quinta-feira, janeiro 25, 2018
Poesia para São Paulo
Aki Moro
(Moro Aqui)
by Soaroir
27/12/08
Se o sinhô não tá lembrado
dá licença de contá
o que Adoniran fez por cá.
Com poesia e lealdade
ele cantou esta cidade
quando chuva era só garoa
sem alagos e crueldade.
Como eu não sei cantar
e meus versos são passatempo
digo nesses de pé quebrado
sem nenhum medo de errar
o que é hoje esse lugar:
Minha cidade é grande
Eu é que fico pequena
Diante dela.
Minha cidade é rica
Eu é que sou pobre
Mera bagatela
Minha cidade é séria
Eu é que sou bufana
Só balela
Minha cidade dá proventos
Eu é que não aproveito
Fico banguela
Minha cidade é segura
Eu é que não agüento
Tanta tramela
Minha cidade é boa
Eu é que não presto
Para viver nela.
segunda-feira, janeiro 08, 2018
Carta de Mãe Irlandesa
reedição/Soaroir 8/1/2018
Uma carta de mãe irlandesa
Dear John:
Just a few lines to let you know I’m alive. I’m writing this letter slowly because I know you can’t read fast. You won’t know the house when you come home. We’ve moved. About your father – he has a lovely new job. He has 500 men under him. He cuts grass at the cemetery.
There was a washing machine at the new house when we moved in, but it hasn’t working too good. Last week I put in 14 shirts, pulled the chain, and haven’t seen the shirts since. Your sister, Johan, had a baby this morning but I haven’t found out whether is a boy or a girl so I don’t know if you are an aunt or an uncle.
Your uncle Dick drowned last week in a vat of whisky in Dublin Brewery. Some of his work mates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely. They cremated his body and it took three days to put out the fire.
I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for ten minutes. Your father offered to buy it from him.
It only rained twice this week – first for three days and then four and half days. Monday was so windy, one of the chickens laid same egg four times.
We had a letter from undertaker. He said if the last payment on your grandmother’s plot wasn’t paid in seven days – up she comes.
Your Loving Mother
P.S. I was going to send you ten pounds but I had already sealed the envelope.
Visitem: http://pote-de-poesias.blogspot.com
Just a few lines to let you know I’m alive. I’m writing this letter slowly because I know you can’t read fast. You won’t know the house when you come home. We’ve moved. About your father – he has a lovely new job. He has 500 men under him. He cuts grass at the cemetery.
There was a washing machine at the new house when we moved in, but it hasn’t working too good. Last week I put in 14 shirts, pulled the chain, and haven’t seen the shirts since. Your sister, Johan, had a baby this morning but I haven’t found out whether is a boy or a girl so I don’t know if you are an aunt or an uncle.
Your uncle Dick drowned last week in a vat of whisky in Dublin Brewery. Some of his work mates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely. They cremated his body and it took three days to put out the fire.
I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for ten minutes. Your father offered to buy it from him.
It only rained twice this week – first for three days and then four and half days. Monday was so windy, one of the chickens laid same egg four times.
We had a letter from undertaker. He said if the last payment on your grandmother’s plot wasn’t paid in seven days – up she comes.
Your Loving Mother
P.S. I was going to send you ten pounds but I had already sealed the envelope.
Visitem: http://pote-de-poesias.blogspot.com
Bruxa Onilda da Gália/Soaroir
Enviado por Bruxa Onilda da Gália em 12/05/2007
Reeditado em 12/05/2007
Código do texto: T484552
Reeditado em 12/05/2007
Código do texto: T484552
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