais forte&lt;br /&gt;Mulher que no mundo existe.&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo rainha, no porte,&lt;br /&gt;No amor, é sempre a mais triste...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mulher de Virgem, se é Boa&lt;br /&gt;A todos vai encantando;&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo depois de coroa,&lt;br /&gt;Só sabe andar rebolando…&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115464741461455727?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115464741461455727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115464741461455727&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464741461455727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464741461455727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo_03.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115464355779965739</id><published>2006-08-03T15:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T15:19:17.810-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Horóscopo</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;PRIMAVERA&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cavalheiros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Libra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Libra é importante&lt;br /&gt;( não quero fazer intriga )&lt;br /&gt;Mas como come bastante,&lt;br /&gt;Tem, sempre, dor de barriga...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os homens de Escorpião&lt;br /&gt;Têm, do amor, o que é mais lindo;&lt;br /&gt;Não pensando em traição,;&lt;br /&gt;Só traem, se estão dormindo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sagitário, diz o povo,&lt;br /&gt;Tudo inventa e não se abate;&lt;br /&gt;O seu invento mais novo;&lt;br /&gt;Caroço, sem abacate...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capricórnio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Capricórnio é sabido,&lt;br /&gt;Boa aparência, bom papo;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, como todo marido,&lt;br /&gt;Só vive “engolindo sapo”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquário tem triste fama,&lt;br /&gt;De sempre ser descansado,&lt;br /&gt;Não pode ver uma cama,&lt;br /&gt;Que fica, logo, deitado...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peixes, jamais sendo “aspone”,&lt;br /&gt;No seu correto trabalho,&lt;br /&gt;Bota a boca no trombone,&lt;br /&gt;Se “dão corte em seu baralho”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Áries, fazer exercício,&lt;br /&gt;É, da vida, o que mais quer.&lt;br /&gt;Não pensem que é sacrifício,&lt;br /&gt;Correr atrás de mulher...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de Touro, por destino,&lt;br /&gt;É de apostar que mais gosta.&lt;br /&gt;Muito teimoso o taurino,&lt;br /&gt;Perde a mulher, numa aposta...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gêmeos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homem de Gêmeos se abrasa&lt;br /&gt;E, por mulheres, se mata;&lt;br /&gt;Esquece a que tem em casa&lt;br /&gt;E corre atrás da mulata...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Câncer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O de Câncer, sempre amado,&lt;br /&gt;Vai viver, tenho certeza,&lt;br /&gt;Como vive atravessado,&lt;br /&gt;Mó namorar japonesa...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vem do Leão o fulgor&lt;br /&gt;Que existe no mundo inteiro&lt;br /&gt;Mas, nas savanas do amor,&lt;br /&gt;O leão vira cordeiro...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virgem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os de Virgem são machistas,&lt;br /&gt;Acredite, se quiser,&lt;br /&gt;Mas, perdendo suas “cristas”&lt;br /&gt;Sempre apanham da mulher... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115464355779965739?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115464355779965739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115464355779965739&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464355779965739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115464355779965739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/horscopo.html' title='Horóscopo'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115456595881705567</id><published>2006-08-02T17:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-02T17:45:58.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Teu sorriso</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obs – certa vez, para desafiar o Professor Antonio Viçoso Magalhães, deixei uma quadra sobre a mesa dele e escrevi: - “Termine o soneto”. Nasceu assim, esse soneto a quatro mãos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nesse sorriso triste que me traz&lt;br /&gt;Cruéis indagações, tenho encontrado&lt;br /&gt;Dor e felicidade, lado a lado,&lt;br /&gt;Em busca de harmonias e de paz!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas eis que no meu mundo limitado&lt;br /&gt;Por um sorriso ingrato, acre e falaz,&lt;br /&gt;O teu lindo sorriso apaixonado,&lt;br /&gt;Tramas de angústias mil, faz e desfaz!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se não te encontro, o coração soluça;&lt;br /&gt;Quando te vejo, o coração palpita&lt;br /&gt;Em grandioso segredo que se embuça&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Na máscara forçada da alegria!&lt;br /&gt;Doce incêndio de amor, arde e crepita,&lt;br /&gt;Dentro min’alma, desolada e fria...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115456595881705567?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115456595881705567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115456595881705567&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456595881705567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456595881705567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/teu-sorriso.html' title='Teu sorriso'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115456541488521248</id><published>2006-08-02T17:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-02T17:36:54.896-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Soneto Nobre –</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Obs- Num dia de 1957, o poeta Antonio Viçoso Magalhães deixou sobre minha mesa, um verso decassílabo, pedindo que eu continuasse o soneto. A partir desse verso, fiz o segundo e o deixei sobre a mesa dele.&lt;br /&gt;Desta forma, com a alternância de autoria, nasceu mais um soneto a quatro mãos, em que os versos pares são de minha autoria e os ímpares do poeta Antonio Viços Magalhães.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toda a melancolia que me esmaga&lt;br /&gt;E me recorta o riso constrangido,&lt;br /&gt;Nasceu de um beijo rápido, escondido,&lt;br /&gt;Cujas saudades em mim, não mais se apaga...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saudade que por ter-me assim ferido,&lt;br /&gt;No meu peito a rolar de fraga em fraga,&lt;br /&gt;Traz ao meu rosto a dor de eterna chaga,&lt;br /&gt;E ao coração, o pranto sem sentido!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ó tu que ostentas tanta indiferença,&lt;br /&gt;Fingindo não saber dos prantos meus,&lt;br /&gt;Nem conheces a mágoa, funda e densa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que, em lágrimas, me fez a juventude,&lt;br /&gt;Possas perdão haver, dos Altos Céus&lt;br /&gt;E possas fruir os sonhos que não pude!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115456541488521248?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115456541488521248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115456541488521248&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456541488521248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456541488521248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/soneto-nobre.html' title='Soneto Nobre –'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115456441978499470</id><published>2006-08-02T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-02T17:20:19.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Para sempre</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para sempre terei uma saudade&lt;br /&gt;De teu primeiro olhar, há tantos anos,&lt;br /&gt;Quando ruir, no mar dos desenganos,&lt;br /&gt;O meu castelo de felicidade...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De teus carinhos, quentes e profanos,&lt;br /&gt;Para sempre terei uma saudade,&lt;br /&gt;Quando chegar ao fim, a intensidade&lt;br /&gt;Do amor que torna deuses, os humanos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como esquecer teus lábios sensuais,&lt;br /&gt;Ansiosos por meus beijos? Nunca mais...&lt;br /&gt;Olvidar teus carinhos... não! Não há-de&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meu ser fazê-lo! Amor, dos teus cabelos,&lt;br /&gt;Desses teus olhos meigos e tão belos,&lt;br /&gt;Para sempre terei uma saudade!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115456441978499470?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115456441978499470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115456441978499470&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456441978499470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456441978499470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/para-sempre.html' title='Para sempre'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115456418231088231</id><published>2006-08-02T17:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-02T17:16:22.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Para Osília – Pelo 14 de julho de 1991 – ao completarmos 30 anos de casados.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os anos se passaram, como um sonho&lt;br /&gt;E o calendário diz que foram trinta;&lt;br /&gt;E o recordar de um tempo tão risonho,&lt;br /&gt;Alegrias sem fim, faz com eu as sinta!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando os olhos nos teus, eu hoje ponho,&lt;br /&gt;E Deus não vai deixar que eu te, aqui, minta,&lt;br /&gt;Renasce no meu peito, já tristonho,&lt;br /&gt;A chama que, do amor, julgava extinta...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conserva o teu olhar toda a doçura&lt;br /&gt;Que te acompanha, pela vida a fora...&lt;br /&gt;E aquele teu retrato diz-me, agora,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que estás hoje, mais bela, ardente e pura,&lt;br /&gt;Pois deu-te o tempo, as formas ideais,&lt;br /&gt;E, n’alma, a transparência dos cristais!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115456418231088231?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115456418231088231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115456418231088231&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456418231088231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456418231088231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/para-oslia-pelo-14-de-julho-de-1991-ao.html' title='Para Osília – Pelo 14 de julho de 1991 – ao completarmos 30 anos de casados.'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115456346763587337</id><published>2006-08-02T17:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-02T17:04:27.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Para Viviane</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Inspirado no soneto “O SONO DE UM ANJO” de Luis Guimarães Jr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando a vejo, tão pura e tão singela,&lt;br /&gt;Sinto o meu coração em alvorada;&lt;br /&gt;Naquela alminha pura e perfumada,&lt;br /&gt;Há mais encanto que na flor mais bela!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tão serena, tão meiga, assim tem ela,&lt;br /&gt;Na pureza da vida aureolada,&lt;br /&gt;Tal expressão, na face delicada,&lt;br /&gt;Que minh’alma sorri, ao lado dela!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E vou pedindo a Deus, a Deus que brilha&lt;br /&gt;Nas rosas e no espinho e na semente,&lt;br /&gt;E Deus que fez os pés e fez a trilha,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por quem meu coração tanto se humilha,&lt;br /&gt;Não apagar, jamais, esse inocente&lt;br /&gt;Sorriso dessa flor, que é minha filha!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115456346763587337?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115456346763587337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115456346763587337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456346763587337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115456346763587337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/08/para-viviane.html' title='Para Viviane'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115427126492265965</id><published>2006-07-30T07:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-30T07:54:24.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O PRESENTE QUE ME DESTE</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O presente que me deste&lt;br /&gt;Já passou pelo meu teste&lt;br /&gt;Teve muita aceitação:&lt;br /&gt;Uma cueca amarela&lt;br /&gt;Muito fina, muito bela,&lt;br /&gt;Modelo “samba-canção”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não aperta na cintura,&lt;br /&gt;E como esconde a gordura,&lt;br /&gt;É de extrema utilidade:&lt;br /&gt;Eta cueca macia!&lt;br /&gt;Vou usá-la todo dia,&lt;br /&gt;Lá na roça ou na cidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E vou aqui confessar:&lt;br /&gt;A todos eu vou mostrar&lt;br /&gt;A beleza do tecido.&lt;br /&gt;É de um bom gosto estupendo&lt;br /&gt;E, juro, não me arrependo,&lt;br /&gt;De tê-la logo vestido!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deixa solto o “passarinho”&lt;br /&gt;Que fica livre, no ninho,&lt;br /&gt;Para melhor se mover;&lt;br /&gt;E com tanta liberdade&lt;br /&gt;Que o “bichinho”, na verdade,&lt;br /&gt;Vai poder até crescer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se acaso, ficar grandinho,&lt;br /&gt;Vai querer sair sozinho,&lt;br /&gt;Atrás de “rabo de saia”;&lt;br /&gt;Como não quero perdê-lo,&lt;br /&gt;Sei que vou ter que prendê-lo,&lt;br /&gt;Pra não “não cair na gandaia”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Este foi um bom presente&lt;br /&gt;Que me deu, recentemente,&lt;br /&gt;Um verdadeiro amigão!&lt;br /&gt;Agora fica explicado&lt;br /&gt;Porque foi apelidado,&lt;br /&gt;“O Rei da Samba-Canção”...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115427126492265965?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115427126492265965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115427126492265965&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115427126492265965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115427126492265965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/o-presente-que-me-deste.html' title='O PRESENTE QUE ME DESTE'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115368404134079242</id><published>2006-07-23T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-23T12:47:21.350-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Loa aos animais – Histórias do meu sertão.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DEUS FEIZ OS BICHO DO MATO,&lt;br /&gt;FEIZ O GAMBÁ, FEIZ O GATO,&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ NOSSA VIDA INFEITÁ;&lt;br /&gt;DOS PEQUENINO AOS GRAÚDO,&lt;br /&gt;NESSE MEU CANTO EU SAÚDO,&lt;br /&gt;NA LOA QUE VÔ CANTÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TODOS CONHECE O PAVÃO,&lt;br /&gt;ONÇA, MACACO, LIÃO,&lt;br /&gt;A VACA, O BOI, O ELEFANTE;&lt;br /&gt;QUEM JÁ NUM VIU UM GAMBÁ,&lt;br /&gt;O BELO TAMANDUÁ&lt;br /&gt;E A GIRAFINHA ELEGANTE?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TEM TOMBÉM OS PASSARINHO,&lt;br /&gt;QUE NAS MATA FAIS SEU NINHO,&lt;br /&gt;PRÚ SEUS OVINHO BOTÁ.&lt;br /&gt;SÃO OS LINDO BÊJA-FLOR,&lt;br /&gt;O CURIÓ CANTADÔ,&lt;br /&gt;O AZULÃO E O SABIÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LÁ NO MAR, O TUBARÃO,&lt;br /&gt;CERCANDO AS IMBARCAÇÃO.&lt;br /&gt;SEMPRE EM BUSCA DE COMIDA;&lt;br /&gt;E OS INSETO DISTRAÍDO,&lt;br /&gt;CUM SEU BELO COLORIDO,&lt;br /&gt;INFEITANDO NOSSAS VIDA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O SÃO FRANCISCO DE ASSIS,&lt;br /&gt;EM SEUS POEMA NOS DIZ,&lt;br /&gt;QUE OS BICHO SÃO NOSSO ÉRMÃO;&lt;br /&gt;E NO SEU INSINAMENTO,&lt;br /&gt;APRINDI, NUM SÓ MOMENTO,&lt;br /&gt;A MAIS PROFUNDA LIÇÃO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FALANDO DE ECOLOGIA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE QUÉ DIZÊ HARMONIA&lt;br /&gt;ENTRE OS HÔME E  A NATUREZA,&lt;br /&gt;ESSE SANTO FRANCISCANO,&lt;br /&gt;DEU PRÁ NOIS, BICHOS HUMANOS,&lt;br /&gt;UMA LIÇÃO DE BELEZA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SE UM DIA OS BICHO ACABASSE,&lt;br /&gt;TARVEZ O MUNDO FICASSE&lt;br /&gt;SEM VIDA, TUDO A MORRÊ!&lt;br /&gt;É PURISSO QUE AQUI DIGO,&lt;br /&gt;PARA IVITÁ TAL PIRIGO,&lt;br /&gt;VAMO OS BICHO PROTEGÊ!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115368404134079242?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115368404134079242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115368404134079242&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115368404134079242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115368404134079242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/loa-aos-animais-histrias-do-meu-serto.html' title='Loa aos animais – Histórias do meu sertão.'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334375250054546</id><published>2006-07-19T14:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T14:15:52.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A ZEBRA</title><content type='html'>Outro dia, um menino bem esperto,&lt;br /&gt;Vendo uma zebra, perguntou, sorrindo:&lt;br /&gt;-Não parece um burrinho sempre rindo?&lt;br /&gt;E vejo agora que ele estava certo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um burrinho listrado, muito lindo!&lt;br /&gt;Dá gosto vê-la assim e bem de perto,&lt;br /&gt;Ou a correr no campo, vasto e aberto,&lt;br /&gt;Do predador feroz, sempre fugindo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Animal corajoso, em bandos vive&lt;br /&gt;E é difícil também de se domar.&lt;br /&gt;Gosto dele, afinal! Basta pensar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Na sorte que, com ele sempre tive,&lt;br /&gt;Ao acertar sozinho – quem diria?-&lt;br /&gt;Nas zebras que joguei ... na loteria!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334375250054546?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334375250054546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334375250054546&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334375250054546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334375250054546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/zebra.html' title='A ZEBRA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334354990822680</id><published>2006-07-19T14:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T14:12:29.910-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A “COISA”</title><content type='html'>Sua cabeça é de bagre,&lt;br /&gt;As orelhas, de abano;&lt;br /&gt;Aquela boca é da noite,&lt;br /&gt;E o narigão,de tucano.&lt;br /&gt;A sua mão, de samambaia;&lt;br /&gt;Tem dois braços de poltrona&lt;br /&gt;E dentes no Céu da boca...&lt;br /&gt;Um belo tronco de ipê,&lt;br /&gt;Se junta ao seu corpo estranho,&lt;br /&gt;Fala cobras e lagartos,&lt;br /&gt;Com  sua voz de taquara...&lt;br /&gt;Já nasceu com pé de meia&lt;br /&gt;E gosta de engolir sapos.&lt;br /&gt;O seu joelho é de porco&lt;br /&gt;E tem as costas bem quentes.&lt;br /&gt;Tem muitos pés de galinha,&lt;br /&gt;Debaixo dos olhos dágua.&lt;br /&gt;Chora lágrimas de esguicho,&lt;br /&gt;Parecendo crocodilo.&lt;br /&gt;Ela não é sapatao&lt;br /&gt;Mas sem peru de Natal,&lt;br /&gt;Vai ficar de saco cheio...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334354990822680?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334354990822680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334354990822680&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334354990822680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334354990822680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/coisa.html' title='A “COISA”'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334322161014533</id><published>2006-07-19T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T14:07:01.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ETERNO DILEMA</title><content type='html'>Às vezes, busco dialogar com Deus,&lt;br /&gt;Na atávica postura dos mortais;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se o silêncio é a voz que me responde,&lt;br /&gt;Posso escutá-lo, em cismas abissais!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por que fizeste a VIDA, se o naufrágio&lt;br /&gt;Um dia ocorrerá, no Mar do Norte?&lt;br /&gt;Por que fizeste a MORTE, se outra vida,&lt;br /&gt;Só se pode atingir, depois da Morte?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334322161014533?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334322161014533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334322161014533&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334322161014533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334322161014533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/eterno-dilema.html' title='ETERNO DILEMA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334303171138350</id><published>2006-07-19T13:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T14:03:51.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO</title><content type='html'>Um vulto de mulher sempre aparece,&lt;br /&gt;Quando os sonhos se tornam pesadelo;&lt;br /&gt;A sorrir levemente, avulta e cresce&lt;br /&gt;E, sem detalhes, o sinto e ainda posso vê-lo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No jeito de me olhar, emanações de prece&lt;br /&gt;E há cheiro de pecado, em seu cabelo;&lt;br /&gt;Tem as cores do dia que amanhece&lt;br /&gt;E a simetria dos cristais de gelo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esta visão que bate à minha porta,&lt;br /&gt;Sem me dizer o que deseja e quer,&lt;br /&gt;Faz reviver uma esperança morta...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ilusão, fantasia ou realidade,&lt;br /&gt;Existe sempre um vulto de mulher,&lt;br /&gt;Em cada coração onde há saudade!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334303171138350?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334303171138350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334303171138350&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334303171138350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334303171138350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/soneto.html' title='SONETO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334246890039577</id><published>2006-07-19T13:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:54:28.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A MULHER</title><content type='html'>Na mulher encontrei a suavidade&lt;br /&gt;Das formas, na escultura, preservadas;&lt;br /&gt;No seu olhar, as luzes das alvoradas,&lt;br /&gt;Descortinei na minha mocidade...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inspiração de todas as jornadas,&lt;br /&gt;Ela me trouxe paz, felicidade;&lt;br /&gt;Preso em seus braços, tive a liberdade&lt;br /&gt;E longe dela, as mãos tive algemadas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E ao vê-la assim, em plena gestação,&lt;br /&gt;No brilho de seus olhos, posso ver&lt;br /&gt;Do universo, a mais bela criação!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sendo ela pois, de fato, abençoada,&lt;br /&gt;Deus ao lhe dar assim, um tal poder,&lt;br /&gt;Não precisava, aos homens, dar mais nada...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334246890039577?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334246890039577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334246890039577&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334246890039577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334246890039577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/mulher.html' title='A MULHER'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334225599597835</id><published>2006-07-19T13:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:50:55.996-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O MAR DE PORTUGAL</title><content type='html'>As canções populares, a poesia&lt;br /&gt;D’alma gentil e doce, portuguesa,&lt;br /&gt;Revela, desse povo a valentia&lt;br /&gt;Que a Portugal deu fama e deu grandeza!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não se perdeu, no tempo, a fidalguia&lt;br /&gt;De um povo que manteve sempre acesa&lt;br /&gt;A chama da esperança que luzia&lt;br /&gt;Nos ideais mais puros da nobreza!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O anseio da amplidão fez essa gente&lt;br /&gt;Vencer, um dia, a célebre serpente&lt;br /&gt;Que ao mar impunha um jogo imperial;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E esse povo mostrou, na sua história&lt;br /&gt;Nos sonhos de aventuras e na glória,&lt;br /&gt;Não ter limite o MAR DE PORTUGAL!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334225599597835?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334225599597835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334225599597835&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334225599597835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334225599597835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/o-mar-de-portugal.html' title='O MAR DE PORTUGAL'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334176475192377</id><published>2006-07-19T13:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:42:44.753-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BENDITA SEJA</title><content type='html'>Bendita seja a mulher&lt;br /&gt;Que, nesta vida, puder&lt;br /&gt;Dar à luz um novo ser!&lt;br /&gt;Nesse milagre do amor,&lt;br /&gt;Ela nos mostra o poder&lt;br /&gt;Supremo do Criador!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mais bendita seja, ainda,&lt;br /&gt;A mulher de alma tão linda&lt;br /&gt;Que se fez mãe adotiva;&lt;br /&gt;No seu gesto depreendido&lt;br /&gt;Sente-se, qual chama viva,&lt;br /&gt;O amor de Deus preferido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Também que seja bendita&lt;br /&gt;A mãe que teve a desdita&lt;br /&gt;De chorar, porque perdeu;&lt;br /&gt;O seu pranto se parece&lt;br /&gt;Co’a luz que vem lá do céu,&lt;br /&gt;Como um rosário de prece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bendita a mãe desprezada&lt;br /&gt;Que talvez por não ter nada,&lt;br /&gt;Só tem o amor maternal;&lt;br /&gt;Em seu olhar tão distante,&lt;br /&gt;Se vê o brilho sem rival,&lt;br /&gt;Do mais puro diamante!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bendita a jovem que gera&lt;br /&gt;No seu ventre, a primavera&lt;br /&gt;De um novo ser, de seu filho;&lt;br /&gt;Enquanto fica a esperar,&lt;br /&gt;Há mais doçura, mais brilho,&lt;br /&gt;Nas luzes do seu olhar!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bendita a mãe, já velhinha,&lt;br /&gt;Frágil, trêmula, sozinha,&lt;br /&gt;Que só vive da saudade;&lt;br /&gt;Incapaz de dar um grito,&lt;br /&gt;Na sua fragilidade,&lt;br /&gt;O amor se torna infinito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bendita seja Maria,&lt;br /&gt;Que a Jesus, um certo dia,&lt;br /&gt;Deu amor e proteção;&lt;br /&gt;Neste mistério se encerra,&lt;br /&gt;O milagre da união&lt;br /&gt;Do amor, no Céu e na Terra!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334176475192377?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334176475192377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334176475192377&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334176475192377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334176475192377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/bendita-seja.html' title='BENDITA SEJA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334131615194515</id><published>2006-07-19T13:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:35:16.153-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NÃO VêS?</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não vês que a sombra da palmeira altiva&lt;br /&gt;É fina renda, de tecido etéreo,&lt;br /&gt;Cobrindo os seios da espumosa areia,&lt;br /&gt;Na praia virginal de mil amores?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não vês que os sonhos de mimosa dama,&lt;br /&gt;São como as asas de um gigante alado&lt;br /&gt;Que percorrendo as noites de silêncio,&lt;br /&gt;São fontes de prazer, libidinosas?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não vês que o Verbo com métrica linguagem,&lt;br /&gt;Fez a Canção do Vento, soluçante,&lt;br /&gt;E fez da folha, a pétala de cores,&lt;br /&gt;Para enfeitar os sonhos perfumados?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não vês que a esfera do Celeste arcano,&lt;br /&gt;Perante a Vida se desfaz em nada&lt;br /&gt;E que ao se abrir, no turbilhão da Morte,&lt;br /&gt;Aos homens traz o derradeiro dano?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não vez que a luz também tem duas faces&lt;br /&gt;Que a transparência esconde da visão&lt;br /&gt;E que o silêncio pleno tem palavras&lt;br /&gt;Que repetidas são, na fantasia?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não vês que o Sábio é o Tolo que se cala,&lt;br /&gt;Por não saber as coisas definir&lt;br /&gt;E que o mistério de uma gota d”água&lt;br /&gt;Tem dimensão eterna e universal?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se nada podes ver, não te amofines&lt;br /&gt;Pois nada vale a angústia desta vida;&lt;br /&gt;Aquela sombra da palmeira altiva&lt;br /&gt;Um dia cobrirá todos os males...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334131615194515?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334131615194515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334131615194515&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334131615194515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334131615194515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/no-vs.html' title='NÃO VêS?'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334073697599576</id><published>2006-07-19T13:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:25:36.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>1 - Da laranjeira, a laranja;&lt;br /&gt;Goiaba, da goiabeira;&lt;br /&gt;Da galinha, tiro a canja&lt;br /&gt;Feitiço, da feiticeira.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 - A minha vaca, a Malhada,&lt;br /&gt;Tosse mais que uma cabrita;&lt;br /&gt;Toda mocinha pintada,&lt;br /&gt;Fica muito mais bonita&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 - Assaltaram um defunto&lt;br /&gt;Que via a Missa do Galo;&lt;br /&gt;Sanduíche sem presunto,&lt;br /&gt;É beijinho sem estalo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 - Todo final é começo,&lt;br /&gt;Todo começo é banal;&lt;br /&gt;Aquilo que não mereço,&lt;br /&gt;Se não faz bem, mal não faz!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334073697599576?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334073697599576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334073697599576&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334073697599576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334073697599576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/1-da-laranjeira-laranja-goiaba-da.html' title=''/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334055757332752</id><published>2006-07-19T13:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:22:37.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>1 - A lua tomava banho&lt;br /&gt;Numa gotinha de orvalho;&lt;br /&gt;Pode até ser muito estranho:&lt;br /&gt;Só descanso no trabalho!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 - Caí na grande esparrela&lt;br /&gt;De acreditar no que vi:&lt;br /&gt;Vi um bode na janela,&lt;br /&gt;Pensei que fosse o Saci!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 - O meu pai me abandonou,&lt;br /&gt;Fiquei sozinho na estrada;&lt;br /&gt;Me esperem que também vou&lt;br /&gt;Comer da macarronada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 - Do sangue se faz o chouriço,&lt;br /&gt;Da tripa se faz a lingüiça;&lt;br /&gt;Coitada da mãe do ouriço&lt;br /&gt;Se, na portinha, ele enguiça!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334055757332752?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334055757332752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334055757332752&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334055757332752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334055757332752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115334055757332752.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334035059374785</id><published>2006-07-19T13:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:19:10.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>1 - Aquele escritor famoso&lt;br /&gt;Sabe mesmo enxugar gelo;&lt;br /&gt;O prato mais saboroso&lt;br /&gt;É o de sopa, com cabelo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 - Desentortei a vidraça&lt;br /&gt;Usando um simples martelo;&lt;br /&gt;Se existe coisa sem graça&lt;br /&gt;É caminhar sem chinelo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 - Para matar a saudade&lt;br /&gt;Use só cianureto;&lt;br /&gt;Podem crer que é verdade;&lt;br /&gt;Era branco, ficou preto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 - Toda mulher faladeira,&lt;br /&gt;Fala mal até de si;&lt;br /&gt;Vou usar a geladeira&lt;br /&gt;Para esquentar o siri.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334035059374785?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334035059374785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334035059374785&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334035059374785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334035059374785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115334035059374785.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115334005910012819</id><published>2006-07-19T13:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:14:19.100-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>1 - Estou com febre de novo,&lt;br /&gt;A febre dos fariseus;&lt;br /&gt;Se a voz de Deus é a do povo,&lt;br /&gt;-Socorro; Valha-me Deus!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 - Uma carroça comprei&lt;br /&gt;Mas eu não sei dirigir;&lt;br /&gt;A porta por onde entrei&lt;br /&gt;É por onde vou sair...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 - Querer que o mundo se acabe,&lt;br /&gt;Seguramente, dá bode;&lt;br /&gt;Ganha dinheiro quem sabe&lt;br /&gt;Ou a mulher de bigode.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115334005910012819?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115334005910012819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115334005910012819&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334005910012819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115334005910012819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115334005910012819.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333990660506192</id><published>2006-07-19T13:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:11:46.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>1 -Às duas da madrugada&lt;br /&gt;Brilha o sol do meio dia;&lt;br /&gt;O ronco da trovoada&lt;br /&gt;É o da barriga vazia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 -O soprador de piano&lt;br /&gt;Toca flauta com os pés;&lt;br /&gt;Se queres ter desenganos,&lt;br /&gt;Vai dizendo quem tu és.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333990660506192?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333990660506192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333990660506192&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333990660506192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333990660506192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115333990660506192.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333979397714083</id><published>2006-07-19T13:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:09:53.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>O pinto nasce do ovo,&lt;br /&gt;De um ovo nasce a esperança;&lt;br /&gt;Como dia a voz do povo,&lt;br /&gt;Nasce do pinto a criança.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333979397714083?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333979397714083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333979397714083&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333979397714083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333979397714083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115333979397714083.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333977216411245</id><published>2006-07-19T13:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:09:32.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>Tiro a vassoura do cabo&lt;br /&gt;Do cabo, tiro o sargento;&lt;br /&gt;Do sargento tiro o rabo,&lt;br /&gt;E do rabo, tiro o assento.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333977216411245?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333977216411245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333977216411245&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333977216411245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333977216411245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115333977216411245.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333963382257915</id><published>2006-07-19T13:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:07:13.823-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>Quem tem vergonha na cara&lt;br /&gt;Não fala mal de defunto;&lt;br /&gt;O peixe não come a vara,&lt;br /&gt;Orador não perde o assunto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333963382257915?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333963382257915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333963382257915&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333963382257915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333963382257915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115333963382257915.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333957922375769</id><published>2006-07-19T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:06:19.223-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>Ela tem a boca torta&lt;br /&gt;Porque nasceu com fimose;&lt;br /&gt;Somente comendo a porta&lt;br /&gt;Se acaba co’a verminose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333957922375769?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333957922375769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333957922375769&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333957922375769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333957922375769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115333957922375769.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333951323239641</id><published>2006-07-19T12:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T13:05:13.263-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>Pus meus olhos no seguro&lt;br /&gt;E um deles logo furei;&lt;br /&gt;Quem adivinha o futuro&lt;br /&gt;Não sabe as coisas que sei.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333951323239641?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333951323239641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333951323239641&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333951323239641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333951323239641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_115333951323239641.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333888835711541</id><published>2006-07-19T12:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T12:54:48.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trovas lúcidas</title><content type='html'>Estava o sol com preguiça,&lt;br /&gt;A lua estava sedenta;&lt;br /&gt;Só come pão com lingüiça&lt;br /&gt;Temperada com pimenta.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333888835711541?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333888835711541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333888835711541&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333888835711541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333888835711541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas_19.html' title='Trovas lúcidas'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333877602743610</id><published>2006-07-19T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T12:52:56.026-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TROVAS LÚCIDAS</title><content type='html'>Dois chifres tem meu cavalo&lt;br /&gt;Mas não espetam ninguém;&lt;br /&gt;Se pisarem no meu calo,&lt;br /&gt;No calo piso também!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333877602743610?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333877602743610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333877602743610&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333877602743610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333877602743610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/trovas-lcidas.html' title='TROVAS LÚCIDAS'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115333833467016896</id><published>2006-07-19T12:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T12:45:34.686-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CARTA METALÚRGICA AO PRESIDENTE COLLOR</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;-Meu querido Presidente,&lt;br /&gt;Aqui venho, humildemente,&lt;br /&gt;Pedir-lhe desculpas mil,&lt;br /&gt;Seu cargo é muito importante&lt;br /&gt;Mas o povo do Brasil&lt;br /&gt;Só sabe ser implicante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Realmente, é muito chato&lt;br /&gt;Ver nascer muito boato&lt;br /&gt;Em torno da Presidência:&lt;br /&gt;Que a memória não me falhe&lt;br /&gt;Mas tenho agora ciência,&lt;br /&gt;O povo é mero detalhe!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No “jet-sky” ou na moto,&lt;br /&gt;Fazendo pose pra foto,&lt;br /&gt;Vossa Excelência é sublime!&lt;br /&gt;Mas o povo, cochichando,&lt;br /&gt;Comete o terrível crime&lt;br /&gt;De falar em contrabando.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seu passeio na Amazônia&lt;br /&gt;Deu-lhe uma noite de insônia&lt;br /&gt;E aqui faço tal registro;&lt;br /&gt;Ouvir aquele ministro&lt;br /&gt;Lá na floresta cantar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Na poupança, bloqueada,&lt;br /&gt;A Dona Zélia, coitada,&lt;br /&gt;Encontrou poucos cruzados:&lt;br /&gt;-Desculpe, “seu” Presidente&lt;br /&gt;Mas esses descamisados&lt;br /&gt;São um povo imprevidente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tem essa gente a mania&lt;br /&gt;De gastar em porcaria,&lt;br /&gt;O seu salário do mês;&lt;br /&gt;-Para remédio e transporte&lt;br /&gt;Para comida e, talvez,&lt;br /&gt;Pra roupa, se tiver sorte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esse povo é assunto sério&lt;br /&gt;E quando o seu Ministério&lt;br /&gt;Lança um plano salvador,&lt;br /&gt;O povinho nada entende&lt;br /&gt;E sendo trabalhador,&lt;br /&gt;Faz greve e não se arrepende!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esse povo é mesmo otário&lt;br /&gt;Que só pensa no salário&lt;br /&gt;E no tal custo de vida:&lt;br /&gt;Coisa igual eu nunca vi...&lt;br /&gt;Eta gente carcomida&lt;br /&gt;Que só pensa mesmo em si!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Vossa Excelência é um leão&lt;br /&gt;Que debelou a inflação&lt;br /&gt;Com um tiro bem certeiro;&lt;br /&gt;Se o povo não colabora,&lt;br /&gt;Eu como bom brasileiro,&lt;br /&gt;Não posso culpá-lo agora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nosso infeliz empresário,&lt;br /&gt;Se pagar maior salário&lt;br /&gt;Tem o lucro rebaixado.&lt;br /&gt;E não há como negar,&lt;br /&gt;Sendo o salário elevado,&lt;br /&gt;Inflação pode voltar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se o patrão fechar o cofre,&lt;br /&gt;Zé Povinho diz que sofre&lt;br /&gt;E ao Presidente molesta;&lt;br /&gt;Mas não deixo pra depois,&lt;br /&gt;O patrão dá sua festa&lt;br /&gt;Às custas do “caixa-dois”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vossa Excelência os protege&lt;br /&gt;Mas o patrão, como hereje,&lt;br /&gt;Fala mal do Presidente!&lt;br /&gt;O senhor entra na “fossa”&lt;br /&gt;Mas reage prontamente&lt;br /&gt;Chama o carro de “carroça”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nossas crianças, carentes,&lt;br /&gt;Fingindo que estão doentes,&lt;br /&gt;Parecem mortas de fome;&lt;br /&gt;Vossa Excelência nem sonha;&lt;br /&gt;São elas filhos sem nome&lt;br /&gt;Dessa gente sem-vergonha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pequeninas, mentirosas,&lt;br /&gt;Essas crianças dengosas,&lt;br /&gt;Já nasceram malcriadas!&lt;br /&gt;Só falam palavras feias&lt;br /&gt;E parecem mais inchadas&lt;br /&gt;As suas barrigas cheias!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O que mais nos atordoa&lt;br /&gt;É saber que morre à toa,&lt;br /&gt;Toda criança de pobre;&lt;br /&gt;Vossa Excelência se cansa&lt;br /&gt;Mas eu duvido que sobre,&lt;br /&gt;Desse jeito uma criança!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minha mulher até sonha!&lt;br /&gt;Se um dia tomar vergonha,&lt;br /&gt;Terá filhos como os seus!&lt;br /&gt;Enquanto penso no Magri,&lt;br /&gt;Ela vai pedindo a Deus&lt;br /&gt;Que nos faça esse milagre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vossa Excelência anda triste&lt;br /&gt;Pois o povão inda insiste&lt;br /&gt;Em deixá-lo muito mal:&lt;br /&gt;Gente que teima em morrer&lt;br /&gt;Nas portas de um hospital,&lt;br /&gt;Onde foi se socorrer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Só matando esses safados&lt;br /&gt;Que, se estão desempregados,&lt;br /&gt;Dão calote no aluguel;&lt;br /&gt;Que nosso Pai Eterno&lt;br /&gt;Levando o Senhor ao Céu,&lt;br /&gt;Jogue esse povo no Inferno!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Contra a privatização&lt;br /&gt;Já se levanta o povão,&lt;br /&gt;Magoando Vossa Excelência;&lt;br /&gt;Mas que povo cabeçudo;&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo sem saber da essência,&lt;br /&gt;Vai metendo o pau em tudo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desculpe-me Presidente&lt;br /&gt;Mas o povo não é gente&lt;br /&gt;Com que se deva contar;&lt;br /&gt;Gosta de fila, invasão&lt;br /&gt;E só sabe trabalhar&lt;br /&gt;Sob  a espora do patrão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perdoe se a nossa Justiça&lt;br /&gt;As desavenças atiça,&lt;br /&gt;Com muito preciosismo;&lt;br /&gt;Esse Congresso é um fracasso!&lt;br /&gt;Como o senhor se controla:&lt;br /&gt;Não tendo cabeça dura,&lt;br /&gt;Até recebe o Brizola.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vossa Excelência é o maior&lt;br /&gt;Isto já sei – e de cor-,&lt;br /&gt;E espalho pra toda gente;&lt;br /&gt;É tranqüilo, criativo,&lt;br /&gt;Bonitão, inteligente,&lt;br /&gt;E mesmo compreensivo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suas camisas, senhor,&lt;br /&gt;Nos dizeres e na cor&lt;br /&gt;São de um bom gosto danado!&lt;br /&gt;Além do mais, presidente,&lt;br /&gt;Se sinta muito abraçado,&lt;br /&gt;Por ter feito o Minha Gente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A CUT só faz besteira&lt;br /&gt;E, parece brincadeira,&lt;br /&gt;Não sabe mesmo o que quer;&lt;br /&gt;Não ficarei espantado&lt;br /&gt;Se também ela fizer&lt;br /&gt;A “greve do aposentado”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Felicidade agora,&lt;br /&gt;São votos que, sem demora,&lt;br /&gt;Lhe mando “seu” Presidente;&lt;br /&gt;Se o povo come num cocho,&lt;br /&gt;É porque, seguramente,&lt;br /&gt;Não nasceu co’aquilo roxo!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115333833467016896?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115333833467016896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115333833467016896&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333833467016896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115333833467016896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/carta-metalrgica-ao-presidente-collor.html' title='CARTA METALÚRGICA AO PRESIDENTE COLLOR'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305695190873205</id><published>2006-07-16T06:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T06:35:51.920-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VOU CONTÁ PRA VOSMECÊ&lt;br /&gt;O QUE FOI QUE ACONTECÊ, &lt;br /&gt;NA SUMANA QUE PASSOU:&lt;br /&gt;EU NUM SEI PRUQUÊ MUTIVO,&lt;br /&gt;A MUIÉ BRIGÔ COMIGO&lt;br /&gt;E PRÁ RUA SE MANDÔ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EU FIQUEI APATETADO,&lt;br /&gt;ME SINTINDO DISPREZADO,&lt;br /&gt;CORAÇÃO QUEMANO EM BRASA;&lt;br /&gt;E PRU TEMPO SE PASSÁ,&lt;br /&gt;FUI LOGO ME ACONSEIÁ,&lt;br /&gt;COM OS MÓVE, LÁ DE CASA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHEGUEI PERTO DO FUGÃO&lt;br /&gt;E PREGUNTEI: “MEU IRMÃO,&lt;br /&gt;O QUE DEVO DE FAZE?”&lt;br /&gt;BOTANDO FOGO PRÁS VENTA,&lt;br /&gt;ELE DISSE: “NUM ISQUENTA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE ELA VÓRTA PRÁ VANCÊ”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DISPUIS FUI PRÁ GELADERA&lt;br /&gt;E PREGUNTEI, DE PREMERA,&lt;br /&gt;COMO DESSA EU SAIRIA;&lt;br /&gt;ELA ENTONCE ARRESPONDEU:&lt;br /&gt;“NUM SE APERTE, AMIGO MEU,&lt;br /&gt;FIQUEI DE CABEÇA FRIA!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MAS VORTANDO PRÁ COZINHA,&lt;br /&gt;INCONTREI, ALI, SOZINHA,&lt;br /&gt;UMA CUIÉ, SOBRE A RÔPA.&lt;br /&gt;ELA DISSE, SEM DEMORA:&lt;br /&gt;“NUM LIGA, PRUQUÊ LÁ FORA,&lt;br /&gt;SÓ TEM MUIÉ, DANDO SOPA”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHEGANDO PERTO DO ISPÊIO,&lt;br /&gt;ELE ME DEU UM CONSÊIO&lt;br /&gt;QUE VOU AQUI RIPITI:&lt;br /&gt;“NUM VÁ FAZÊ SUAS MALA,&lt;br /&gt;POIS AS MUIÉ, QUANDO FALA,&lt;br /&gt;SÓ FALA, SEM REFLETI!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO VORTEI PRU MEU QUARTO,&lt;br /&gt;EU FUI LOGO DANDO UM SARTO&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ RIBA DE MINHA CAMA;&lt;br /&gt;INQUANTO OIÁVA PRÁ TUDO,&lt;br /&gt;TIREI DO CRIADO-MUDO&lt;br /&gt;AQUELE VÉIO PIJAMA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INQUANTO O MESMO EU VISTIA,&lt;br /&gt;MINHA CAMA ME DIZIA&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ CUM NADA ME IMPORTÁ;&lt;br /&gt;“E NÃO PERCA AS ISPERANÇA&lt;br /&gt;POIS VANCê, DESDE CRIANÇA,&lt;br /&gt;SABE COMO SE VIRÁ”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OLHEI DEBAIXO DA CAMA&lt;br /&gt;E AQUELA VOZ QUE ME CHAMA,&lt;br /&gt;EU OUVI DO MEU PINICO;&lt;br /&gt;BEM SEI QUE ELA FOI EMBORA&lt;br /&gt;E SE ELA FICÁ LÁ FORA,&lt;br /&gt;AQUI DENTRO É QUE NUM FICO!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CUM MEUS ÓIO CHEIO D’ÁGUA,&lt;br /&gt;AFOGUEI AS MINHA MÁGUA,&lt;br /&gt;NUMA “CANINHA” BEM PURA;&lt;br /&gt;DEIXEI NO COPO CAÍ&lt;br /&gt;MINHAS DUAS DENTADURA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NÔTRO DIA, AO LEVANTÁ,&lt;br /&gt;MINHA MUIÉ, TAVA LÁ,&lt;br /&gt;DRUMINDO O SONO DOS JUSTO;&lt;br /&gt;ELA DRUMIA E RONCAVA&lt;br /&gt;E QUANDO O SONO AUMENTAVA,&lt;br /&gt;DO RONCO, LEVAVA SUSTO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ELA CORDÔ, DE MANSINHO,&lt;br /&gt;E ME FEZ TANTO CARINHO&lt;br /&gt;QUE ALEGRÔ MEU CORAÇÃO;&lt;br /&gt;E AO VE-LA ANSIM, TÃO CONTENTE,&lt;br /&gt;EU COMPRENDI, DE REPENTE,&lt;br /&gt;QUE OS MÓVE TINHA RÉZÃO...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305695190873205?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305695190873205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305695190873205&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305695190873205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305695190873205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_115305695190873205.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305616627552141</id><published>2006-07-16T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T06:22:46.286-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-SEU DELEGADO, AQUI VENHO&lt;br /&gt;LI PEDI, CUM MUNTO IMPENHO,&lt;br /&gt;QUE ME BOTE NA PRISÃO;&lt;br /&gt;EU ME SINTO CRIMINOSO,&lt;br /&gt;E MAIS PIÓ QUE UM LADRÃO&lt;br /&gt;E MUNTO MAIS PERIGOSO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PRU FAVÔ, QUEIRA ISCUTÁ&lt;br /&gt;O QUE VENHO LI CONTÁ,&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ VÊ QUE TENHO RÉZÃO:&lt;br /&gt;PERDÃO EU PEÇO A VOSMICÊ&lt;br /&gt;E ADISPOIS, SEM CUMPAXÃO,&lt;br /&gt;MANDE LOGO ME PRENDE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-SÔ CASADO CUM MARIA,&lt;br /&gt;TENHO TREIS FÍO E UMA FÍA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE EU AMO, CUM MUNTO AMÔ;&lt;br /&gt;MAS VEJA O QUE ASSUCEDEU,&lt;br /&gt;EU FUI GOSDTÁ, SEU DOTÔ,&lt;br /&gt;DA MUIÉ DE ZEBEDEU!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ELA MIM QUÉ E EU TOMBÉM&lt;br /&gt;MAS NUM CONTAMO A NINGUÉM&lt;br /&gt;ESSA PAXÃO DESCABIDA.&lt;br /&gt;TENHO PENA DE MARIA&lt;br /&gt;QUE PASSOU TODINHA A VIDA,&lt;br /&gt;TRABAIANDO, NOITE E DIA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EU NUM QUERO, SEU DOTÔ,&lt;br /&gt;É DISTRUÍ, POR AMÔ,&lt;br /&gt;AS NOSSAS DUAS FAMÍA.&lt;br /&gt;NA REZÃO QUE DEUS MIM DEU,&lt;br /&gt;FICO A PENSÁ, TODO O DIA,&lt;br /&gt;NA MUIÉ DE ZEBEDEU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MAS PORÉM, SEU DELEGADO,&lt;br /&gt;TODOS OS HOME APAXONADO&lt;br /&gt;SÃO CEGO – NUM QUEREM VÊ!&lt;br /&gt;O SANGUE FREVE NAS VÊIA&lt;br /&gt;E PRA NUM ME ARREPENDE,&lt;br /&gt;ME PRENDA, AQUI NA CADEIA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SE ARGUM DIA EU MILHORÁ,&lt;br /&gt;PODE O SINHÔ ME SORTÁ&lt;br /&gt;E SEJE O QUE DEUS QUISÉ!&lt;br /&gt;MAS, SEU DOTÔ, QUE AGONIA,&lt;br /&gt;SE EU AMO AQUELA MUIÉ,&lt;br /&gt;NUM QUERO PREDÊ MARIA...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305616627552141?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305616627552141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305616627552141&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305616627552141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305616627552141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_115305616627552141.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305550669085194</id><published>2006-07-16T05:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T06:11:46.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;VOU LI CONTÁ, MEU AMIGO,&lt;br /&gt;O QUE SE DEU-SE COMIGO,&lt;br /&gt;NUM RASTAPÉ, LÁ NA ROÇA:&lt;br /&gt;EU LÁ DANÇAVA, CONTENTE&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO A MULATA CHEROSA,&lt;br /&gt;APARECEU DERREPENTE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;ELA SORRIU PARA MIM&lt;br /&gt;E DISPPOIS – FOI BEM ANSIM,&lt;br /&gt;NÓIS NOS PUSEMO A DANÇÁ.&lt;br /&gt;ERA FERMOSA A MULATA&lt;br /&gt;CUMO NUM VÍ OUTRA IGUÁ,&lt;br /&gt;NESSAS BANDA AQUI DA MATA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;SUAS ANCA ERA BEM FEITA&lt;br /&gt;E ELA, TODA SATISFEITA,&lt;br /&gt;CADA VEZ MAIS, ME APERTAVA.&lt;br /&gt;ERA NOITE DE SÃO JOÃO&lt;br /&gt;E NA GARGANTA ISCUTAVA&lt;br /&gt;O BATÊ DO CORAÇÃO...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;OS SEUS ÓIS ERA UM AÇOITE&lt;br /&gt;MAS, PERTO DA MEIA NOITE,&lt;br /&gt;A MULATA FOI SAINDO.&lt;br /&gt;EU SAÍ LOGO DISPOIS,&lt;br /&gt;SONHANDO UM SONHO BEM LINDO,&lt;br /&gt;QUE SÓ CABIA NÓIS DOIS...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;FOI QUANDO, A VI, LÁ DISTANTE&lt;br /&gt;E NOTEI, NO MESMO INSTANTE,&lt;br /&gt;QUE NAS NÚVE ELA SUBIA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE A MULATA – AVE MARIA! –,&lt;br /&gt;ERA MESMO ASSOMBRAÇÃO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;TREMI DOS PÉS A CABEÇA&lt;br /&gt;E DEUS PREMITA QUE ISQUEÇA&lt;br /&gt;DO QUE FOI ME ACONTECE!&lt;br /&gt;ESSA VIDA É MESMO INGRATA&lt;br /&gt;POIS NUM CONSIGO ISQUECÊ&lt;br /&gt;DAS ANCA DESSA MULATA!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305550669085194?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305550669085194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305550669085194&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305550669085194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305550669085194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_115305550669085194.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305471449085481</id><published>2006-07-16T05:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T05:58:34.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;A MINHA CONVERSA ISTICO&lt;br /&gt;SE FALO NO VÉIO CHICO,&lt;br /&gt;O RIO MAIS BRASILÊRO!&lt;br /&gt;EU, QUE BIBI SUAS ÁGUA,&lt;br /&gt;MAIS MIÓ SUPÓITO AS MÁGUA&lt;br /&gt;DOS MEUS SETENTA JANÊRO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;EU NASCI NAS TREIS MARIA,&lt;br /&gt;ALI JUNTO DA BAHIA,&lt;br /&gt;ONDE TIVE PÔCO ISTUDO;&lt;br /&gt;CRISCI CUMENDO PINTADO,&lt;br /&gt;MANDÍ, TRAÍRA, DORADO,&lt;br /&gt;LAMBARI, BAGRE, CASCUDO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;PRU MODE SÊ PESCADÔ,&lt;br /&gt;MINHA VIDA SE PASSÔ,&lt;br /&gt;IM RIBA DUMA CANÔA;&lt;br /&gt;E POSSO LI GARANTI,&lt;br /&gt;A VIDA QUE JÁ VIVI,&lt;br /&gt;TEVE MUNTA COISA BOA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO A CHUVA DEMORAVA,&lt;br /&gt;LOGO O CHÃO SE ISTURRICAVA,&lt;br /&gt;SECANDO INTÉ PENSAMENTO;&lt;br /&gt;ERA ENTÃO DO VÉIO CHICO,&lt;br /&gt;QUE DE PEXES É TÃO RICO,&lt;br /&gt;QUE EU TIRAVA O MEU SUSTENTO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;ELE, O RIO BENÇOADO,&lt;br /&gt;SE ME DEU TANTO PESCADO,&lt;br /&gt;TOMBEM ME TROXE TRISTEZA;&lt;br /&gt;ELE LEVÔ, DE MANSINHO,&lt;br /&gt;NUM GRANDE RIDIMUINHO,&lt;br /&gt;A MINHA FÍA, TEREZA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;MARIA – MINHA MUIÉ,&lt;br /&gt;QUASE FICÔ TERERÉ,&lt;br /&gt;DE TANTO NISSO PENSÁ;&lt;br /&gt;TODA NOITE ELA SAIA&lt;br /&gt;E LÁ FICAVA A MARIA,&lt;br /&gt;OIANDO O CHICO, A CHORÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ COMPENSÁ TAL DISGRAÇA,&lt;br /&gt;O CHICO ME DEU A GRAÇA,&lt;br /&gt;DESSA DÔ ALIVIÁ;&lt;br /&gt;SAIU DELE UM CABOQUIM,&lt;br /&gt;NUMA NOITE LINDA ANSIM,&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ MARIA INGRAVIDÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;EU GUARDEI ESTE SEGREDO&lt;br /&gt;POIS A MARIA, CUM MEDO,&lt;br /&gt;ME PIDIU QUE FOSSE ANSIM.&lt;br /&gt;MAIS TENHO O MAIÓ ORGÚIO&lt;br /&gt;DE SABE QUE NOSSO JÚIO,&lt;br /&gt;É FIO DE UM CABOQUIM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;ADISPOIS, ELA MORREU,&lt;br /&gt;MAIS ANSISM QUE DUECEU,&lt;br /&gt;ELA QUIS SE CONFESSÁ;&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO O PADRE LÁ CHEGÔ.&lt;br /&gt;A MARIA SUSPIRÔ,&lt;br /&gt;E DEXÔ DE RESPIRÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;ANSIM, ÀS VEIZ AQUI FICO,&lt;br /&gt;OIANDO PRO VÉIO CHICO,&lt;br /&gt;CUM AS VISTA ISTREMECIDA.&lt;br /&gt;AO LEVÁ NAS SUAS ÁGUA,&lt;br /&gt;OS MEUS SONHOS, AS MINHAS MÁGUA,&lt;br /&gt;ELE LEVÔ MINHA VIDA....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305471449085481?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305471449085481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305471449085481&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305471449085481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305471449085481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_115305471449085481.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305322043917913</id><published>2006-07-16T05:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T05:33:40.450-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;VOU CONTÁ PRA VOSMECê&lt;br /&gt;O QUE FOI ME ACONTECÊ,&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO EU ERA MAIS CRIANÇA;&lt;br /&gt;FOI NUMA NOITE ISTRELADA,&lt;br /&gt;E A LUA, TODA INFEITADA,&lt;br /&gt;DO CÉU DISCIA SUAS TRANÇA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;EU ZANZAVA PELA RUA,&lt;br /&gt;NAMORANDO AQUELA LUA,&lt;br /&gt;SEM NADA QUERÊ FALÁ;&lt;br /&gt;EU PEGAVA OS VAGALUME&lt;br /&gt;DAS FRÔ, TIRAVA O PERFUME,&lt;br /&gt;SÓ PRU MODE DE EU CHERÁ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;DERREPENTE, UMA CABÔCA,&lt;br /&gt;MUNTO BRANCA, A VOZ BEM RÔCA,&lt;br /&gt;ME CHAMÔ PRÁ JUNTO DELA;&lt;br /&gt;EU PAREI, DISCONFIADO,&lt;br /&gt;FUI CHEGANDO, CUM CUIDADO,&lt;br /&gt;E VI QUE ERA MARISTELA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;ELA, A FÍA DO XEXÉU,&lt;br /&gt;IRMÃ DA IVONE DO CÉU,&lt;br /&gt;QUE MORAVA NA CIDADE.&lt;br /&gt;-QUI FAZIA ALI, AGORA?&lt;br /&gt;EU PREGUNTEI, SEM DEMORA,&lt;br /&gt;ME DIGA, POR CARIDADE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;MARISTELA ME ABRAÇÔ&lt;br /&gt;E MINHA BOCA BEJÔ,&lt;br /&gt;NUMA PAXÃO DESMEDIDA.&lt;br /&gt;NÓIS FIQUEMO ALI SOZINHO,&lt;br /&gt;TROCANDO MUNTO CARINHO,&lt;br /&gt;CUMO JAMAIS VI NA VIDA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;TUDO O QUE EU LI PREGUNTAVA&lt;br /&gt;MARISTELA DISPISTAVA&lt;br /&gt;ENVINHA ME CENSURÁ:&lt;br /&gt;-É MIÓ FICÁ CALADO!&lt;br /&gt;UM CASÁ DE NAMORADO,&lt;br /&gt;SÓ QUÉ MESMO É NAMORÁ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;ELA SE FOI E EU TOMBÊM,&lt;br /&gt;SEM SER VISTA PRU NINGUÉM,&lt;br /&gt;ANSIM QUE O DIA CHEGÔ.&lt;br /&gt;DE CANSADO, FUI DRUMÍ,&lt;br /&gt;NEM MEU ARMOÇO CUMI,&lt;br /&gt;ME ALIMENTEI DESSE AMÔ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO, INFIM, EU ACORDEI,&lt;br /&gt;MARISTELA EU PRUCUREI&lt;br /&gt;LÁ NA CASA DO PAI DELA,&lt;br /&gt;TODO MUNDO ALI CALADO,&lt;br /&gt;ME OLHANDO, MUNTO ASSUSTADO&lt;br /&gt;SÓ NUM TAVA MARISTELA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;SEU XEXÉU SE APROXIMÔ&lt;br /&gt;E UMA CARTA ME MOSTRÔ,&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ TIRÁ MINHA ALEGRIA!&lt;br /&gt;ESTAVA INSCRITA ALI, NELA:&lt;br /&gt;-SUA FÍA MARISTELA,&lt;br /&gt;MORREU, JÁ FAIZ QUATRO DIA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;-IMPOSSÍVE! DISSE ANSIM,&lt;br /&gt;MAS DISPOIS, DANDO POR MIM,&lt;br /&gt;A NINGUÉM EU DISSE NADA.&lt;br /&gt;-FOI MESMO ANSIM, SEU DOTÔ,&lt;br /&gt;QUE LIBERTEI, CUM AMÔ,&lt;br /&gt;AQUELA ALMINHA PENADA...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305322043917913?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305322043917913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305322043917913&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305322043917913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305322043917913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_115305322043917913.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305250151340705</id><published>2006-07-16T05:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T05:21:41.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;VÔ LI CONTÁ OUTRA HISTÓRA&lt;br /&gt;QUE MI ALEMBRA, NA MEMÓRA,&lt;br /&gt;DE TANTAS COISA PASSADA;&lt;br /&gt;NAQUELES TEMPO, SEU MOÇO,&lt;br /&gt;CUMO CARNE DE PESCOÇO,&lt;br /&gt;ERA DURO NAS PARADA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;CERTA VEIZ, UM CORONÉ&lt;br /&gt;MEXEU CUM MINHA MUIÉ&lt;br /&gt;E CORTEI A SUA ORÊIA!&lt;br /&gt;ELE CHAMÔ TREIS SORDADO&lt;br /&gt;E AS COISA, LÁ NO ROÇADO&lt;br /&gt;FICARO PRÁ LÁ DE FEIA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;EU BATI NOS TREIS MILICO&lt;br /&gt;E SUBI, NUM PÉ DE ANGICO&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ MAIS LONGE PODÊ VÊ:&lt;br /&gt;VI CHEGANDO O CORONÉ,&lt;br /&gt;QUE TIRANDO O SEU CHAPÉ,&lt;br /&gt;VÊIO A PAZ ME OFERECE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;DOTRA FEITA, NUM FORRÓ,&lt;br /&gt;QUATRO IRMÃO DO ZÉ JILÓ,&lt;br /&gt;VÊIO ME DISAFIÁ.&lt;br /&gt;-SEU MOÇO, NUM DIGO NADA!&lt;br /&gt;TOMARO TANTA PANCADA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE COMEÇARO A CHORÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;EU NUM ERA UM VALENTÃO&lt;br /&gt;MAIS, SE TIVESSE RÉZÃO,&lt;br /&gt;FRIVIA O SANGUE NAS VÊIA!&lt;br /&gt;PUDIA SÊ MÁIQUI TAÇO,&lt;br /&gt;EU SENTAVA LOGO A BRAÇO&lt;br /&gt;E ACABAVA NA CADEIA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;UM DIA, ENVINHA EU SOZINHO&lt;br /&gt;PELOS ESCURO CAMINHO&lt;br /&gt;DE UMA NOITE SEM LUÁ;&lt;br /&gt;NA MINHA FRENTE  PULÔ&lt;br /&gt;UM CABOQUINHO SEM CÔ,&lt;br /&gt;RINDO, RINDO, SEM PARÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;EU SÓ VIA OS DENTE BRANCO&lt;br /&gt;MAIS NOTEI QUE ELE ERA MANCO&lt;br /&gt;E QUIRIA MIM IRRITÁ,&lt;br /&gt;ENTÃO DISSE PRÔ CABÔCO:&lt;br /&gt;-RAPAIZIM, NUM SEJE LOCO,&lt;br /&gt;SAI DA FRENTE, PREU PASSÁ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;EU NUM SEI DE QUE MANÊRA,&lt;br /&gt;ELE DEU-ME TAL RASTÊRA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE ROLEI PELO GROTÃO;&lt;br /&gt;BEM DIPRESSA EU LEVANTEI&lt;br /&gt;E CUM ELE ME ATRAQUEI,&lt;br /&gt;E ROLEMO, PELO CHÃO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;BRIGUEMO, MAIS DE TREIS HORA&lt;br /&gt;E QUANDO ELE FOI-SE EMBORA,&lt;br /&gt;JÁ TAVA NO AMANHECÊ.&lt;br /&gt;FOI QUANDO, DEU-ME UM ISTALO;&lt;br /&gt;O CABOCO DE QUE FALO,&lt;br /&gt;ERA O SACI-PERERÊ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;HOJE, TÔ VÉIO E CANSADO,&lt;br /&gt;NEM MESMO FAÇO UM ROÇADO,&lt;br /&gt;NEM FORÇA TENHO NAS MÃO”&lt;br /&gt;-MAS LI DIGO, COM ORGÚIO,&lt;br /&gt;FOI MESMO NUM MÊS DE JÚLIO,&lt;br /&gt;QUE EU BATI NA ASSOMBRAÇÃO!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305250151340705?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305250151340705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305250151340705&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305250151340705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305250151340705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_115305250151340705.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115305043610294626</id><published>2006-07-16T04:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T04:47:16.116-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO – A RECUMENDA DAS ARMA.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;CERTA VEIZ, EU FUI PRÁS BANDA&lt;br /&gt;DA FAZENDA DOS MIRANDA,&lt;br /&gt;LÁ PERTO DE TATUÍ;&lt;br /&gt;TAVA NA SUMANA SANTA&lt;br /&gt;E MUNTA GENTE SE ISPANTA,&lt;br /&gt;COM QUE VÔ CONTÁ AQUI.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;NAS QUARTA E NAS SEXTA-FÊRA,&lt;br /&gt;OS HÔME, ABRINDO AS PORTêRA,&lt;br /&gt;PELAS NOITE IA REZÁ;&lt;br /&gt;E VARANDO AS MADRUGADA,&lt;br /&gt;NAS POBRE ARMINHA PENADA,&lt;br /&gt;ÍA A DEUS RECUMENDÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;LÁ NA FRENTE, OS MATRAQUERO&lt;br /&gt;QUE TOCAVA O TEMPO INTÊRO,&lt;br /&gt;NUNCIAVA A RECUMENDA;&lt;br /&gt;EM FRENTE AS CASA PARAVA&lt;br /&gt;E TODO MUNDO CANTAVA,&lt;br /&gt;BEM ARTO, LÁ NA FAZENDA:&lt;br /&gt; “ACORDAI, IRÃO DAS ARMA,&lt;br /&gt;E DISPOIS, REZEMO JUNTO:&lt;br /&gt;-AH! ´PAI NOSSO, AVE MARIA,&lt;br /&gt;PELAS ARMA DOS DIFUNTO”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;NINGUÉM ABRIA A JINÉLA,&lt;br /&gt;POIS VERIA, TRAVÉIS DELA,&lt;br /&gt;UMA TERRIVE VISÃO:&lt;br /&gt;-VERIA AS ARMA PENADA,&lt;br /&gt;CUMPANHANDO, PELA ESTRADA,&lt;br /&gt;TODA RECUMENDAÇÃO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;ANSIM QUE O GALO CANTAVA&lt;br /&gt;A RECUMENDA PARAVA&lt;br /&gt;E CAVAVA A PORCISSÃO:&lt;br /&gt;É QUE MAL CHEGAVA O DIA,&lt;br /&gt;AS ARMA SE RECOÍA&lt;br /&gt;E VORTAVA PROS CAXÃO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;TODOS OS ANO ISSO ACONTECE&lt;br /&gt;E, PRÁS ARMA, SUAS PRECE,&lt;br /&gt;NINGUÉM DEXA DE FAZÊ;&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ TERMINÁ ESSA HISTÓRA,&lt;br /&gt;PRA VASMICÊ CONTP AGORA,&lt;br /&gt;O QUE FOI ACONTECE:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;A MARIA MACULADA,&lt;br /&gt;DISPOIS QUE FOI INTERRADAA,&lt;br /&gt;VIVIA O POVÔ A DIZÊ;&lt;br /&gt;-ERA MESMO UMA SANTINHA!&lt;br /&gt;A NOSSA MARIAZINHA&lt;br /&gt;FOI PRÚ CÉU, SEM PADECE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;O SEU PAI, LÁ NA FAZENDA,&lt;br /&gt;DISPENSÔ A RECUMENDA&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ MARIA MACULADA.&lt;br /&gt;MAL ACABÔ DE FALÁ,&lt;br /&gt;DA JINELA QUIS OIÁ,&lt;br /&gt;PARA AS ARMINHA PENADA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;O SEU ORGÚIO CESSÔP&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO A MARIA AVISTÔ,&lt;br /&gt;TOMBÊM PIDINDO ORAÇÃO;&lt;br /&gt;DISPOIS DE CHAMÁ PUR ELA,&lt;br /&gt;ELE CAIU DA JINÉLA&lt;br /&gt;E MORREU DO CORAÇÃO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;SE FOI O NOSSO SINHÔ&lt;br /&gt;QUE A RECUMENDA ENSINÔ.&lt;br /&gt;ALI PREGADO NA CRUZ,&lt;br /&gt;NÓIS NUM TEMO ESSE DEREITO,&lt;br /&gt;DE DUVIDÁ DO PERFEITO,&lt;br /&gt;DE DUVIDÁ DE JESUS!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115305043610294626?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115305043610294626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115305043610294626&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305043610294626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115305043610294626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto-recumenda-das.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO – A RECUMENDA DAS ARMA.'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115304977216461176</id><published>2006-07-16T04:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T04:36:12.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO – A MININA DO CANINDÉ</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;A HISTÓRA QUE VÔ CONTÁ,&lt;br /&gt;O POVO DO CEARÁ&lt;br /&gt;NUM CANSA DE REPITÍ,&lt;br /&gt;-PREGUNTE PRÁ QUEM QUISÉ,&lt;br /&gt;QUEM NASCEU NO CANINDÉ,&lt;br /&gt;NUM VAI DEXÁ EU MINTI.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;O VERÃO TAVA INCLEMENTE&lt;br /&gt;E SUFRIA TANTA GENTE,&lt;br /&gt;NESSE CLIMA ABRASADÔ;&lt;br /&gt;UM CASÁ DE CEARENSE&lt;br /&gt;LARGÔ TODO SEUS PERTENCE,&lt;br /&gt;PRA AMAZONA SE MUDÔ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;MAIS PORÉM, UM BELO DIA,&lt;br /&gt;A SUA QUERIDA FÍA&lt;br /&gt;PARA A MATA ISCAPULIU;&lt;br /&gt;O CASÁ DISISPERADO&lt;br /&gt;PROCURÔ PRU TODO LADO&lt;br /&gt;A MININA QUE SUMIU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;NUM SABENDO SAÍ DESSA,&lt;br /&gt;FIZERO, INTONCE, A PROMESSA&lt;br /&gt;DE UMA ISTÁUTA CONSTRUÍ;&lt;br /&gt;ISTAUTA QUE ELES FARIA&lt;br /&gt;DE CÊRA E DISPOIS DARIA,&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ SÃO FRANCISCO DE ASSÍ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;OITO DIA SE PASSÔ&lt;br /&gt;E QUANDO A NOITE CHEGÔ,&lt;br /&gt;A MININA PARECEU,&lt;br /&gt;MUNTO FELIZ E CONTENTE,&lt;br /&gt;FALAVA PRÁ TODA GENTE&lt;br /&gt;DE UM FRADE QUE A SOCORREU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;DISPOIS DE REZÁ, CUM FÉ,&lt;br /&gt;OS PAIS FÔRO A CANINDÉ,&lt;br /&gt;LEVANDO A ISTÁUTA DA FÍA;&lt;br /&gt;PUSÉRO A MESMA NO ALTÁ&lt;br /&gt;PARA ALI REPRESENTÁ,&lt;br /&gt;GRATIDÃO, PAZ E ALIGRIA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;NO MEIO DE TANTOS SANTO,&lt;br /&gt;A ISTÁUTA CAUSAVA ISPANTO&lt;br /&gt;E MUNTA GENTE ISTRANHAVA;&lt;br /&gt;MAS A MININA CONTENTE,&lt;br /&gt;COM SUA ISTÁUTA NA FRENTE,&lt;br /&gt;TOMBÉM PRÁS OUTRAS OIÁVA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;CUM SEU JEITO MEIO ARISCO,&lt;br /&gt;AO VER A DE SÃO FRANCISCO,&lt;br /&gt;A MININHA GRITÔ:&lt;br /&gt;-ESTE SANTO, EU JÁ CUNHEÇO&lt;br /&gt;POIS DAS MATA – EU AGRADEÇO -,&lt;br /&gt;FOI ELE QUE ME TIRÔ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;PASSADOS JÁ TANTOS ANO,&lt;br /&gt;PARA O SANTO FRANCISCANO,&lt;br /&gt;NÓIS REZAMO A LADAINHA;&lt;br /&gt;E FAZENDO SUAS PRECE,&lt;br /&gt;O POVO NUNCA SE ISQUECE,&lt;br /&gt;DAQUELA MENINAZINHA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;SE DO APERTO ELE A TIRÔ&lt;br /&gt;E FOI O SEU SALVADÔ.&lt;br /&gt;HÁ DE A TODOS ATENDÊ;&lt;br /&gt;BASTA QUE REZE CUM FÉ,&lt;br /&gt;NA IGREJA DE CANINDÉ,&lt;br /&gt;QUE ELE VEM NOS SOCORRÊ...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115304977216461176?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115304977216461176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115304977216461176&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115304977216461176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115304977216461176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto-minina-do-canind.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO – A MININA DO CANINDÉ'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115304915991765206</id><published>2006-07-16T04:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T04:25:59.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;CUMPRINDO MINHA PREMESSA,&lt;br /&gt;VÔ CONTÁ, SEM MUNTA PRESSA,&lt;br /&gt;UM CASO QU SE  PASSÔ;&lt;br /&gt;FOI NO SEC’LO DEZESSETE,&lt;br /&gt;NOS ANO QUARENTA E SETE,&lt;br /&gt;QUE TUDO ISSO COMEÇÔ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;DOIS ÍNDO DO FLORIANO,&lt;br /&gt;PUR VÓRTA DAQUELES ANO,&lt;br /&gt;FÔRO PRÁ ITANHAÉM;&lt;br /&gt;FOI BEM NA PRAIA DA IÚNA,&lt;br /&gt;JUNTO AO RIO PASSAÚNA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE SE DEU ESSE PORÉM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;ALI, NAQUELA PASSAGE,&lt;br /&gt;ACHÁRO OS DOIS UMA IMAGE,&lt;br /&gt;DE JESUS, JOGADA AO CHÃO;&lt;br /&gt;E, PERTO DONDE ELA TAVA,&lt;br /&gt;JÁ NA AREIA SE AFUNDAVA,&lt;br /&gt;UM PIQUININO CAXÃO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;ANTES DE SEGUÍ VIAGE,&lt;br /&gt;INTERRARO A TAL IMAGE,&lt;br /&gt;VORTADA PRÁ ITANHAÉM;&lt;br /&gt;E, INQUANTO OS DOIS CAMINHAVA,&lt;br /&gt;OS ANJO QUE OS ISPIAVA,&lt;br /&gt;REZAVA, DIZENDO “AMÉM”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;OS ÍNDIO DO FLORIANO,&lt;br /&gt;VISITARO ANTONHO SERRANO,&lt;br /&gt;E O ACHADO RÔRO CONTÁ;&lt;br /&gt;O SERRANO SE ASSUSTÕ&lt;br /&gt;E PARA OS ÍNDIO CONTÔ&lt;br /&gt;O QUE TAVA A LI ASSUSTÁ:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;É QUE O POVO TAVA AFLITO,&lt;br /&gt;COM ARGO MUNTO ISQUISITO&lt;br /&gt;QUE ACABARA DE OCORRÊ:&lt;br /&gt;- UM ISTRONDO DE TROVÃO,&lt;br /&gt;VINDO DO MAR, UM CLARÃOI&lt;br /&gt;E MUNTO SINO A BATÊ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;VORTÁRO OS TREIS PELA ESTRADA&lt;br /&gt;E AQUELA IMAGE INTERRADA,&lt;br /&gt;TAVA NÔTRA POSIÇÃO!&lt;br /&gt;-“VÔ LEVÁ-LA A ITANHAÉM”-&lt;br /&gt;DISSE SERRANO. “PORÉM,&lt;br /&gt;VAMO PÔ-LA NO CAXÃO”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;O CAXÃO FICÔ PESADO,&lt;br /&gt;NUM PODE SER CARREGADO,&lt;br /&gt;E FÔRO AJUDA PEDÍ;&lt;br /&gt;MUNTOS HOME INDA VIRIA,&lt;br /&gt;PUR MAIS FORÇA QUE FAZIA,&lt;br /&gt;NUM TIRARO ELE DALI!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;MAIS A BEATA CECILHA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE, DOS GÓIS, ERA UMA FILHA,&lt;br /&gt;LEMBRÔ-SE DA PROFECIA:&lt;br /&gt;- UM ÍNDIO, DISSE QUE O CRISTO,&lt;br /&gt;NUM CAXÃO SERIA VISTO,&lt;br /&gt;PRAQUELAS BANDAS, UM DIA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;NUM TERIA NEM ISCAPAGE,&lt;br /&gt;ELE IRIA PARA IGUAPE,&lt;br /&gt;DISSERO, PRA SÊ BREVE!&lt;br /&gt;MUDARO OS HOME DE IDÉIA&lt;br /&gt;E O CAXÃO, LÁ DA JURÉIA,&lt;br /&gt;FOI FICANDO LEVE, LEVE ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;XI&lt;br /&gt;LÁ NO IGUAPE, NUMA FONTE,&lt;br /&gt;NUMA GRUTA, AO PÉ DO MONTE,&lt;br /&gt;A IMAGE FÔRO LAVÁ;&lt;br /&gt;DISPOIS, O MORRO SUBINDO,&lt;br /&gt;UM ÍNDIO, MORTO E SORRINDO,&lt;br /&gt;ELES PUDERO INCONTRÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;XII&lt;br /&gt;FOI ISSO QUE ACONTECEU&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO O CRISTO APARECEU,&lt;br /&gt;EM IGUAPE, SIM SINHÔ!&lt;br /&gt;PURISSO, QUANDO VÔ LÁ,&lt;br /&gt;NO SEIS DE AGOSTO, RZÁ,&lt;br /&gt;EU RÉZO, CUM MUNTO AMÔ!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115304915991765206?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115304915991765206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115304915991765206&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115304915991765206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115304915991765206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_16.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115273110482837195</id><published>2006-07-12T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-12T12:05:04.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO – A VIRGE DA CARPIÇÃO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;VEM DE SÃO JUSÉ DOS CAMPO&lt;br /&gt;A HISTORA QUE HOJE DISTAMPO&lt;br /&gt;DA MEMORA, PRÁ CONTÁ;&lt;br /&gt;NUM DIA 15 DE AGOSTO,&lt;br /&gt;ALI FUI, CUM MUNTO GOSTO,&lt;br /&gt;SOMENTE PRÁ PASSIÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;EU CUNHECI O PUTIM,&lt;br /&gt;UM RIO PIQUININIM,&lt;br /&gt;DO BAIRRO PERNAMBUCANO;&lt;br /&gt;UM SINHÔ, O SEU GONÇALO,&lt;br /&gt;ME CONTÔ, O QUE HOJE FALO,&lt;br /&gt;JÁ FAZ BEM MAIS DE DEZ ANO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;O CASO QUE ELE ME DISSE,&lt;br /&gt;PEDIU QUE SÓ RIPITISSE,&lt;br /&gt;SE EU TIVESSE DEVOÇÃO;&lt;br /&gt;ASSIM CONTÔ-ME ESSA HISTÓRA,&lt;br /&gt;DA VIRGE, NOSSA SENHORA,&lt;br /&gt;SINHORA DA CARPIÇÃO:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;“HÁ MUNTOS ANO PASSADO,&lt;br /&gt;O POVO FEIZ UM ROÇADO,&lt;br /&gt;PRUMA INGREJA LEVANTÁ;&lt;br /&gt;NO MEI DA CARPIÇÃO,&lt;br /&gt;UM HOME LEVANTA A MÃO&lt;br /&gt;E CUMEÇÔ A GRITÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;É QUE TINHA APARICIDO&lt;br /&gt;NAQUELE CHÃO REMOVIDO,&lt;br /&gt;A IMAGE DA VIRGE SANTA.&lt;br /&gt;TODOS DELA SE APROXIMA:&lt;br /&gt;ERA UM MILAGRE DE CIMA,&lt;br /&gt;E TODA GENTE SE ISPANTA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;GUARDARO A IMAGE SAGRADA&lt;br /&gt;NUMA CASA BENÇOADA,&lt;br /&gt;MAIS VEJA O QUE SUCEDEU:&lt;br /&gt;DUAS VEIZ ELA VORTÔ&lt;br /&gt;PRU LUGÁ ONDE A INCONTRÔ&lt;br /&gt;OS HOME QUE A RECOIÊU&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;TANTOS MILAGRE ELA FEIZ&lt;br /&gt;QUE NUM POSSO, NEM UM MEIS,&lt;br /&gt;DE TODOS ELES FALÁ;&lt;br /&gt;PURISSO, MINHA ORAÇÃO&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ VIRGE DA CARPIÇÃO,&lt;br /&gt;EU NUM DEXO DE REZÁ”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;ANSIM FALÔ SEU GONÇALO&lt;br /&gt;E EU, MUNTANDO O MEU CAVALO,&lt;br /&gt;DE TODOS ME ADISPIDI;&lt;br /&gt;MAS TRÔXE UM POCO DA TERRA&lt;br /&gt;QUE TIREI DAQUELAS SERRA,&lt;br /&gt;ANTES MESMO DE SAÍ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;SE UMA DUENÇA APARECE,&lt;br /&gt;DIPRESSA FAÇO UMA PRECE,&lt;br /&gt;E DA TERRA VÔ BUSCÁ;&lt;br /&gt;MISTURO COM ÁGUA BENTA&lt;br /&gt;E ANSIM QUE A TERRA SE ASSENTA,&lt;br /&gt;BEBO TUDO, PRÁ SARÁ&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;É PURISSO, MEU CUMPADE&lt;br /&gt;QUE EM VIAGEM, O SANTO PADE,&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO CHEGA, BÊJA O CHÃO:&lt;br /&gt;POIS A TERRA QUE ELE ADORA,&lt;br /&gt;VIU NACÊ NOSSA SINHORA,&lt;br /&gt;A VIRGE, DA CARPIÇÃO!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115273110482837195?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115273110482837195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115273110482837195&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115273110482837195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115273110482837195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto-virge-da-carpio.html' title='HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO – A VIRGE DA CARPIÇÃO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115273025485310011</id><published>2006-07-12T11:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-12T11:50:54.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Histórias do meu sertão</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;NÓIS TAMO AQUI REUNIDO,&lt;br /&gt;ISTICANDO NOSSO OVIDO&lt;br /&gt;PARA ISCUITÁ MAIS MIÓ;&lt;br /&gt;TA CHEGANDO A MINHA VEIZ&lt;br /&gt;DE CONTÁ PRA VANCÊS&lt;br /&gt;ISTORAS QUE SEI DE CÓ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;ZÉ CABRITO, AQUI PRESENTE,&lt;br /&gt;JÁ CONTÔ PRÁ TODA GENTE,&lt;br /&gt;UMA ISTÓRA TERESSANTE;&lt;br /&gt;TUDO PRUQUÊ, NUM NATÁ,&lt;br /&gt;VIU UM SAPO FUGENTÁ&lt;br /&gt;UMA DUZA DE ELEFANTE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;SIVIRINO NOS CONTÔ&lt;br /&gt;QUE SEU VÉIO BISAVÔ&lt;br /&gt;SE CASÔ CUM TREIS MAARIA;&lt;br /&gt;CÁ TERCERA, VEJA BEM,&lt;br /&gt;JÁ TENDO PRÁ LÁ DE CEM,&lt;br /&gt;CUM ELA TEVE TREIS FÍA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;EU CRIDITO NESSES CAUSO,&lt;br /&gt;MAIS AGORA PEÇO UM PRAZO&lt;br /&gt;PRÁ MINHA HISTÓRA CONTÁ:&lt;br /&gt;TODOS SABE QUE NUM MINTO,&lt;br /&gt;MAS PREGUNTE PRO JACINTO,&lt;br /&gt;QUEM DO CASO DUVIDÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;EU TIVE UM BURRO CAPENGA,&lt;br /&gt;QUE PODIA SÊ MOLENGA,&lt;br /&gt;MAS SÓ FARTAVA FALÁ;&lt;br /&gt;TINHA TANTO SENTIMENTO&lt;br /&gt;QUE INTÉ OS MEU PENSAMENTO,&lt;br /&gt;SABIA, SEM LI CONTÁ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO EU IA TRABAIÁ&lt;br /&gt;NAQUELES CANAVIÁ,&lt;br /&gt;O BURRO ME ACOMPANHAVA;&lt;br /&gt;E, INQUANTO, TODA A SUMANA,&lt;br /&gt;EU IA CORTANDO CANA,&lt;br /&gt;O MEU BURRO AS ISPIAVA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;E SE O SELVIÇO TRAZASSE,&lt;br /&gt;SEM QUE NADA LI FALASSE,&lt;br /&gt;ELE PULAVA NA FRENTE;&lt;br /&gt;E SEM NADA LI PEDI,&lt;br /&gt;CURRIA PRÁ ME ACUDI,&lt;br /&gt;CORTANDO CANA CO’OS DENTE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;QUANDO O BURRO DESCEU,&lt;br /&gt;DE NADA MERMO VALEU&lt;br /&gt;O DOTÔ VETERINARO;&lt;br /&gt;VENDO QUE O BURRO MURRIA,&lt;br /&gt;EU FUI LÁ NA FREGUESIA,&lt;br /&gt;E CHAMEI O SEU VIGÁRO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;ELE VÊIO CUMA CRUZ&lt;br /&gt;E REZANDO PRÁ JESUS,&lt;br /&gt;O MEU BURRINHO BENZEU;&lt;br /&gt;AO VÊ A CRUZ DO SINHÔ,&lt;br /&gt;O BURRIO SE AJUEIÔ,&lt;br /&gt;DEU TREIS SUSPIRO E MORREU!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;SE EU TIVERA ALI MURRIDO,&lt;br /&gt;JESUS TERIA FAZIDO&lt;br /&gt;UMA GRANDE CARIDADE!&lt;br /&gt;MEU AMIGO ELE LEVÔ,&lt;br /&gt;MAS NO SEU LUGÁ DEXÔ,&lt;br /&gt;NO MEU PEITO, ESTA SODADE...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115273025485310011?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115273025485310011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115273025485310011&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115273025485310011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115273025485310011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto_12.html' title='Histórias do meu sertão'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115273022164146966</id><published>2006-07-12T11:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-12T11:50:22.743-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Histórias do meu sertão</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115273022164146966?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115273022164146966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115273022164146966&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115273022164146966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115273022164146966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto.html' title='Histórias do meu sertão'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115264153754068996</id><published>2006-07-11T11:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-11T11:12:17.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Histórias do meu sertão.  CASTIGO DOS SANTO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;O povo, na sua fé,&lt;br /&gt;Cridita que São José&lt;br /&gt;Domina as força da Terra:&lt;br /&gt;Num há mal que não remova,&lt;br /&gt;Traiz o Só e faz que chova&lt;br /&gt;E nosso povo num erra!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;Eu, mesmo fui testemunha,&lt;br /&gt;Lá na cidade do Cunha,&lt;br /&gt;Do podê do protetô;&lt;br /&gt;Nessa cidade polista,&lt;br /&gt;São José da Boa Viswta&lt;br /&gt;É o santo me mais valo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;Se demorasse a chuvê,&lt;br /&gt;Todos ía recorrê&lt;br /&gt;Ao seu santo preferido;&lt;br /&gt;Fazia os home as novena&lt;br /&gt;E aquele Santo, cum pena,&lt;br /&gt;Atendia os seus pidido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;Mais, às veis acuntencia&lt;br /&gt;Que o Santo se aburrecia&lt;br /&gt;E os pidido inguinorava.&lt;br /&gt;-Pudia o povo rezá,&lt;br /&gt;Noite e dia, sem pará,&lt;br /&gt;Chuva mesmo, num mandava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;Para tais ocasião,&lt;br /&gt;Só havia a solução&lt;br /&gt;De dá ao Santo um castigo:&lt;br /&gt;-Tirava o Santo do Artá&lt;br /&gt;E punha nôtro lugá,&lt;br /&gt;Bem deferente do antigo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;Sem quarqué adijutóro,&lt;br /&gt;Morando nôtro oratóro,&lt;br /&gt;O Santo se chatiava;&lt;br /&gt;E dispois de arrepindido,&lt;br /&gt;O Santo ovía os pidido&lt;br /&gt;E logo, chuva mandava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;Entonce o povo, cum fé,&lt;br /&gt;Vortava com São José&lt;br /&gt;Prú lugá anteriô;&lt;br /&gt;Quando via a sua image,&lt;br /&gt;Toda gente, na passage,&lt;br /&gt;Saudava o seu protetô.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;Mais, uma vez se passô&lt;br /&gt;Que São José empacô&lt;br /&gt;E não fazia chuvê.&lt;br /&gt;E se a chuva num caísse,&lt;br /&gt;Como todo o povo disse,&lt;br /&gt;Munta gente ia morrê!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;Tiraro o santo do artá&lt;br /&gt;E pusero, em seu lugá,&lt;br /&gt;Uma image de São João;&lt;br /&gt;Ao se vê posto de lado,&lt;br /&gt;São José ficô danado,&lt;br /&gt;Feiz chuvê aos borbotão!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;A chuva apenas parô&lt;br /&gt;Quando o Santinho Vortô&lt;br /&gt;Pru seu lugá de dereito!&lt;br /&gt;É pruisso que lis digo:&lt;br /&gt;-Quando li dé um castigo&lt;br /&gt;Castige, mas com respeito!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115264153754068996?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115264153754068996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115264153754068996&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115264153754068996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115264153754068996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/histrias-do-meu-serto-castigo-dos.html' title='Histórias do meu sertão.  CASTIGO DOS SANTO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115245410765185098</id><published>2006-07-09T06:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-09T07:08:27.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>COMO O DEMÔNIO INVENTOU O SERROTE – HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O nosso bão SÃO José,&lt;br /&gt;Que viveu em Nazaré.&lt;br /&gt;Era tombem marcinêro;&lt;br /&gt;Ficava em sua oficina,&lt;br /&gt;Carregando sua sai,&lt;br /&gt;No trabáio, o dia intero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um dia, veio o Capeta&lt;br /&gt;E ispiando pelas greta,&lt;br /&gt;Quis o Santinho tentá;&lt;br /&gt;Cum paciênça, isperô&lt;br /&gt;Que o Pai de Nosso Sinhô,&lt;br /&gt;Fosse um poço discansá.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E aquela Peste Danada,&lt;br /&gt;Pegando a faca amolada,&lt;br /&gt;Feiz nela mais de cem dente!&lt;br /&gt;São José, desta manêra,&lt;br /&gt;Ao usála na madêra,&lt;br /&gt;Ficô todo sorridente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A faca cortava mais,&lt;br /&gt;Pra raiva de Satanaiz,&lt;br /&gt;Que danô a pragueja!&lt;br /&gt;E, mais tarde, o Demo ataca,&lt;br /&gt;E bota os dente da façam&lt;br /&gt;Um pra cá, ôtro pra lá...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;São José vorta a oficina&lt;br /&gt;Pegando a faca, a ixamina&lt;br /&gt;E a exprimenta, novamente,&lt;br /&gt;E sente que a faca torta,&lt;br /&gt;Aquelas madêra corta,&lt;br /&gt;Munto mais rapidamente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Diabo então desiste&lt;br /&gt;E se afasta, munto triste,&lt;br /&gt;Dando mais de mil pinote!&lt;br /&gt;A história vem nos dizê,&lt;br /&gt;Que o Demo, ansim sem querê&lt;br /&gt;Foi o inventô do serrote!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É prurisso que se diz&lt;br /&gt;Que, com Deus se tá feliz,&lt;br /&gt;Num pércisa se assusta!&lt;br /&gt;Quando tudo tá perdido,&lt;br /&gt;Nosso Pai, mesmo iscondido,&lt;br /&gt;Logo vem nos ajudá...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115245410765185098?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115245410765185098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115245410765185098&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115245410765185098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115245410765185098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/como-o-demnio-inventou-o-serrote.html' title='COMO O DEMÔNIO INVENTOU O SERROTE – HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO.'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115245355895924914</id><published>2006-07-09T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-09T06:59:18.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'>LOA AO BEIJO – HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&lt;br /&gt;Faço agora a minha LOA&lt;br /&gt;A uma coisa munto boa,&lt;br /&gt;Que os home chama de BÊJO;&lt;br /&gt;Disso a gente num se esquece:&lt;br /&gt;-Amô, sem bêjo, parece&lt;br /&gt;Macarronada sem quêjo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;Há bêjo pra todo os lado,&lt;br /&gt;Ofiricido ou robado,&lt;br /&gt;Seje de noite ou de dia;&lt;br /&gt;Mas o bêjo mais cumprido&lt;br /&gt;Já ganhô esse apilido:&lt;br /&gt;-Disintupidô de pia!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;Bêjo de muié casada&lt;br /&gt;É uma grande trapaiada.&lt;br /&gt;Um assunto munto séro!&lt;br /&gt;Pois, cumo diz o ditado,&lt;br /&gt;Os bêjo que ansim são dado,&lt;br /&gt;Tem chêro de cimitéro!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;Os bêjo dado co’ amô,&lt;br /&gt;Se diminói nossa dô,&lt;br /&gt;Faiz duê o coração;&lt;br /&gt;E quando é dado na boca&lt;br /&gt;De uma bunita cabôca,&lt;br /&gt;Tem cem ano de perdão!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;Os bêjo de muié feia,&lt;br /&gt;Se dexa a boca vermeia,&lt;br /&gt;Num tem chêro nem sabô;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se a muié fô bunita,&lt;br /&gt;Esse bêjo o peito agitaq,&lt;br /&gt;Com seu prefume de frô.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;Arguns bêjos se parece&lt;br /&gt;Cum os ferro que se aquece,&lt;br /&gt;Pras rôpa podê passa:&lt;br /&gt;-Pru riba é que a gente liga&lt;br /&gt;Mas, pru baxo, gente amiga,&lt;br /&gt;É queles vai isquentá...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;O bêjo dado na face,&lt;br /&gt;Se o pensamento falasse,&lt;br /&gt;Ia bem arto dizê:&lt;br /&gt;-Elas se bêja no rosto&lt;br /&gt;É pruquê, pra seu disgosto,&lt;br /&gt;Já num pode se mordê...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;Mas quando o rosto me bêja&lt;br /&gt;Uma bela sertaneja,&lt;br /&gt;Eu li digo, munto isperto:&lt;br /&gt;-Minha fia, que mau gosto!&lt;br /&gt;Pruquê me bêja no rosto,&lt;br /&gt;Cum a boquinha, tão perto?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;O Bêjo da farsidade,&lt;br /&gt;Vergonha da humanidade,&lt;br /&gt;Na Bilbra pode sê visto:&lt;br /&gt;Foi o bêjo traiçoêro&lt;br /&gt;Que JUDAS – só pru dinhêro,&lt;br /&gt;Botô no rosto de Cristo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;E disso tiro a lição&lt;br /&gt;Que trago no coração&lt;br /&gt;E ispáio pra quem quisé:&lt;br /&gt;-Home, eu num BÊJO PRU NADA!&lt;br /&gt;E arretirando as casada,&lt;br /&gt;Só bêjo se fô muié!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115245355895924914?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115245355895924914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115245355895924914&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115245355895924914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115245355895924914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/07/loa-ao-beijo-histrias-do-meu-serto.html' title='LOA AO BEIJO – HISTÓRIAS DO MEU SERTÃO.'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124648662915644</id><published>2006-06-25T07:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T07:41:26.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CANÇÃO DE COLLID</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Escute, Collid, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Escute esta história,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Que assim, de memória,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Eu venho contar.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você que é vibrante,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você que é brilhante,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;A um simples poeta&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Vai ter que escutar.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;II&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Num OITO DE ABRIL,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Com muita alegria,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Na esteira do dia,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você apareceu.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E aquela criança,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;A flor da esperança,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;O amor lá dos céus,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Nos trouxe e nos deu.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;III&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Aqui, na Tupi,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você fez seu ninho,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Com muito carinho&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E muita emoção.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Das noites geladas,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E das madrugadas, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Além do CANTOR,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você é a CANÇÃO.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;IV&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Nas horas sombrias,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;De quem só tem pranto,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;De quem sofre tanto,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E sempre se isola,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;A sua bondade&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Invade a cidade,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E a cada um de nós,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Ampara e consola.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;V&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Contando piadas, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Dizendo orações,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Fazendo canções,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você não se cansa.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E como é profundo&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Sentir que, no fundo,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você – que é gigante,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Ainda é criança.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;VI&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Criança que chora, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Que ri, faz careta,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Que odeia “mutreta”,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Que é amigo do peito.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Criança sem “dengo”,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Que adora o FLAMENGO, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Pois sempre escolheu&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;O MAIS –QUE-PERFEITO.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;VII&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Embora sem ter&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Tesouro mundano, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Quer ao SER, dito humano,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Seduz e alucina,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Conserva fechado,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Em cofre guardado,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Com todo cuidado,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;O amor de CRAVINA.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;VIII&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Queremos que saiba,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Da nossa alegria,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Por termos, um dia,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você encontrado.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;O quanto é sublime, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;“Jogar no seu time”,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E ter, afinal, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Você do meu lado.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;IX&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Se nesta cantiga,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Pudesse eu falar&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E o mundo escutar,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Dos méritos seus,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Collid, com certeza,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Ao ver tal beleza, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Diria que o verso&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Foi obra de Deus.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;X&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Em nome de todos,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Amigos do peito,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Feliz, satisfeito,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Eu digo aqui:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;-Senhor do Universo,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Escuta meu verso&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;E escrevo, nos céus,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Um VIVA O COLLID!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124648662915644?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124648662915644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124648662915644&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124648662915644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124648662915644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/cano-de-collid.html' title='CANÇÃO DE COLLID'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124496978016204</id><published>2006-06-25T07:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T07:16:09.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NOTURNO (EM VERSOS LIVRES)</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Desta canção de amor que vem de longe,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Ouve os acordes puros, de cristal;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;São palavras não ditas, no silêncio &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Das madrugadas frias de minh’alma!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Sente, no espaço, a vibração fugaz,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Em ressonância com meu bem-querer;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;No tom menor, escuta a minha voz,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Na solidão, das noites mal dormidas.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;É a música da vida, que vivi&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;A teu lado, num sonho já desfeito;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Foi prelúdio de amor, foi serenata,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Foi canção de ninar, no alvorecer!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Sinfonia de luz e de saudade,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Hoje é o Noturno de minh’alma triste...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124496978016204?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124496978016204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124496978016204&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124496978016204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124496978016204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/noturno-em-versos-livres.html' title='NOTURNO (EM VERSOS LIVRES)'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124469388244104</id><published>2006-06-25T07:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T07:11:33.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO COM ESTRAMBOTE – PARA CARMITA LOURES.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ela é flor da doçura e tão singela&lt;br /&gt;Que, nada pede e não lhe falta nada!&lt;br /&gt;Por ser assim, tão pura e recatada,&lt;br /&gt;Dentre todas as santas, é a mais bela!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se sofre, ninguém sabe pois, em cada&lt;br /&gt;Momento de tristeza, sempre dela&lt;br /&gt;Aflora uma oração e então, ao vê-la&lt;br /&gt;Recolhida em seu canto, delicada,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversando com Deus (assim presumo)&lt;br /&gt;Ela irradia a paz, só conhecida&lt;br /&gt;De quem, da vida, sabe o exato rumo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esta mulher, enfim, é tão querida&lt;br /&gt;Que, no seu nome, sinto que resumo&lt;br /&gt;A mais santa mulher que vi na vida!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seu nome,&lt;br /&gt;Só podia ser Maria!&lt;br /&gt;Maria, paz infinita,&lt;br /&gt;Maria, também DO CARMO!&lt;br /&gt;Do Carmo, também CARMITA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RIO, 15/05/88&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124469388244104?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124469388244104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124469388244104&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124469388244104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124469388244104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/soneto-com-estrambote-para-carmita.html' title='SONETO COM ESTRAMBOTE – PARA CARMITA LOURES.'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124410726312429</id><published>2006-06-25T06:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T07:01:47.266-07:00</updated><title type='text'>AS ELEIÇÕES NO RIO,  EM 1988</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MARCELO, quer ser prefeito,&lt;br /&gt;Coisa que muito me amola&lt;br /&gt;Pois não acho que é direito,&lt;br /&gt;Ser fantoche do BRIZOLA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PAULO ROBERTO é “legal”,&lt;br /&gt;Já passou por muitas provas;&lt;br /&gt;Mas na escala nacional,&lt;br /&gt;Ele é escada pro COVAS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ÁLVARO VALLE, coitado,&lt;br /&gt;Morre de arrependimento:&lt;br /&gt;Para não ser derrotado,&lt;br /&gt;Inventou um casamento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O BITTAR só faz “firula”&lt;br /&gt;Mas seu nome até que “cola”;&lt;br /&gt;O que não cola é que o LULA,&lt;br /&gt;Tá namorando o  BRIZOLA...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem não cola é o COLAGROSSI,&lt;br /&gt;Votar nele é grande asneira!&lt;br /&gt;Pois até quando ele tosse,&lt;br /&gt;Pede socorro ao MOREIRA...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O voto nulo interessa&lt;br /&gt;Aos MICOS desta nação;&lt;br /&gt;E como não faz promessa,&lt;br /&gt;Vai dar trabalho o TIÃO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O PDT não se acanha&lt;br /&gt;E, na eleição, entra “quente”,&lt;br /&gt;E faz aquela campanha,&lt;br /&gt;BRIZOLA PRA PRESIDENTE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, Brizola se perdeu,&lt;br /&gt;E, de vencer, já tem medo,&lt;br /&gt;Pois, para VICE, escolheu,&lt;br /&gt;JOÃO BATISTA FIGUEIREDO...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124410726312429?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124410726312429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124410726312429&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124410726312429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124410726312429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/as-eleies-no-rio-em-1988.html' title='AS ELEIÇÕES NO RIO,  EM 1988'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124350868533663</id><published>2006-06-25T06:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T06:51:48.686-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No meu silêncio, há gritos sufocados&lt;br /&gt;A percorrer-me o corpo, loucamente;&lt;br /&gt;Dos demônios em mim, escuto os brados&lt;br /&gt;E os enfrento, sem medo, frente a frente!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imaginado vê-los derrotados,&lt;br /&gt;Imensa paz invade minha mente;&lt;br /&gt;Na remissão de todos os pecados&lt;br /&gt;Da minha angústia, a Deus, faço um presente!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tempos depois, esses demônios voltam,&lt;br /&gt;Com mais força, alarido e mais vigor,&lt;br /&gt;E pesadelos trazem, de terror!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E em meio aos gritos que os demônios soltam,&lt;br /&gt;A voz de Deus, mais forte, em mim ressoa&lt;br /&gt;E minh’alma, ao vencê-los, os perdoa...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124350868533663?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124350868533663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124350868533663&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124350868533663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124350868533663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/soneto.html' title='SONETO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124327107539037</id><published>2006-06-25T06:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T06:47:51.076-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MEU CANTO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vem de teu corpo, a essência das campinas.&lt;br /&gt;Cheiro de terra e chuva, em longo abraço;&lt;br /&gt;O teu perfil, que esboço em fino traço,&lt;br /&gt;Guarda o frescor das fontes cristalinas...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em tua pele, a maciez do arminho&lt;br /&gt;Posso sentir, nos toques mais sutis;&lt;br /&gt;O teu olhar sereno sempre diz&lt;br /&gt;Que o teu amor indica o bom caminho!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;És apenas mulher mas eu te vejo&lt;br /&gt;Como a fonte de minha inspiração&lt;br /&gt;A transformar-me o tolo coração,&lt;br /&gt;Na chama que incendeia o meu desejo...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124327107539037?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124327107539037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124327107539037&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124327107539037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124327107539037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/meu-canto.html' title='MEU CANTO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115124307484934805</id><published>2006-06-25T06:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T06:44:34.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O QUE RESTOU DE MIM...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nada de novo no meu peito existe,&lt;br /&gt;Desde que a noite me encontrou sozinho;&lt;br /&gt;Só mesmo essa saudade, amarga e triste,&lt;br /&gt;A me lembrar que, em lágrimas, definho!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nada restou dos beijos que me deste,&lt;br /&gt;Nem de teus lábios sei mais o sabor;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se de cores o jardim se veste,&lt;br /&gt;O teu perfume encontro, em cada flor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Das curvas de teu corpo, tão perfeito,&lt;br /&gt;Uma lembrança tenho, indefinida;&lt;br /&gt;Mas no desejo que arde no meu peito,&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei que vou te amar, por toda a vida!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daquela voz que, em sonhos, eu procuro,&lt;br /&gt;Restou somente, agora, o esquecimento;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se teu nome, às vezes, eu murmuro,&lt;br /&gt;Tu respondes, Mulher, na voz do vento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E o que dizes é leve, como a brisa&lt;br /&gt;E as minhas aflições sufoca e acalma;&lt;br /&gt;As feridas do meu peito cicatriza&lt;br /&gt;E novas ilusões traz à minha alma!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas eu bem sei que tudo se acabou&lt;br /&gt;Pois só lembrança no meu peito existe;&lt;br /&gt;Dos sonhos mais queridos, só restou&lt;br /&gt;Esta cruel saudade, amarga e triste...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115124307484934805?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115124307484934805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115124307484934805&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124307484934805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115124307484934805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/o-que-restou-de-mim.html' title='O QUE RESTOU DE MIM...'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115002571541335600</id><published>2006-06-11T04:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T04:35:15.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO - ONDE HOUVER FLORES - SONETO SEM A LETRA A</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;ONDE HOUVER FLORES, O PERFUME EXISTE;&lt;br /&gt;ONDE HOUVER LUZ, EXISTE BRILHO E COR;&lt;br /&gt;DO DESTERRO CRUEL, FUNÉREO E TRISTE,&lt;br /&gt;EMERGE O BELO, COMO NUM SOL-PÔR...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ONDE TUDO FENECE, SÓ RESISTE&lt;br /&gt;O VELHO SONHO, QUE SE FEZ EM FLOR;&lt;br /&gt;E TODO SOFRIMENTO, SÓ PERSISTE&lt;br /&gt;NO PEITO QUE SE FEZ MERECEDOR...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO CHORO CONVULSIVO, SEMPRE VEJO,&lt;br /&gt;COMO SE FRUTO FOSSE DO DESEJO,&lt;br /&gt;UM MOMENTO FELIZ, LIVRE DE DOR;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E NOS MEUS ERROS, MESMO REPETIDOS,&lt;br /&gt;NO ESPELHO DO DESTINO, REFLETIDOS,&lt;br /&gt;VEJO O ROSTO SUBLIME DO SENHOR!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115002571541335600?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115002571541335600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115002571541335600&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002571541335600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002571541335600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/soneto-onde-houver-flores-soneto-sem.html' title='SONETO - ONDE HOUVER FLORES - SONETO SEM A LETRA A'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115002545089932267</id><published>2006-06-11T04:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T04:30:50.910-07:00</updated><title type='text'>LOUCO AMOR - VRS 2 SONETO SEM A LETRA E</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;No coração aflito, ouço o rolar&lt;br /&gt;Das lagrimas ocultas do passado;&lt;br /&gt;O antigo amor, dos sonhos ao luar,&lt;br /&gt;Inunda o coração amargurado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como um canto outonal, volto a sonhar,&lt;br /&gt;Na vibração do amor não olvidado.&lt;br /&gt;Com um rosto, um sorriso, um lindo olhar,&lt;br /&gt;Um carinho fugaz, jamais roubado...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por toda a vida assim, só procurando&lt;br /&gt;Nos sonhos já sonhados, a doçura,&lt;br /&gt;Abrolhos dos caminhos vou cortando.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para, o fim da jornada, no clarão&lt;br /&gt;Do sol brilhar, com toda a formosura,&lt;br /&gt;A luz do amor, do morto coração!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115002545089932267?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115002545089932267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115002545089932267&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002545089932267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002545089932267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/louco-amor-vrs-2-soneto-sem-letra-e.html' title='LOUCO AMOR - VRS 2 SONETO SEM A LETRA E'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115002392598094033</id><published>2006-06-11T03:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T04:05:26.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PARA RENATO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Ó Renato, diz pra mim&lt;br /&gt;Quem te fez levado assim!&lt;br /&gt;Com três aninhos, somente&lt;br /&gt;Esse menino é uma “brasa”,&lt;br /&gt;Desarruma toda a casa,&lt;br /&gt;“espoletinha” de gente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele acorda bem cedinho,&lt;br /&gt;Vai ao banheiro sozinho,&lt;br /&gt;Volta sorrindo pra cama,&lt;br /&gt;Pede , logo , a mamadeira,&lt;br /&gt;Sai correndo a casa inteira,&lt;br /&gt;Joga , de lado, o pijama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em tudo coloca o dedo&lt;br /&gt;E, no quarto de brinquedo,&lt;br /&gt;Faz aquela confusão.&lt;br /&gt;Tira a roupa do palhaço,&lt;br /&gt;Do carro, arranca um pedaço&lt;br /&gt;Espalha tudo no chão!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pega a mochila, a sacola&lt;br /&gt;E se apronta para a Escola&lt;br /&gt;E quase não quer ajuda.&lt;br /&gt;Não faz manha, não faz birra&lt;br /&gt;Mas, se soluça ou se espirra,&lt;br /&gt;É aquele Deus nos acuada!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chega da escola cansado&lt;br /&gt;E dorme mais um bocado,&lt;br /&gt;Abraçado ao palhacinho.&lt;br /&gt;Mas quando chega o papai,&lt;br /&gt;Acordando, logo vai&lt;br /&gt;Dizendo: “Fiquei bonzinho...!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pega um livro e, de memória,&lt;br /&gt;Inventa mais uma história&lt;br /&gt;Que conta, de uma só vez!&lt;br /&gt;E, bem antes de dormir,&lt;br /&gt;De novo quer repetir&lt;br /&gt;Todas as coisas que fez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele sorri, todo prosa,&lt;br /&gt;Se a mãe, fingindo nervosa,&lt;br /&gt;Dia ao Papai, bem do lado:&lt;br /&gt;-Esse menino é uma “brasa”,&lt;br /&gt;Desarruma toda a casa,&lt;br /&gt;Mas ele é muito levado!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mãezinha está cansada&lt;br /&gt;Mas “uma história de Fada”,&lt;br /&gt;Ele pede, docemente;&lt;br /&gt;O serviço todo atrasa&lt;br /&gt;Mas ele, que enfeita a casa,&lt;br /&gt;Só assim dorme contente!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando ele, enfim, adormece,&lt;br /&gt;Tão pequenino, parece&lt;br /&gt;O mais lindo Querubim!&lt;br /&gt;E enquanto as coisas ajunta,&lt;br /&gt;A mamãe inda pergunta:&lt;br /&gt;“-Quem te fez levado assim?...”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rio, pelo 18 de junho de 1990&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115002392598094033?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115002392598094033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115002392598094033&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002392598094033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002392598094033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/para-renato.html' title='PARA RENATO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115002289497150720</id><published>2006-06-11T03:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T03:48:14.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PARA MINHA NETA, LUÍZA</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;- Quem és tu, frágil ser que veio à vida,&lt;br /&gt;Iluminando o chão por onde piso?&lt;br /&gt;Onde estavas, de todos escondida&lt;br /&gt;Ó pequena flor do paraíso?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tão meiga e delicada, era preciso&lt;br /&gt;Que fosses, num milagre, concebida;&lt;br /&gt;E a luz que brilha, nesse teu sorriso,&lt;br /&gt;Vem compensar – me as dores da descida...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Faz-se mais bela a noite que te viu&lt;br /&gt;Chegar ao mundo, numa nuvem clara&lt;br /&gt;Como, das jóias, a mais nobre e rara!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E este meu peito que, de avô, se abriu&lt;br /&gt;Cantando ao céu, ao mar, cantando à brisa,&lt;br /&gt;Em prece murmurou ; “Nasceu Luiza!”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115002289497150720?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115002289497150720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115002289497150720&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002289497150720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002289497150720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/para-minha-neta-luza.html' title='PARA MINHA NETA, LUÍZA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-115002247756485603</id><published>2006-06-11T03:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T03:41:17.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PARA MEU NETO, RENATO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Ganhei um neto e em mim, vi renascer&lt;br /&gt;Um sentimento que julgava extinto!&lt;br /&gt;Naquele corpo frágil e pequenino,&lt;br /&gt;O milagre da vida, eu vejo e sinto!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Ele estava no ventre se sua mãe,&lt;br /&gt;Naquele estado puro do Nirvana...&lt;br /&gt;Neles eu via repetir – se a história&lt;br /&gt;Da Criação – da gênesis humana!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje, ele chora e ri e peço a Deus,&lt;br /&gt;Que seus caminhos sejam de bondade&lt;br /&gt;E que ele não se perca, na procura;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E que possa viver por longos anos,&lt;br /&gt;Para dizer a todos que, em verdade.&lt;br /&gt;“ser avô é ser pai ... com mais doçura”...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-115002247756485603?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/115002247756485603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=115002247756485603&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002247756485603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/115002247756485603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/06/para-meu-neto-renato.html' title='PARA MEU NETO, RENATO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114791073739004095</id><published>2006-05-17T17:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T17:05:37.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A MULHER</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deus, ao lançar as flores nos caminhos,&lt;br /&gt;Pôs estrelas brilhantes, no infinito;&lt;br /&gt;Deu-nos também alegres passarinhos&lt;br /&gt;E ao ser humano, a voz, o canto e o grito!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E o Criador, que em seu mister não erra,&lt;br /&gt;Das nuvens fez um delicado véu&lt;br /&gt;Para as flores – estrelas cá da terra-&lt;br /&gt;E para estrelas – flores lá do céu –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fez cair dessas nuvens, dadivosa,&lt;br /&gt;A fina chuva que alimenta a planta;&lt;br /&gt;E fez nascer o cravo, a zínia, a rosa.&lt;br /&gt;E o rio que ao bater na pedra, canta!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toda a cor pôs ao nosso alcance.&lt;br /&gt;E hercúlea força deu ao mar e ao vento;&lt;br /&gt;E para que da vida não se canse&lt;br /&gt;Ao homem deu o livre pensamento...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em nossos corações, plantou o Amor,&lt;br /&gt;Nas formas mais febris e mais discretas;&lt;br /&gt;Tornou-se assim, além de Criador,&lt;br /&gt;O maior, dentre todos os poetas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pois Deus que é justo, mestre e que é Senhor.&lt;br /&gt;Tanta beleza vendo, neste dia,&lt;br /&gt;Para exaltar a luz que vem do Amor,&lt;br /&gt;Aos homens deu o dom da poesia!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É colocando, em tudo, a perfeição.&lt;br /&gt;Que se busca, deseja e que se quer,&lt;br /&gt;Num momento de rara inspiração,&lt;br /&gt;Do próprio coração, fez a mulher!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E por ser Ele um ser mais que perfeito&lt;br /&gt;Deu à mulher um singular poder;&lt;br /&gt;Mais que poder o divinal direito.&lt;br /&gt;De gerar, em seu ventre, um novo ser!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E por fazê-la assim, especial,&lt;br /&gt;O Criado encheu-se de emoção!&lt;br /&gt;- És pois, Mulher, divina angelical,&lt;br /&gt;A obra prima de toda a criação!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114791073739004095?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114791073739004095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114791073739004095&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114791073739004095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114791073739004095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/mulher.html' title='A MULHER'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787687864907319</id><published>2006-05-17T07:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T07:41:18.656-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ACRÓSTICO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Pano de fundo para estas reminiscências, a velha fazenda da “PASSAGEM”, no Retiro, em Mirai – MG, terra natal do eterno Ataulfo Alves é palco de muitas lembranças...&lt;br /&gt;O velho casarão, a roda-dágua, o livre cantar dos pássaros e das cascatas, os animais soltos pelo pasto, o passeio a cavalo... Um passado tão distante e tão presente!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É para você, ENEIDA LINHARES, este acróstico, símbolo de imorredoura saudade...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“VERDES CAMPOS DA MINHA TERRA...”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Era tudo tão simples, tão bonito,&lt;br /&gt;Naqueles tempos que não voltam mais...&lt;br /&gt;Escuto ainda, as vozes de meus pais,&lt;br /&gt;Invadindo o meu ser, saudoso e aflito!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do “Retiro” distante, os animais&lt;br /&gt;Agora são lembranças... E o meu grito,&lt;br /&gt;Lá na montanha – virgem de granito-,&lt;br /&gt;Inda ecoa nos vastos pantanais!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nos meus irmãos de agora, um só lamento;&lt;br /&gt;Há neles os sinais de nossas vidas:&lt;br /&gt;Aquele mesmo olhar, almas sofridas,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Repousam na saudade o pensamento!&lt;br /&gt;E entre soluços, faz-me a nostalgia&lt;br /&gt;Saber que “era feliz... e não sabia”!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787687864907319?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787687864907319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787687864907319&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787687864907319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787687864907319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/acrstico.html' title='ACRÓSTICO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787602125838026</id><published>2006-05-17T07:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T07:27:01.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO - A MEU PAI</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Outros já vi, no derradeiro leito,&lt;br /&gt;Entre gemidos, preces e lamentos;&lt;br /&gt;As duas mãos, cruzadas sobre o peito&lt;br /&gt;E, à cabeceira, os mesmos círios bentos...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todos iguais, assim, do mesmo jeito,&lt;br /&gt;No seu adeus final, aos sofrimentos!&lt;br /&gt;No rosto, a lividez que o faz desfeito&lt;br /&gt;E o vazio total de movimentos...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando te vi, ó Pai, ali na sala,&lt;br /&gt;Vi repetir-se a cena e, já sem fala,&lt;br /&gt;Quis desviar meus olhos, tão sofridos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas tu, querido Pai, entre os gemidos&lt;br /&gt;E os prantos que corriam, neste enlace,&lt;br /&gt;Mostravas um sorriso, em tua face...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787602125838026?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787602125838026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787602125838026&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787602125838026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787602125838026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/soneto-meu-pai.html' title='SONETO - A MEU PAI'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787576346980422</id><published>2006-05-17T07:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T07:22:43.470-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DEUS  - SONETO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;“Eu me lembro, eu me lembro! Era pequeno”&lt;br /&gt;E minha mãe mil versos me dizia;&lt;br /&gt;E quando, ali na sala, os repetia,&lt;br /&gt;Brilhava mais o seu olhar eterno...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ela ensinou-me que somente \Deus&lt;br /&gt;Era maior do que o mar, que a natureza,&lt;br /&gt;Mais forte que o tufão, que a realeza&lt;br /&gt;E que as forças do Mal, que há sob os céus!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas quando ela se foi, n a luz da aurora,&lt;br /&gt;Senti, na dor suprema de tal hora,&lt;br /&gt;Minh’alma pobre se partir, sozinha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nem mesmo Deus que é Pai e que é perfeito&lt;br /&gt;Conseguiu arrancar aqui do peito,&lt;br /&gt;A saudade de ti, doce mãezinha!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787576346980422?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787576346980422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787576346980422&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787576346980422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787576346980422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/deus-soneto.html' title='DEUS  - SONETO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787475823249742</id><published>2006-05-17T07:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T07:05:58.233-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - LAVANDO OS ANIMAIS</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;A mulher do Tuniquinho,&lt;br /&gt;Gosta muito de animal;&lt;br /&gt;Cuida deles, com carinho,&lt;br /&gt;No fundo do seu quintal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dá banho, passa talquinho,&lt;br /&gt;E os bichos não cheiram mal;&lt;br /&gt;Lava até um “porco espinho”&lt;br /&gt;E acha muito natural!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dorme dos bichos cercada!&lt;br /&gt;Ela é mesmo pioneira&lt;br /&gt;E jamais foi contestada!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas quando a torneira seca,&lt;br /&gt;Procura logo a goteira&lt;br /&gt;Pra lavar a perereca...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787475823249742?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787475823249742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787475823249742&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787475823249742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787475823249742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/sonetos-em-redondilhas-maiores-lavando.html' title='SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - LAVANDO OS ANIMAIS'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787452311854836</id><published>2006-05-17T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T07:02:03.120-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - A VIÚVA</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Moça solteira é um perigo&lt;br /&gt;Sempre quer “prender” alguém...&lt;br /&gt;Ela sabe que é castigo,&lt;br /&gt;Envelhecer sem ninguém!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da casada eu não digo,&lt;br /&gt;Depende do homem que tem;&lt;br /&gt;Se for casada comigo,&lt;br /&gt;Será feliz e eu também!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A viúva, estimulada,&lt;br /&gt;Parece lenha molhada,&lt;br /&gt;Quando quer “entrar no jogo”:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Co’o defunto na lembrança,&lt;br /&gt;Suspira feito criança&lt;br /&gt;E chora... mas “pega fogo”...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787452311854836?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787452311854836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787452311854836&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787452311854836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787452311854836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/sonetos-em-redondilhas-maiores-viva.html' title='SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - A VIÚVA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787429951734919</id><published>2006-05-17T06:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T06:58:19.516-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - A MINHOCA</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; A minhoca é um animal&lt;br /&gt;Comprido, longo, fininho;&lt;br /&gt;Com seu jeitinho sensual.&lt;br /&gt;Fura a terra, de mansinho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Vive sempre escondidinho,&lt;br /&gt;Num buraco especial;&lt;br /&gt;Ao paladar do peixinho,&lt;br /&gt;A minhoca é especial!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, juro! Vi um senhor,&lt;br /&gt;Que disse ser pescador,&lt;br /&gt;Contra a mesma esbravejar!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele não vai mais pescar&lt;br /&gt;E explica tomando “um gole”:&lt;br /&gt;- “A minhoca ficou mole...”.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787429951734919?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787429951734919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787429951734919&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787429951734919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787429951734919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/sonetos-em-redondilhas-maiores-minhoca.html' title='SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - A MINHOCA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787407366792413</id><published>2006-05-17T06:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T06:54:33.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - PARA ROSITA GONZALES</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nas esteiras do luar,&lt;br /&gt;Ela chegou, de mansinho;&lt;br /&gt;E começou a plantar&lt;br /&gt;Roseirais, pelo caminho...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No seu jeito de cantar,&lt;br /&gt;Embriagante, como o vinho,&lt;br /&gt;Quietou as ondas do mar&lt;br /&gt;E foi rosa, sem espinho!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imortal, como as estrelas,&lt;br /&gt;Se nos meus sonhos flutua,&lt;br /&gt;Ela “que veio da lua”,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No brilho das aquarelas,&lt;br /&gt;Cantando, afasta meus males!&lt;br /&gt;- É assim, ROSITA GONZÁLES!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787407366792413?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787407366792413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787407366792413&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787407366792413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787407366792413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/sonetos-em-redondilhas-maiores-para.html' title='SONETOS EM REDONDILHAS MAIORES - PARA ROSITA GONZALES'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787378364454493</id><published>2006-05-17T06:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T06:49:43.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A MOSCA - SONETO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Em toda parte, a MOSCA se apresenta!&lt;br /&gt;Não respeita ninguém o tal inseto;&lt;br /&gt;E vivendo debaixo do meu teto,&lt;br /&gt;Das coisas mais nojentas se alimenta!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pousa por todo lado, no mais completo&lt;br /&gt;Desprezo pelo Bem que me acalenta.&lt;br /&gt;As asas transparentes movimenta,&lt;br /&gt;Em busca de sujeira, de dejeto!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No mundo dos meus sonhos,, eu garanto,&lt;br /&gt;Não haveria mosca nem mosquito,&lt;br /&gt;Pois descobri também, com grande espanto,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que se a vida vai bem, de vento em popa,&lt;br /&gt;Aparece a pestinha e vejo, aflito,&lt;br /&gt;Ela sempre cair... Na minha sopa!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787378364454493?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787378364454493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787378364454493&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787378364454493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787378364454493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/mosca-soneto.html' title='A MOSCA - SONETO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114787346150470419</id><published>2006-05-17T06:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T06:44:21.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O CROCODILO  - SONETO</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;O CROCODILO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CROCODILO parece jacaré.&lt;br /&gt;“É da família” – dizem entendidos;&lt;br /&gt;Por aqui, não existem tais bandidos&lt;br /&gt;E se aparecem, vou “é dar no pé”!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enorme boca, dentes bem sortidos,&lt;br /&gt;Como um deus, adorado, eu sei que ele é;&lt;br /&gt;Vivendo em rios ou no Igarapé,&lt;br /&gt;Os que encontram com eles, estão perdidos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se aqui no Brasil, não são nativos,&lt;br /&gt;Pelos homens são eles imitados,&lt;br /&gt;Nos gestos impensados e agressivos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas quando a mulher chora, eu “já me grilo”.&lt;br /&gt;Pois os olhos, de lágrimas molhados,&lt;br /&gt;Mostram mesmo o chorar... De crocodilo!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114787346150470419?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114787346150470419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114787346150470419&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787346150470419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114787346150470419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/o-crocodilo-soneto.html' title='O CROCODILO  - SONETO'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739839296070887</id><published>2006-05-11T18:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:46:32.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>LOA À MULHER</title><content type='html'>I&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu fico munto invocado,&lt;br /&gt;Quando dizem que é pecado&lt;br /&gt;Hôme sê  namoradô!&lt;br /&gt;Meus pensamento num mudo:&lt;br /&gt;- Se as muié, na vida é tudo,&lt;br /&gt;Eu  quero sê pecadô!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tem muié prá todo gosto,&lt;br /&gt;Feia ou fermosa de  rosto,&lt;br /&gt;Gorda, dentuça ou banguela;&lt;br /&gt;Tem as mulata, as negrinha,&lt;br /&gt;As  cumpridona, as baixinha,&lt;br /&gt;Tem as branca e as amarela!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;III&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tem as  véinha sasanhada.&lt;br /&gt;As viúva apaxonada&lt;br /&gt;E as sorterona, de fé!&lt;br /&gt;Se a  memória num me fáia,&lt;br /&gt;Tirante os Padre, usô sáia,&lt;br /&gt;Tudo prá mim é  muié!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IV&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu já tenho arrepitido,&lt;br /&gt;Se fosse um lôco  varrido,&lt;br /&gt;Eu já tava na cadeia!&lt;br /&gt;Purisso eu vô falá:&lt;br /&gt;Prá quem sabe  obiservá,&lt;br /&gt;Num inxiste muié feia!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se ela é cheia de  pelanca,&lt;br /&gt;Munto véia, toda manca,&lt;br /&gt;Cum jeito tudo se arranja.&lt;br /&gt;Guarde  essas palavra minha:&lt;br /&gt;-Quanto mais véia a galinha,&lt;br /&gt;Bem mió ela dá  canja!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VI&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Respeito munto a zarôia&lt;br /&gt;E quando num tenho  iscôia,&lt;br /&gt;Eu num dexo prá dispois!&lt;br /&gt;Mas fico disconfiado,&lt;br /&gt;Pois se tem otro  de lado,&lt;br /&gt;Ela oía prá nós dois...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VII&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pela gurducha eu me  taro&lt;br /&gt;Mas, ás veiz, eu pago caro&lt;br /&gt;Inté cumigo ela briga!&lt;br /&gt;Pois sendo ela  tão macia,&lt;br /&gt;É minha grande alegria&lt;br /&gt;Drumi naquela  barriga&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VIII&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A magrela me incendeia,&lt;br /&gt;Seja bela, seja  feia,&lt;br /&gt;É mais gostosa que as uva!&lt;br /&gt;Pois, se chove, ela sestros,&lt;br /&gt;Toda  inxutinha , gostosa,&lt;br /&gt;Passa entre os pingo da  chuva...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IX&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas se a muié se casô,&lt;br /&gt;Eu fico respeitadô&lt;br /&gt;E  num quero brincadera!&lt;br /&gt;Evitando as inrascada,&lt;br /&gt;Respeito as muié  casada,&lt;br /&gt;Como as mocinha sortera!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas terminando esta  loa,&lt;br /&gt;Uma coisa munto boa,&lt;br /&gt;Eu peço, prá quem pudé:&lt;br /&gt;- No dia em que eu fô  difunto,&lt;br /&gt;Pru favô, me interre junto&lt;br /&gt;Com treis ou qutro muié...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739839296070887?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739839296070887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739839296070887&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739839296070887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739839296070887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/loa-mulher.html' title='LOA À MULHER'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739835986264552</id><published>2006-05-11T18:45:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:45:59.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PARA ANDREA</title><content type='html'>LEVAS NO VENTRE A LUZ DO SOL NASCENTE,&lt;br /&gt;NA GERAÇÃO DE UM NOVO AMANHECER;&lt;br /&gt;ÉS  TAÇA DO CRISTAL MAIS TRANSPARENTE&lt;br /&gt;E O VINHO QUE TRANSBORDA UM NOVO  SER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;REPETES NO TEU CORPO, INTIMAMENTE,&lt;br /&gt;COM LUZ DIVINA E MÁGICO  PODER,&lt;br /&gt;A GÊNESIS HUMANA QUE, SOMENTE,&lt;br /&gt;O MILAGRE DO AMOR, PODE  FAZER!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SE A HUMANIDADE TODA SE EXAURISSE&lt;br /&gt;E FICASSES SOZINHA, NESSE  ESTADO,&lt;br /&gt;TODA A HISTÓRIA, TALVEZ SE REPETISSE,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;POIS, FILHA MINHA, TENS  NA GERAÇÃO&lt;br /&gt;DO MILAGRE DA VIDA, CELEBRADO&lt;br /&gt;O MISTÉRIO ABISSAL DA CRIAÇÃO!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739835986264552?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739835986264552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739835986264552&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739835986264552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739835986264552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/para-andrea.html' title='PARA ANDREA'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739833562664113</id><published>2006-05-11T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:45:35.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO ( SEM A LETRA A)</title><content type='html'>ONDE HOUVER FLORES, O PERFUME EXISTE;&lt;br /&gt;ONDE HOUVER LUZ, EXISTE BRILHO E  COR!&lt;br /&gt;DO DESTERRO CRUEL, FUNÉRIO E TRISTE,&lt;br /&gt;EMERGE O BELO, COMO NUM  SOL-PÔR...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ONDE TUDO FENECE, SÓ RESISTE&lt;br /&gt;O VELHO SONHO, QUE SE FEZ EM  FLOR;&lt;br /&gt;E TODO SOFRIMENTO SÓ PERSISTE&lt;br /&gt;NO PEITO QUE SE FEZ  MERECEDOR...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO CHORO CONVULSIVO, SEMPRE VEJO,&lt;br /&gt;COMO SE FRUTO FOSSE DO  DESEJO,&lt;br /&gt;UM MOMENTO FELIZ, LIVRE DE DOR;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E NOS MEUS ERROS, MESMO  REPETIDOS,&lt;br /&gt;NO ESPELHO DO DESTINO, REFLETIDOS,&lt;br /&gt;VEJO O ROSTO SUBLIME DO  SENHOR!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739833562664113?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739833562664113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739833562664113&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739833562664113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739833562664113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/soneto-sem-letra.html' title='SONETO ( SEM A LETRA A)'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739831049758136</id><published>2006-05-11T18:44:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:45:10.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>LOUCO AMOR SONETO SEM A LETRA E</title><content type='html'>NO CORAÇÃO AFLITO, OUÇO O ROLAR&lt;br /&gt;DAS LÁGRIMAS OCULTAS DO PASSADO!&lt;br /&gt;O ANTIGO  AMOR, DOS SONHOS AO LUAR,&lt;br /&gt;INUNDA O CORAÇÃO AMARGURADO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OUÇO UM CANTO  OUTONAL, VOLTO A SONHAR,&lt;br /&gt;NA VIBRAÇÃO DO AMOR NÃO OLVIDADO,&lt;br /&gt;COM UM ROSTO,  UM SORRISO, UM LINDO OLHAR,&lt;br /&gt;UM CARINHO FUGAZ, JAMAIS ROUBADO...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;POR  TODA A VIDA ASSIM, SÓ PROCURANDO&lt;br /&gt;NOS SONHOS JÁ SONHADOS, A  DOÇURA,&lt;br /&gt;ABROLHOS DOS CAMINHOS, VOU CORTANDO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AO FIM DA CAMINHADA,  SINTO NO VÃO,&lt;br /&gt;NA LUZ MAIS CRISTALINA INSANA, PURA,&lt;br /&gt;A LUZ DO AMOR PULSAR NO  CORAÇÃO!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739831049758136?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739831049758136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739831049758136&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739831049758136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739831049758136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/louco-amor-soneto-sem-letra-e.html' title='LOUCO AMOR SONETO SEM A LETRA E'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739828005263486</id><published>2006-05-11T18:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:44:40.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO - SE EXISTE DEUS, EXISTE A LUZ DIVINA...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;SE EXISTE DEUS, EXISTE A LUZ  DIVINA&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;TIRANDO DAS TREVAS ETERNAIS DAS  MENTES,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;A ILUMINAR AS ALMAS MAIS  CARENTES,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;TAL VIVA CHAMA, PURA E  CRISTALINA1&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;O  CRIADOR, QUE FEZ TÃO DIFERENTES&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;DIAS E NOITES E TÃO  BEM COMBINA,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;DAS ROSAS OS MATIZES, NOS  ENSINA&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;QUE DEUS É PAI DE TODOS OS  VIVENTES!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;POR TER  ASSIM, UM DIVINAL BOM-GOSTO, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;ELE MAIS BELO FEZ O  SEU SEMBLANTE, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;NO TRAÇO DELICADO DO TEU  ROSTO...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;E A  NATUREZA, ENFIM, AO VER QUEM ÉS,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;FAZ FLORESCER DO  NADA, DESLUMBRANTE. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;UM TAPETE DE ROSAS, A TEUS  PÉS...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739828005263486?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739828005263486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739828005263486&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739828005263486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739828005263486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/soneto-se-existe-deus-existe-luz.html' title='SONETO - SE EXISTE DEUS, EXISTE A LUZ DIVINA...'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739824972939306</id><published>2006-05-11T18:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:44:09.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONETO - SE O HUMANO SER PUDESSE...</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3 class="post-title"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/h3&gt; &lt;div class="post-body"&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;SE O HUMANO SER PUDESSE, NUM  MOMENTO,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;TIRAR DO PEITO AMARGAS  CICATRIZES,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;FILTRANDO O TÉDIO E TODO O  SENTIMENTO,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;TALVEZ ASSIM, NÓS FÔSSEMOS  FELIZES!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;SE TRAZ O  AMOR, CONFORME TU ME DIZES,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;A DOR E NADA MAIS, O  ENCANTAMENTO&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;QUE ELE APRESENTA, EM TODAS AS  MATIZES, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;É CAUSA DE TRISTEZA E  SOFRIMENTO!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;POR ISSO,  QUANDO O AMOR O PEITO INVADE&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;EM UM MOMEMTO ÚNICO E  FELIZ, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;COMO DIZER-TE A VIDA QUIS, UM  DIA&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;ELE JAMAIS TERÁ  FELICIDADE&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;POIS SE ENSINAM O JEITO DE  QUERER,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;NÃO SABEM MESMO, O MODO DE  ESQUECER...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739824972939306?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739824972939306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739824972939306&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739824972939306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739824972939306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/soneto-se-o-humano-ser-pudesse.html' title='SONETO - SE O HUMANO SER PUDESSE...'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27961041.post-114739811066352905</id><published>2006-05-11T18:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:41:50.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HOMENAGEM AO GRANDE POETA EPESCADOR</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3 class="post-title"&gt;DE ISNARD CARVALHO EM HOMENAGEM AO POETA MARCOS COUTINHO  LOURES &lt;/h3&gt; &lt;div class="post-body"&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um  homem pescado pelo rio é um privilegiado.&lt;br /&gt;Tem a sabedoria da terra, do fogo e  do ar.&lt;br /&gt;Um homem pescado pelo rio é completo em sí mesmo.&lt;br /&gt;Transforma anzol  em ponto de interrogação.&lt;br /&gt;Sabe mais que ensinar a pescar.&lt;br /&gt;"Poema em  homenagem ao pescador prof.Marcos Coutinho Loures, pelo rio da triste cidade de  Muriaé"&lt;br /&gt;PUBLICADO NO FORUM DE POESIA -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.sobresites.com/poesia/forum/viewtopic.php?p=20222&amp;sid=9d5c69c7f429483e17fa5890076f2af9"&gt;http://www.sobresites.com/poesia/forum/viewtopic.php?p=20222&amp;amp;sid=9d5c69c7f429483e17fa5890076f2af9&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27961041-114739811066352905?l=minhapoetica.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/feeds/114739811066352905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27961041&amp;postID=114739811066352905&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739811066352905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27961041/posts/default/114739811066352905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://minhapoetica.blogspot.com/2006/05/homenagem-ao-grande-poeta-epescador.html' title='HOMENAGEM AO GRANDE POETA EPESCADOR'/><author><name>MARCOS COUTINHO LOURES</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17014654614023196909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
