Palavras lidas #609

Anniversary
by Davi Walders

That you and I, I and you,
this twenty-fifth year after
you stamped your foot, shattered
the glass, and friends, so many dead
or forgotten, applauded in a ballroom
long abandoned, twenty-five years
of Monday good-byes, monthly wars
with stacks of bills, bags of garbage,
frozen gutters, nights filled
with pink medicines, fevered cheeks
on shoulders, the other hand reaching
for the pediatrician's call, termites
chewing, and hours waiting
for the door to open, holding
our own daughter's head vomiting
beer into our own leaking toilet,
that now, as mirrors mark the descent
of breasts, the tub catches silvered
pubic hair and our eyes wear pouches
and hoods, as though expecting rain,
that you and I could smell the salt
of each other, coming together after
long absence, silent, still, staring up
at the darkening ceiling, naked in a house
with empty, orderly bedrooms, the last
of dead roses and discarded boyfriends
tossed out, your hand touching mine,
our breathing slowing,
the wonder of it all.

Caprichos #458

O belo pastel de nata

Ditto #606

Being an old maid was a great deal like death by drowning — a really delightful sensation when you ceased struggling.

--Edna Ferber

Caprichos #457

Carapauzinhos fritos com arroz de grelos E feijão frade...

... à Tico Tico.

Sem título #412

Cat threat

Caprichos #456

Genesis, Lisboa; ao Campo Pequeno

Parece que estou a ouvir #484

Carol singing time

In the Bleak Midwinter

poem by Christina Rossetti

music by Gustav Holst

n the bleak mid-winter
  Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron,
  Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
  Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
  Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him
  Nor earth sustain,
Heaven and earth shall flee away
  When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
  A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty —
  Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
  Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
  And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom Angels
  Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
  Which adore.

Angels and Archangels
  May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
  Thronged the air;
But only His Mother
  In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
  With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
  Poor as I am? —
If I were a Shepherd
  I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man
  I would do my part, —
Yet what I can I give Him, —
  Give my heart.

Coisas bonitas #181

Another orange-pink sunset

Coisas bonitas #180

Beautiful Milo... not so obviously kitten anymore, but still!

Sem título #401

Hercules...

Espantos #689

Delicious cheese night at The Old Windmill on Spon Street in Coventry

Palavras lidas #608

Flying
by Richard Wilbur

Treetops are not so high
Nor I so low
That I don't instinctively know
How it would be to fly

Through gaps that the wind makes, when
The leaves arouse
And there is a lifting of boughs
That settle and lift again.

Whatever my kind may be,
It is not absurd
To confuse myself with a bird
For the space of a reverie:

My species never flew,
But I somehow know
It is something that long ago
I almost adapted to.

Ditto #605

A dame that knows the ropes isn't likely to get tied up.

--Mae West

Numa sala perto de mim #455

Conclave (2024) is exactly what it says it is: the story of the choice of the new head of the church, in a scenario where modesty, pride, ambition, control, power, and influence do not take the back seat. Though the premise is appealing and the movie well acted and quite gripping of attention, there are too many story lines too fantastic to be believed an unknown cardinal joining the conclave, a terrorist attack, an outside world that is closed to all but not really. Still, very entertaining.

Espantos #688

Remnants of Darragh

Parece que estou a ouvir #483

Vilarejo

Marisa Monte

Há um vilarejo ali
Onde areja um vento bom
Na varanda, quem descansa
Vê o horizonte deitar no chão

P'ra acalmar o coração
Lá o mundo tem razão
Terra de heróis, lares de mãe
Paraíso se mudou para lá

Por cima das casas, cal
Frutos em qualquer quintal
Peitos fartos, filhos fortes
Sonho semeando o mundo real

Toda gente cabe lá
Palestina, Shangri-lá

Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa

Lá o tempo espera
Lá é primavera
Portas e janelas ficam sempre abertas
P'ra sorte entrar
Em todas as mesas, pão
Flores enfeitando
Os caminhos, os vestidos, os destinos
E essa canção

Tem um verdadeiro amor
Para quando você for

Há um vilarejo ali
Onde areja um vento bom
Na varanda, quem descansa
Vê o horizonte deitar no chão

P'ra acalmar o coração
Lá o mundo tem razão
Terra de heróis, lares de mãe
Paraiso se mudou para lá

Por cima das casas, cal
Frutos em qualquer quintal
Peitos fartos, filhos fortes
Sonho semeando o mundo real

Toda gente cabe lá
Palestina, Shangri-lá

Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa

Lá o tempo espera
Lá é primavera
Portas e janelas ficam sempre abertas
P'ra sorte entrar
Em todas as mesas, pão
Flores enfeitando
Os caminhos, os vestidos, os destinos
E essa canção
Tem um verdadeiro amor
Para quando você for

Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa

Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa
Vem andar e voa

Sem título #400

Not that smart...

Espantos #687

Com uma pequena beterraba a sopa de couve flor fica laranja

com 4 pequenas beterrabas fica mesmo vermelha!

Coisas que não mudam #689

Talkative Rolf!

Palavras lidas #607

It was a quiet way
by Emily Dickinson

It was a quiet way—
He asked if I was his—
1 made no answer of the Tongue
But answer of the Eyes—
And then He bore me on
Before this mortal noise
With swiftness, as of Chariots
And distance, as of Wheels.
This World did drop away
As Acres from the feet
Of one that leaneth from Balloon
Upon an Ether street.
The Gulf behind was not,
The Continents were new—
Eternity it was before
Eternity was due.
No Seasons were to us—
It was not Night nor Morn—
But Sunrise stopped upon the place
And fastened it in Dawn.

Ditto #604

Only amateurs say that they write for their own amusement. Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth. Writing may be interesting, absorbing, exhilarating, racking, relieving. But amusing? Never!

--Edna Ferber

Sem título #399

Who knows... tuna and liver?

Coisas bonitas #179

Beautiful winter morning colors

Numa sala perto de mim #454

Waking Ned Devine (1999) tells the story of a tiny village in Ireland, where old Ned Divine is blessed with substantial lottery winnings but dies upon learning the news on tv as he watches the live broadcast of the national lottery extraction. With the lottery official coming to town to confirm Ned's prize, the entire village needs to unite if they want to keep the prize home. A non-trivial cooperation games ensues.

Parece que estou a ouvir #482

Roubei-te um beijo
Buba Espinho e António Zambujo

Roubei-te um beijo
Não querias dar
estou muito triste
mas por ti não vou chorar

Não vou chorar
Não vou sofrer
Estou muito triste
Mas por ti não vou morrer

Estou de abalada
Vou para as terras de Espanha
Tu não me queres
Aqui mais ninguém me apanha

Ninguém me apanha
Já cá não está quem sofria
Meu lindo amor
Tu hás de chorar um dia

As tristes lamurias do rouxinol
Em seminhalma
Do nascer ao pôr do sol
Ao por do sol
à luz da lua
Não há no mundo
Cara mais linda do que a tua

Estou de abalada
Vou para as terras de Espanha
Tu não me queres
Aqui mais ninguém me apanha

Ninguém me apanha
Já cá não está quem sofria
Meu lindo amor
Tu hás de chorar um dia

Robei-te um beijo
Foi por paixão
Vê la não digas
a ninguém que eu sou ladrão

Que eu sou ladrão
Apaixonado
Meu lindo amor
quero viver ao teu lado

Estou de abalada
Vou para as terras de Espanha
Tu não me queres
Aqui mais ninguém me apanha

Ninguém me apanha
Já cá não está quem sofria
Meu lindo amor
Tu hás de chorar um dia

Retirado do contexto #431

Office fun

Sem título #398

Funnel elements...

Coisas que mudaram #36

Temperaturas ao longo do dia

na latitude onde não se cresceu... é estranho!

Retirado do contexto #430

Esticadinhos!

Palavras lidas #606

The Calculus
by Paul Hostovsky

My hygienist likes to include me
in the decision-making.
“Shall we use the hand scaler
or the ultrasonic today?” she asks me.
I like the way she says “we,”
like we’re doing something intimate
and collaborative,
like building a snowman,
or more like dismantling one
after an ice storm, flake
by frozen flake. “The calculus
is caused by precipitation
of minerals from your saliva,” she explains.
“You can’t remove it with your toothbrush.
Only a professional can do that.” She’s very
professional. She doesn’t dumb it down.
“Pay more attention to the lingual side
of your mandibular anteriors,” she says.
I love it when she talks like that.
I love the names of teeth: incisor, third molar, bicuspid,
eyetooth. Her own teeth are
virtuosic. “Calculus comes from the Greek
for stone,” she says. “In mathematics
it’s counting with stones. In medicine,
it’s the mineral buildup in the body: kidney stones,
tartar on teeth.” She teaches me all this
as I sit there with my mouth open,
looking astonished.

Ditto #603

Between two evils, I like to pick the one I haven't tried before.

--Mae West

Inverno #85

Primeira neve da época 24/25

onde as cores de outono e inverno se misturam

caracterizando-se o inverno pela ausência de cor

confortável para ver de dentro de casa

de preferência com uma bebida quente!

Sem título #397

Hold on... to infinity...

Parece que estou a ouvir #481

Solidão
Sara Correia e António Zambujo

Já não sei viver sozinha
Por mais que diga que sim
Parece coisa tão pouca
Um beijo na tua boca
Mas é tanto para mim

E por mais contas que faça
O amor não se explica
Mais forte do que a razão
É dono do coração
E dele não abdica

Vem por isso, meu amor
Mesmo que seja já tarde
Porque é sempre muito cedo
P'ra te dizer em segredo
Que te quero de verdade

Já sinto os passos lá fora, ai
E um baque fundo no peito
Será que chegas agora?
Nesta espera hora a hora
Quando sozinha me deito

Eu já não sei viver sozinha
Por mais que diga que sim
Parece coisa tão pouca
Um beijo na tua boca
Mas é tanto para mim

Já sinto os passos lá fora
E um baque fundo no peito
Será que chegas agora?
Nesta espera hora a hora
Quando sozinha me deito

Quando sozinha me deito
Quando sozinha me deito
Quando sozinha me deito

Caprichos #455

Lovely brunch at Granary Square north of King's Cross

Pedaços de Londres #2

Christmas market in Leicester square

Covent Garden market

Big Ben seen from the South Bank

London eye

Neighborhood North of King's Cross

Retirado do contexto #429

Planta feliz

Caprichos #454

Homemade Indian food

Inverno #84

Depending on where you look,

Fall colours are mostly gone

Coisas bonitas #178

November's calendar page

reminds me of beautiful kitten Milo

Sem título #396

I wish...

Palavras lidas #605

A Dark Thing Inside the Day
by Linda Gregg

So many want to be lifted by song and dancing,
and this morning it is easy to understand.
I write in the sound of chirping birds hidden
in the almond trees, the almonds still green
and thriving in the foliage. Up the street,
a man is hammering to make a new house as doves
continue their cooing forever. Bees humming
and high above that a brilliant clear sky.
The roses are blooming and I smell the sweetness.
Everything desirable is here already in abundance.
And the sea. The dark thing is hardly visible
in the leaves, under the sheen. We sleep easily.
So I bring no sad stories to warn the heart.
All the flowers are adult this year. The good
world gives and the white doves praise all of it.

Coisas que não mudam #688

Remembrance Sunday

Abide with me

by H.F. Lyte (1793-1847)

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away
Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou who changest not, abide with me

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness
Where is death's sting?
Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee
In life, in death, o Lord, abide with me
Abide with me, abide with me

Ditto #605

If everyone pulled in the same direction the earth would keel over.

--Yiddish proverb