tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469772415945355772024-03-12T23:02:31.476-03:00Lua em RefraçãoLua fora de curso sob refração solar no umbral da terra, eis aí que sei e o que sinto, enquanto vou vivendo vou escrevendo.... A arte de "blogar" é a recriação de um novo olhar entre o final e o começo.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-34349795719699704702012-04-19T20:40:00.007-03:002012-08-05T08:13:20.616-03:00Poema Melancólico a não sei que Mulher<br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Dei-te os dias, as horas e os minutos</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Destes anos de vida que passaram;</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Imagens que são máscaras anônimas</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Do teu rosto proibido;</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>A fome insatisfeita que senti</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Era de ti,</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Agora retrocedo, leio os versos,</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Conto as desilusões no rol do coração,</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Recordo o pesadelo dos desejos,</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Olho o deserto humano desolado</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>E pergunto por que, por que razão</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Nas dunas do teu peito o vento passa</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Sem tropeçar na graça</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Do mais leve sinal da minha mão...</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Miguel Torga, in ‘Diário VII’</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-60919179960082844002011-09-06T08:03:00.005-03:002012-08-05T08:11:55.695-03:00Voo da Libélula<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TyBZMBvtsZS3TDXUVWqX0H1CFFGb-23eLjI6cw85CjyYNm746aPVytBE8vvIG9PTlH2S-7XS2NH1MUf7B78FY5w27Ubj4ENHxP6voMrW3aotivgdeCjqtt5qk68dVKhBa5xWlbiiFnU/s1600/lib%25C3%25A9lula.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649200562017189090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TyBZMBvtsZS3TDXUVWqX0H1CFFGb-23eLjI6cw85CjyYNm746aPVytBE8vvIG9PTlH2S-7XS2NH1MUf7B78FY5w27Ubj4ENHxP6voMrW3aotivgdeCjqtt5qk68dVKhBa5xWlbiiFnU/s400/lib%25C3%25A9lula.jpg" style="display: block; height: 236px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 342px;" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><strong> </strong><strong><span style="color: #134f5c;">Libélula<br />Madrepérola dos sonhos<br />Metamorfose feminina<br /><br />Suas asas hão de soltar-se<br />através dos voos matutinos<br />planar sobre as águas cantantes<br />na doce música da juventude<br /><br />Libélula<br />Elegante demoiselle<br />Volúvel donzela<br /><br />Seu belo tempo há de passar<br />em curtos devaneios como a brisa<br />até a paixão encontrá-la<br /><br />E com o vento da tempestade<br />as suas diáfanas asas serão levadas<br />para a boca do Condor</span></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: verdana; font-size: 85%;">Nancy Lix. Poetas pela Paz e Justiça Social II. Ed Alcance</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-78219024791784520232011-06-14T20:16:00.003-03:002011-06-14T20:56:04.771-03:00Ninjas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAyINkwpxiReq24Iv02SfWoYt9Ppe2cJzcePbXFgYYo1AF_fgwJVCHyawITBWW3wMABBPMI66auscyLPEVrM20zrpoJqBsLRaQEAvKpL93xViTwoQmZi5PO62jS1bsb_JnXWLXdrR1lTI/s1600/NinjaInTheNight.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618227996010363682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAyINkwpxiReq24Iv02SfWoYt9Ppe2cJzcePbXFgYYo1AF_fgwJVCHyawITBWW3wMABBPMI66auscyLPEVrM20zrpoJqBsLRaQEAvKpL93xViTwoQmZi5PO62jS1bsb_JnXWLXdrR1lTI/s400/NinjaInTheNight.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663333;"><strong>Supernovas eclodem na escuridão<br />À meia-noite quando ninguém vê<br /><br />Dormem alienados os homens<br /><br />Sob os cobertores nas frias manhãs<br />Lembrar-se-ão apenas da geada<br />A cobrir de branco tudo na terra<br /><br />Nesta hora nascem ninjas de preto</strong></span><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#663300;">© 2011, Nancy Lix.</span></em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-69098238527684491402011-06-05T23:43:00.007-03:002011-06-05T23:54:41.425-03:00Jardins Secretos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVaZv3PrzFMeIfUHgzHfLWysoV_9mXNGPqKVXNi1P9bBKJys3dJWdILao3CmuPVnWvF28G2N3TcSkBjU_96zh5cVxpvvNPCzEqvnaWJJTKhOJh5L5I2y9nsSjiy6KKZAHx5sQczUWm3U/s1600/flores+no+deserto.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614932570789046242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 193px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVaZv3PrzFMeIfUHgzHfLWysoV_9mXNGPqKVXNi1P9bBKJys3dJWdILao3CmuPVnWvF28G2N3TcSkBjU_96zh5cVxpvvNPCzEqvnaWJJTKhOJh5L5I2y9nsSjiy6KKZAHx5sQczUWm3U/s400/flores+no+deserto.bmp" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993300;"><strong>Todos cultivamos secretos jardins<br /><br />Rosas, lírios, jasmins<br /><br />Mesmo no mais árido deserto,<br />O vento desenha flores na areia.</strong></span><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#993300;"><em>© 2011, Nancy Lix. </em></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-70285744816673891492011-02-10T22:38:00.006-02:002011-02-10T23:01:19.064-02:00A Loucura dos Frágeis<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwg0V8WNNjjf_7oFJYR_7m4OgMmehQJ5cn7Hjxi020bHeApIHaQqUpZ1J4MbXJjZ5G6Uh5fPcrWIJcItOeRSC35VoySHJWdvqdF3rxr4wbbjkUAem1LxKbz3RZxea1edD_mPdCfXiPglA/s1600/4458195365_3b3698e26a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572227853346335106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 341px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 208px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwg0V8WNNjjf_7oFJYR_7m4OgMmehQJ5cn7Hjxi020bHeApIHaQqUpZ1J4MbXJjZ5G6Uh5fPcrWIJcItOeRSC35VoySHJWdvqdF3rxr4wbbjkUAem1LxKbz3RZxea1edD_mPdCfXiPglA/s400/4458195365_3b3698e26a.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong>Impressões surrealistas,<br />coloridas reverberações,<br />a loucura dos frágeis<br />ultrapassa os matizes<br />das almas atormentadas<br />pela culpa na escuridão.<br /><br />A dor de viver em trânsito infinito,<br />sombras e luzes na rua molhada,<br />dos faróis cegando os olhos<br />como carros na pista contrária<br />numa longa descida da serra,<br />um atrás do outro sem cessar,<br />numa noite que não termina nunca.<br /><br />Mãos suadas na direção.<br />O alerta constante.<br />Dentre as imagens um branco<br />e ser jogado para fora da estrada.<br /><br />O seu medo é perder a razão.</strong></span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#660000;">© 2010 Nancy Lix. Poetas pela Paz e Justiça Social II. </span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#660000;">Editora Alcance. Porto Alegre.</span></em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-80366511094751256242011-01-03T03:39:00.014-02:002011-02-10T23:03:49.975-02:00A Bailarina<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheis5V8i_7B1IoEwJjDJW9ECDAp_j0gcu5YOFuLcqymkO_QPClC4qGe-1oCLuwkwO3j3MbS7THaIY8FNGU9H4DiEczDTG-WZJKxHonlCKI9FyMQT8xZjLrAYLBrL8folGJl3WsC50zUa8/s1600/bailarina.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557830368835390594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 280px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheis5V8i_7B1IoEwJjDJW9ECDAp_j0gcu5YOFuLcqymkO_QPClC4qGe-1oCLuwkwO3j3MbS7THaIY8FNGU9H4DiEczDTG-WZJKxHonlCKI9FyMQT8xZjLrAYLBrL8folGJl3WsC50zUa8/s400/bailarina.gif" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong><span style="color:#ffcc99;">Entre a mãe<br />e a mulher que sou,<br />dança uma menina,<br />ao redor de si mesma,<br />uma olha,<br />a outra também,<br />cruzam-se os seus olhares<br />através da menina,<br />a mãe reprova a mulher,<br />a mulher reprova a mãe,<br />e, nesta ambigüidade,<br />a menina dança sozinha,<br />em torno de si mesma,<br />construindo o seu plié<br />numa caixinha de música.</span><br /></strong><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#660000;"><em>© 2009, Nancy Lix. Lua em Refração.</em></span></div><div><em><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#660000;">Editora Plus. Porto Alegre</span></em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-86784444143636594492010-10-31T04:12:00.008-02:002010-11-05T11:20:16.963-02:00Motivos para odiar<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnE-osHft-fhfLuxFb2nSWespqa8VCr7Pshs7DMYzOifNMjFUi89x5p32_ac56JfE4f3V8eBwj83cBoxJSTK85LHjURPWyN48uiOK_gOOJWmJfxjwV65hNfpT2ZLJ9kcHDkPIn8saEqrU/s1600/Singing+Birds+Du+Yuxi+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534093453861655106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 202px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 251px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnE-osHft-fhfLuxFb2nSWespqa8VCr7Pshs7DMYzOifNMjFUi89x5p32_ac56JfE4f3V8eBwj83cBoxJSTK85LHjURPWyN48uiOK_gOOJWmJfxjwV65hNfpT2ZLJ9kcHDkPIn8saEqrU/s400/Singing+Birds+Du+Yuxi+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#336666;"><strong>Motivos para odiar<br />Eu os teria<br />Não fosse o sentimento<br />Da minha pequenez<br />Diante dos pássaros<br />Que trinam felizes<br />Num dia de sol qualquer</strong></span><br /><div></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#003333;">© 2010, Nancy Lix.</span></em> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-49126455865762851982010-10-03T02:32:00.014-03:002010-10-03T03:23:54.096-03:00As Mãos do Baterista<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52slDkX4X89x4pkNAHiMvGoTxpQj55p5oVDIvp9mEvDx9zzrVvmTopuHTyhG33KChUwE91pA1ZZ5M4NXGnsVScZEy1gtkRRcGoAhVyt_qnz4LvTFH03mb68l-YS0T7pJ5M0cr-8frjCY/s1600/tcvaustin03.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523693249771940754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 285px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 246px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52slDkX4X89x4pkNAHiMvGoTxpQj55p5oVDIvp9mEvDx9zzrVvmTopuHTyhG33KChUwE91pA1ZZ5M4NXGnsVScZEy1gtkRRcGoAhVyt_qnz4LvTFH03mb68l-YS0T7pJ5M0cr-8frjCY/s400/tcvaustin03.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong>Amo as mãos do baterista,<br />batendo firme,<br />forte,<br />acompanhando o ritmo<br />em batida cadência,<br />contida,<br />repetida,<br />sem tocar nos pratos,<br />- estridente dispersão – </strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong><br />Amo mais a contenção,<br />a pulsão concentrada<br />destes surdos momentos,<br />como se tocassem<br />em tom subliminar,<br />veladamente subliminar,<br />subtônico,<br />e, aperto os fones no ouvido,<br />tento isolar-me de tudo,<br />das vozes,<br />instrumentos de corda,<br />qualquer outro som,<br />concentro-me no baterista,<br />anônimo baterista,<br />sentindo-o nas minhas pernas,<br />com os calcanhares em sintonia<br />fazendo dueto comigo no chão.</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#990000;"><em>Nancy Lix. As Mãos do Baterista, pág 125. Lua em Refração, Editora Plus, 2009.</em></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-36678771484412680662010-09-29T00:26:00.014-03:002010-10-03T03:20:43.316-03:00Metamorfose<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoVAnz7LiM1RMcFP2qDjga0lDB1mhl7i-kRX7UNlPDaoLClF8Zu6FMKBTkAxE9vQYTNPSN8X13_lbaPkXObGTq1Qw_XkgcHxzzMKm4lQTA-w1y8ZVTpLDg3XzjO5OV8qfd15JJ4kWG_4/s1600/Eva+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523700836023894482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 296px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoVAnz7LiM1RMcFP2qDjga0lDB1mhl7i-kRX7UNlPDaoLClF8Zu6FMKBTkAxE9vQYTNPSN8X13_lbaPkXObGTq1Qw_XkgcHxzzMKm4lQTA-w1y8ZVTpLDg3XzjO5OV8qfd15JJ4kWG_4/s400/Eva+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Permita-me fechar o anel,<br />engolir o meu próprio veneno,<br />em circunvolução,<br />nascer para mim mesma,<br />com asas,<br />tal serpente voadora,<br />acima do mal e do bem,<br />uma alma livre<br />num corpo de mulher,<br />que eu te permito<br />decifrares a tua sombra,<br />ou ser por ela ser devorado,<br />caso me obrigues<br />a rastejar sob os teus pés...</span><br /></strong><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#990000;"><em>Nancy Lix. Metamorfose. Lua em Refração. Página 40, Editora Plus, 2009.</em></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-12855663443468540412010-07-24T19:03:00.006-03:002010-09-07T23:41:31.486-03:00Flores<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMNq-1wEbblCSU9ApM-1R05W5MD1hMNhggh9xG2OIPN4Yvyx9MBYk7bl_Jet72EgToiq8RGHZoeqdbOUC3hiPw0zY7q8MlJxH1UC_HNZmgQuGKo9UvBTjezYlv0EGJ10B1RFSQZDCQzk/s1600/rosas_espinhos+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497600036577237074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 163px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMNq-1wEbblCSU9ApM-1R05W5MD1hMNhggh9xG2OIPN4Yvyx9MBYk7bl_Jet72EgToiq8RGHZoeqdbOUC3hiPw0zY7q8MlJxH1UC_HNZmgQuGKo9UvBTjezYlv0EGJ10B1RFSQZDCQzk/s400/rosas_espinhos+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Não desejo mais receber flores,<br />Nunca sei se são aromas felizes<br />Ou notas de dissabores...</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#333333;"></span></div><div></div><div><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#333333;">© 2010, Nancy Lix.</span></em> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-68115909090940626672010-05-18T04:07:00.008-03:002010-09-07T23:25:44.700-03:00A Dança da Serpente<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiy78BQh9l7UE1vhq3BFDfuTXYbXWdT97ug1i4vzqqcdZ0TOzMrye0h-1F7IJyS6PBLAflA5YPO1s2CWlv7G5VSO1yFEv-qiXHiCtn9ajt4vDmCJr1A1iUUlQYYLaUIaG_2OUmwQW5BcI/s1600/Serpente+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472505402674610770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiy78BQh9l7UE1vhq3BFDfuTXYbXWdT97ug1i4vzqqcdZ0TOzMrye0h-1F7IJyS6PBLAflA5YPO1s2CWlv7G5VSO1yFEv-qiXHiCtn9ajt4vDmCJr1A1iUUlQYYLaUIaG_2OUmwQW5BcI/s400/Serpente+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;">Deixe-a dançar<br />A serpente quer dançar<br /><br />Deslizar em circunvoluções<br /><br />Viver a canção dos sentidos<br /><br />Deixe-a dançar<br />A serpente quer dançar<br /><br />Apenas dançar a sua própria música<br /><br />Nada mais.</span><br /></strong></span><div><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">© 2010, Nancy Lix.</span> </span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-51964859947286516782010-05-09T13:59:00.008-03:002010-09-07T23:26:50.879-03:00Este amor de Mãe<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDf4EQcYJ3h3xboQLXyIWdA6cZlvVwVsQZGVqPjhnrXaYcNxDh5YASgjeHiKOHULjDCszYPK6LbT4LnMTIAOV9sRCNCuAe2y1zeKNeCJ9UHUxkcSx3G4KPQRwScmDVc0fewY5jD97JGc/s1600/w-mother-and-child%2520(2).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469352164932420114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 261px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDf4EQcYJ3h3xboQLXyIWdA6cZlvVwVsQZGVqPjhnrXaYcNxDh5YASgjeHiKOHULjDCszYPK6LbT4LnMTIAOV9sRCNCuAe2y1zeKNeCJ9UHUxkcSx3G4KPQRwScmDVc0fewY5jD97JGc/s400/w-mother-and-child%2520(2).jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Estranho amor este de mãe, ri-se com lágrimas, chora-se com sorrisos, perdoa-se tudo incondicionalmente.</strong></span> </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">(Nancy Lix, Reflexões 2010)</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-24651377257273030872010-05-08T17:16:00.003-03:002010-05-08T17:21:05.521-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong>Não sou nada, apenas reflexo dos outros dentro e fora de mim.</strong></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#990000;">Nancy Lix. Reflexões 2010.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-19164897969484619372010-05-02T19:41:00.005-03:002010-05-02T19:50:58.994-03:00Cantiga da Menina II<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMqwWu0uDpu-uRWtILqY30PRbTOyiAbKMstKQVAERTlIX9-KwLoUf3DbqGl5qaDCBkRrDSMVpHGAKMi2q9slmB_X8J6Q465iRhQoM_oBjsvroI2jTLsfzUAG618-r3ZHdCk6IM8RA8WQ/s1600/menina+de+boina.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466807515088704210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 208px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 270px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMqwWu0uDpu-uRWtILqY30PRbTOyiAbKMstKQVAERTlIX9-KwLoUf3DbqGl5qaDCBkRrDSMVpHGAKMi2q9slmB_X8J6Q465iRhQoM_oBjsvroI2jTLsfzUAG618-r3ZHdCk6IM8RA8WQ/s400/menina+de+boina.bmp" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;">Menina escondida<br />No cesto de cerejas<br />Me dê a mão<br />Não tenha medo<br />O mundo é bom<br /><br />Cresça ligeirinho<br />Abra bem os olhos<br />Morda uma cereja<br />Pinte os lábios de batom<br /><br />O mundo é bom<br />O mundo é bom<br />O mundo é bom</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#990000;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">© 2010, Nancy Lix</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-3822839896832597172010-05-02T19:08:00.005-03:002010-05-02T19:24:40.776-03:00<span style="font-family:verdana;color:#990000;"><strong>Ser mulher é sobreviver à sombra do homem</strong>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#990000;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Nancy Lix. Reflexões 2010.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-63187641289357156402010-03-26T12:15:00.010-03:002010-03-26T12:55:01.290-03:00O Poema de Nietzsche<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZl-cKdOlrzEaGnUITW7IacsY5bWQMlUMnBkiiXGfZUFGW7nvlUV7s4fu4o5OWwITCfisHb6m_T9LpmCdXUM9_Zhw6e3e3wBp7T6GAHPn-YwmTNTSv8Yvffdh1lhtifbT6qzkKIyyk20I/s1600/abismo_tdg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452970524887499986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 292px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 208px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZl-cKdOlrzEaGnUITW7IacsY5bWQMlUMnBkiiXGfZUFGW7nvlUV7s4fu4o5OWwITCfisHb6m_T9LpmCdXUM9_Zhw6e3e3wBp7T6GAHPn-YwmTNTSv8Yvffdh1lhtifbT6qzkKIyyk20I/s400/abismo_tdg.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993300;">Uma corda estendida<br />entre o animal e o super-homem,<br />uma corda sobre o abismo.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993300;">Perigoso transpor,<br />estar a caminho,<br />olhar para trás,<br />tremer,<br />parar.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993300;">Grande no homem é ser ponte,<br />não meta,<br />o poder amar-se,<br />ser transição<br />e ocaso.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="color:#993300;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;">Nietzsche, Assim Falou Zaratustra</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-48065873615520836912010-01-31T05:14:00.012-02:002010-09-07T23:27:37.613-03:00O outro lado da lua<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBANL3xQ7nv9gZT826rUwZjqOHuoUEEFsou8MEaIjlhktf323rhPl_kmt7lsc0VBJxuJZR0yPszmFr1vslnXu8VpYiTL44fKGNPwNq9RSIDYZvPbHT3c_3mB9T25kyiwQRc1KQNcxzimQ/s1600-h/Witch+0blog.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432799036267801122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 313px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 261px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBANL3xQ7nv9gZT826rUwZjqOHuoUEEFsou8MEaIjlhktf323rhPl_kmt7lsc0VBJxuJZR0yPszmFr1vslnXu8VpYiTL44fKGNPwNq9RSIDYZvPbHT3c_3mB9T25kyiwQRc1KQNcxzimQ/s400/Witch+0blog.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Quem já viveu o lado sombrio da humilhação<br />sabe como é difícil voltar a acreditar em ser mulher...</span> </span><br /><br /></strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Nancy Lix, Reflexões</span> <span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">2010</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-68438894021138709772009-12-17T13:40:00.003-02:002009-12-17T13:44:35.450-02:00Pecado dos Anjos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDXeDIo59HPHYh-yguck-UyXRiFVIXSVXw0wDH06no2A9sTaztgYnbAxq01AUEaIYqfE_aQA-yW1iVpUD5CB7RuoU17LyvKZaE8xaIM6V7f6alRElglfP0n0Xs4xtsjptNG_cYrVj5r4/s1600-h/angels-rock.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416231189884422914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 243px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 251px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDXeDIo59HPHYh-yguck-UyXRiFVIXSVXw0wDH06no2A9sTaztgYnbAxq01AUEaIYqfE_aQA-yW1iVpUD5CB7RuoU17LyvKZaE8xaIM6V7f6alRElglfP0n0Xs4xtsjptNG_cYrVj5r4/s400/angels-rock.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#999999;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#999999;">Viver<br />- meu segredo e nigredo pessoal -<br />com medo de perder as alturas,<br />as asas da minha sublime loucura,<br />a paixão do que nunca é vivido,<br />e nem pode<br />transformar-se em efêmera loucura,<br />humana,<br />letal,<br />em ritmo orgástico<br />esgotando seu poder e força pura.<br /><br />Viver<br />- meu segredo e nigredo pessoal –<br />separando o dia da noite,<br />os opostos da minha alma,<br />os desejos imaterializáveis,<br />irreconciliáveis portanto com a vida,<br />como água e óleo,<br />velando a minha ungida loucura<br />através dos sentidos,<br />sem esgotar-se,<br />sem corromper-se<br />ante a brevidade da matéria,<br />bebendo o sangue e a ternura,<br />do mesmo cálice de estigma<br />e paixão,<br />na expectativa de orgasmo eterno.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#999999;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;">© 2009, Nancy Lix. Lua em Refração</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-71595718711142691242009-12-08T18:39:00.007-02:002009-12-09T02:21:38.953-02:00<span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>"Somente aqueles que verdadeiramente amam e que são verdadeiramente fortes podem sustentar suas vidas como um sonho... mesmo se você perder, ou ser derrotado por coisas, está protegido por seu próprio conto de fadas."</strong><br /><br />Ben Okri, In Arcádia (Phoenix House, 2002)</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-23843637706381296212009-12-01T18:26:00.008-02:002009-12-15T20:51:45.923-02:00Loucura de Amor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRX34w3pkb4Jludu0mXOL0iAOPTnNi1G26rSjF12vGnaGvBXXwLU9-LsOsuRY0bLmdBkAlpoWK54nswwO4XU5pJgtyvBNOxxaBfKiaA3bflQ6iZP-C6SrlP8qoKrcxSs53_em8DA01f4/s1600/Nu+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410367837125595138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 210px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRX34w3pkb4Jludu0mXOL0iAOPTnNi1G26rSjF12vGnaGvBXXwLU9-LsOsuRY0bLmdBkAlpoWK54nswwO4XU5pJgtyvBNOxxaBfKiaA3bflQ6iZP-C6SrlP8qoKrcxSs53_em8DA01f4/s400/Nu+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;"><strong>Nossa loucura tem uma lógica<br />no furo da boca do outro<br />sugando o ardente gozo.<br /><br />Mistério inapreensível,<br />as papilas da língua<br />ligando o verbo à vida.</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:#000000;">.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#660000;"></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#993300;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;"></span></div><div><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">© 2009, Nancy Lix.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <span style="color:#660000;">Lua em Refração</span></span></span></em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-36254901821727847112009-11-21T14:43:00.005-02:002010-05-02T19:31:09.965-03:00Cantiga da Menina I<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbkkDGDOKHSHc4c1xjPHBgMu1AIzLYYQUWjfZ-d1D7GKLeMXXWio1xMeLfWCjpa6IjDJGu2sIUcArSjf3q4-XL-Su5Ji2TkcXfqKycKqfhC-D2HP4H9llxqNluAhcmfswM4RXOHGIkt0/s1600/juliobrigato_2577093__Meninas_Pulando_Corda_(80_x_80_)_OST_2007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406599117151566706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 257px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 259px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbkkDGDOKHSHc4c1xjPHBgMu1AIzLYYQUWjfZ-d1D7GKLeMXXWio1xMeLfWCjpa6IjDJGu2sIUcArSjf3q4-XL-Su5Ji2TkcXfqKycKqfhC-D2HP4H9llxqNluAhcmfswM4RXOHGIkt0/s400/juliobrigato_2577093__Meninas_Pulando_Corda_(80_x_80_)_OST_2007.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color:#993300;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Pula corda, menina<br /></span>Menina, pula corda<br /><br />Sem tropicar,<br />Sem enroscar<br />no tornozelo a serpente<br /><br />Pula corda, menina<br />Menina, pula corda<br /><br />Que a noite já vem<br />A noite é escura<br />Traz ou não o bem</span><br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;">© 2009, Nancy Lix.</span></em> </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-47757099446722197492009-11-11T07:48:00.005-02:002010-09-07T23:35:03.146-03:00Beijo de Vampiro<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiJAxKjOSVDb7Wtylz0XF8roXyo5814yvpDpfXkdxIpE52FFfKU5QSNb5pzZf0pIdio773J5wwEt5AZaWxcNVtKA_l-Nd-CePbqOWCv5RBTUksGb1xiPn5Mqk1sZZ7x-D1iTm1HKCJOI/s1600-h/Dark-Gothic-39896-979409.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402784912881468562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiJAxKjOSVDb7Wtylz0XF8roXyo5814yvpDpfXkdxIpE52FFfKU5QSNb5pzZf0pIdio773J5wwEt5AZaWxcNVtKA_l-Nd-CePbqOWCv5RBTUksGb1xiPn5Mqk1sZZ7x-D1iTm1HKCJOI/s400/Dark-Gothic-39896-979409.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">Meu cabelo é meu véu,<br />quando as minhas mãos<br />sobre o ombro juntá-lo,<br />então beijar-me tu podes<br />na esquerda nudez<br />do meu pescoço<br />um doce beijo de vampiro.<br /><br />Nesta noite serei tua.</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;"></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#660000;"><em>© 2009, Nancy Lix. Lua em Refração</em></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-53919487475262072852009-09-13T22:14:00.008-03:002009-09-13T22:23:06.029-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">"Je crois que l'homme est un nomade, qu'il est fait pour se promener, pour aller voir de l'autre côté de la colline."</span></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="color:#990000;"><br />Eu acredito que o homem é um nômade, ele é feito para andar, para ver o outro lado da colina.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Mohamed El Jeroudi, Poésie Nomade</span></strong></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-4035032108104985642009-09-03T01:54:00.009-03:002010-09-07T23:41:19.720-03:00Fria madrugada sem fim<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittw4yE_1FhxfiiaxIJFD47ldwSWNi5b4749XBuMegUuifs9sXvWkoGQmeAGRS2JVqUK0fmggcGYxM2M1G1BrXQtWjLg2tZQFv5Ta1j11gcnDwnmX8FrdlBvnD9bMW-zL6n_x2s1DGYnQ/s1600-h/3798802479_09bf9895c2_m.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377114007952608546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 183px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 187px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittw4yE_1FhxfiiaxIJFD47ldwSWNi5b4749XBuMegUuifs9sXvWkoGQmeAGRS2JVqUK0fmggcGYxM2M1G1BrXQtWjLg2tZQFv5Ta1j11gcnDwnmX8FrdlBvnD9bMW-zL6n_x2s1DGYnQ/s400/3798802479_09bf9895c2_m.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong>......................................................................<br /></strong></span><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Entre minha ilusão de existir</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>E o nada negro que agora há comigo e não existe</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Amei como quem ama, sem ter a quem amar</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Quis como quem quer, sem ter o que querer</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Tive como quem tem, sem ter o que ter</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Fui como quem é, sem ter o que ser</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>E agora sinto como quem não sente</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Nada tenho. </strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><strong>Só, sou.</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;">........................................................................</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><em>Roger Jones .</em></span><a href="http://blogrogerjones.blogspot.com/2006/04/fria-madrugada-sem-fim.html"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><em>http://blogrogerjones.blogspot.com/2006/04/fria-madrugada-sem-fim.html</em></span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666666;"><em> </em></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-746977241594535577.post-78809910532251189982009-08-18T09:28:00.006-03:002010-09-07T23:36:32.625-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">O que pedimos ao destino outras já pediram. Cometemos sempre o mesmo erro.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#660000;"></span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#660000;"><em>(NancyLix)</em></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#660000;"></span></strong>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2