Primavera #192

Maio é definitivamente o mês

da primavera declarada no Reino Unido

Sem título #372

Somewhere...

Coisas que não mudam #668

Os gansos crescem depressa

E um novo ciclo começa para outras famílias de gansos

Parece que estou a ouvir #444

Crying, Laughing, Loving, Lying

Labi Siffre

Crying
Crying never did nobody no good, no how
That's why I don't cry
That's why I don't cry

Laughing
Laughing sometimes does somebody some good somehow
That's why I'm laughing now
That's why I'm laughing now

Loving
Loving never did me no good, no how, no how
That's why I can't love you now
That's why I can't love you now

Lying
Lying never did nobody no good, no how, no how
So why am I lying now?
So why am I lying now?

So why am I lying now?

Palavras lidas #588

On Memorial day

They were so young

Garrison Keillor

Memorial Day and the old folks come
And stand in the sun feeling sad and dumb.
The boys in the ground—there are so many,
They’re eighteen, nineteen, maybe twenty—

They just moved out of a boy’s bedroom
And went to war, now they lie in a tomb
Old people come on Memorial Day
And people speak but what’s there to say?
The dead would trade it all for the chance
To find a girl and ask her to dance.

Ticonderoga, Hamburger Hill,
Young men marching out to kill.
Manassas, Shiloh, Chancellorsville,
They fell down and they lie there still.

World War I: they picked up their arms
And marched to Ypres and the Battle of the Marne
Vimy Ridge, Passchendaele, the Somme,
Midwestern boys far from home.
On ninety acres near Ardennes
Five thousand 162 men
Who left the U.S.A. to strike
Down the wickedness of the Third Reich.

Eight thousand near Henri-Chapelle,
Outside London, in northern France,
Lie men who served their country well
And fought to liberate foreign lands.
On land and sea, in the air they fought,
Landed in France, advanced to the Rhine,
Ferocious battles along the line.
In a terrifying moment, died
And now they lie in a narrow lot,
Head to foot and side by side

Far from Ohio, New York, P.A.
And now their families are fading away,
And memories fade,
And how many visitors come around
To visit this or that burial ground?

So on one day at the end of May
We pause and think of what we owe
To those who lie here row after row
Who fought for freedom long ago.

Iwo Jima and Normandy,
Anzio and the Coral Sea,
The Battle of the Bulge, the Korean War,
Pork Chop Hill, the Chosin Reservoir,
Loc Ninh, Dak To, the siege of Khe Sanh,
The Tet Offensive and the battle of Saigon:
Young men running and young men fall,
Their names are inscribed on a long stone wall.

Iraq, Afghanistan, again and again,
The story repeated of elderly men
Wary of appearing weak,
Needing heroic lines to speak,
Sent the soldiers out to die,
Leaving the mothers and sisters to cry.

Tragic mistakes were made, it’s true.
Generals sent young men to do
What shouldn’t be done,
What couldn’t be won.
At a terrible cost,
The mission failed, young men were lost.

History will not ignore
The screw-ups that are a part of war.
Presidents, senators, leaders will be
Closely examined by history,

And on 9/11 in the terrible hours
When the fires burned in the twin towers
Men and women of the emergency force
Came racing through the downtown streets,
Cops and firemen and EMTs
Dragged equipment through the doors
And headed for the upper floors.
Knowing this was no accident.
Up the smoky stairs they went
With every reason to assume
That this building would be their tomb.
And those who suffered and fell will be heard,
And history will have the last word.

But all we say on Memorial Day
As bells are rung, hymns are sung,
Flowers are brought and strewed among
The stones and crosses in this yard,
The graves of those who did their part.
All we say is, it breaks your heart:
They were so young.
They were so young.
They were so young.
They missed out on so many years

So after you decorate the grave,
After the speeches and the tears,
Enjoy this land they died to save.
Enjoy your life, see your friends,

Put the hamburgers on the grill,
Toss a salad, eat your fill,
Let the festivity commence,
Take a walk, go for a run,
Let jokes be told and songs be sung,
Do the things they would’ve done,
Those who died too young.

Caprichos #442

Sushi fest!

Numa sala perto de mim #450

Wicked little letters (2024) the typical scapegoat story where the one who sys it is the one who is it...

Sem título #371

Just a bit stupid...

Coisas que não mudam #664

You're mine... I'm comfy, don't move

Palavras lidas #587

Drift
by Charles Rafferty

Long ago, the old friends stopped calling. I used to think they had
lost my number. Now I forgive them their children and their jobs,
their wives and their divorces, their cancer and their lawns, the fifteen
minutes they allow themselves at the piano every night. I am able to go
on without them—a kind of orphan from the life I used to live. This is
what I’m thinking as I get in the car to take my daughter to her voice
lesson. The ride is a quiet one. She is getting older and has learned to
keep things to herself. When we arrive at the lesson, she makes it clear,
without saying so, that I should wait outside. So I stay in the car—doing
the bills, doing the things I hate—as her high notes drift through the
studio door, the glass of the car window, the air that will be between us
now from here until the end.

Ditto #585

[Our] future will be determined by the home and the school. The child becomes largely what he is taught; hence we must watch what we teach, and how we live.

--Jane Addams

Primavera #191

Unusual tulips

Sem título #370

Simple to please :-)

Parece que estou a ouvir #443

Malmequer

Amália Rodrigues

Oh, malmequer mentiroso!
Quem te ensinou a mentir?
Tu dizes que me quer bem
Quem de mim anda a fugir!

Desfolhei o malmequer
No lindo jardim de Santarém!
Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Um malmequer pequenino
Disse um dia à linda rosa:
Por te chamarem rainha
Não sejas tão orgulhosa!

Desfolhei o malmequer
No lindo jardim de Santarém!
Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Malmequer não é constante
Malmequer muito varia!
Vinte folhas dizem morte
Treze dizem alegria!

Desfolhei o malmequer
No lindo jardim de Santarém!
Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Desfolhei o malmequer
No lindo jardim de Santarém!
Malmequer, bem-me-quer
Muito longe está quem me quer bem!

Primavera #190

Mais

Coisas que não mudam #664

Ela, tonta, atrás dele...

Pormenores #183

No local mais improvável nasce uma flor...

... o que tem de ser tem muita força :-)

Coisas que não mudam #663

Playful cats look like they're smiling, sometimes...

Coisas bonitas #161

Sunrise 5.35am

Sem título #369

Great find!

Palavras lidas #586

Letter to My Husband Far Away
by Gillian Wegener

The house is not empty without you.
It thrums and bumps, the walls relax and sigh.
The water heater dutifully comes on, rumbles
with heat, waiting for your shower to start.
How many times today have I heard
your truck in the driveway, the floor creak
with your step, felt your breath against
the back of my neck. At least that often,
I’ve turned to tell you something,
or hand you a piece of cheese or plum,
but it’s two more days until you return.
It’s just me in this room, with this plum,
with this good fortune, with this far-flung love.

Ditto #584

I am not one of those who believe — broadly speaking — that women are better than men. We have not wrecked railroads, nor corrupted legislatures, nor done many unholy things that men have done; but then we must remember that we have not had the chance.

--Jane Addams

Primavera #189

Bela manhã de primavera às 7.14am

e às 7.31am

neste Dia da Europa, Dia da Espiga e Quinta-Feira da Ascensão!

Coisas bonitas #160

Já é Maio, o sol nasce antes das 5.30am

Parece que estou a ouvir #442

Labirinto Parado

Madredeus

Perdi-me num labirinto de saudade
Senti a montanha
Dos sítios que não mudam
Subi

E ao abismo
Do vertiginoso futuro
Desci
Procurei para o sol
Procurei para o mar

Mas sem ti
No céu da paisagem daqui
Afinal, não saí

Mas sem ti
No céu da paisagem
Perdi a noção da viagem

Na pedra já mais que branda da memória
Escrevi com o tempo
Que o musgo vai levando a crescer

Com o brilho que a esperança nos faz no olhar
Escrevi
Que a saudade é prima afastada do vagar

Mas sem ti
No céu da paisagem
Perdi a noção da viagem

Mas sem ti
No céu da paisagem daqui
Afinal, não saí

Mas sem ti
No céu da paisagem
Perdi a noção da viagem

Sem título #368

Overthinking...

Primavera #188

Já é Maio, os gansos bebés já seguem os pais pelo campus

Primavera #187

Já é Maio, a wisteria em plena flor

Coisas que não mudam #662

Cats and long long stretches

Palavras lidas #585

Nature Walk
by Gillian Wegener

The fern fronds glow with a clean, green light,
and I lift one and point out the spores, curled
like sleep on the back, the rows so straight,
so even, that I might be convinced of Providence
at this moment. My daughter is seven.
She looks at the spores, at the leaf, at the plant,
at this wise, wide forest we are in, and sighs
at my pointing out yet another Nature Fact.
But look, I say, each one is a baby ready
to grow. Each one can become its own fern.
But she is already moving down the path
toward the bridge and whatever’s beyond.

Ditto #583

Power and cruelty are the strengths of our lives, and only in their weakness is there love.

--Stevie Smith