The expectation of a flower garden


 

In the backyard, do not have many plants 

The wand bends down 

leaving the flower fallen there

It is where, by miracle, birds come 

carrying its perfume away and the sweet nectar

Close to the ground, the petals disappear, lying around like stars shining into bushes

and this place is keeping a corona

the nest of seeds that are pushed forward by wind

They go dancing in the air, looking for heaven

which is silence

they rise above the house's roof for beyond walls for other terrains

And in an instant, they falling  

with the hope of germinating 

Sometimes, a number of new roses emerge

I think that they seem to wait for the ready moment, following the season to come to flourish

It is a technical application from an organic being that knows 

that a spirit's lonesome overcomes any sadness to blossom

The garden is integrated with the joy of living.

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para madres y padres

 




El derecho a soñar es casi prohibido, el disfraz de la educación direccionada hecho por los ordenadores con las moralidad de los recursos, de una inteligencia tan artificial que es artificializar el inusitado, el acaso, la suerte, el sentimiento de sorpresa que es la fuerza motriz de la creatividad, el encanto de las descubiertas. El derecho de no hacer opción, mas construye elección en el sentido puro ético.



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                                                                  Educación y Singularidad




Pão de Tijolo

 




Desenho de Sara


Para Isadora que fez pão hoje - ou foi bolo ou foi sopa de queijos e beijos 


Era uma vez um tijolo, ele era muito grande. Isso aconteceu porque uma menina, passando pela olaria viu o tijolo sozinho, ainda barro no fundo da fornalha que ainda não estava acesa. Ela ficou com pena porque ele estava lá embaixo sozinho , e parecia muito pequeno.











A pena tem dessas coisas, ela foi em casa e pegou um pouco de fermento, mais que um pouco e jogo sobre o tijolo que ficou empoeirado com o pó do fermento de pão que a menina pegou em sua casa. 

Passaram horas até que, por fim, puseram fogo na fornalha e os tijolos ficaram durinhos, menos aquele que cresceu o dobro, muitas vezes mais e ficou macio como um pão. Só que era imenso, tão grande e fofo que para tirar da fornalha não foi muito difícil. A vantagem de ser sem-fim de grandão e bem macio.

Ela o viu outro dia a ser encaixado na parede de um prédio em construção, precisaram de um guindaste para erguer aquele tijolo. O construtor ficou feliz porque o tijolo era imenso, moldável, flexível, gigantesco e macio. Ninguém soube o que aconteceu para existir um tijolo tão brilhante, bonito, grandão que, por fim, foi a novidade em todas as empresas que constroem prédios. Pretenderam tirar um pedaço dele, mas ninguém deixou.

Era um pão tijolo, um tijolo fermentado, um monstro bonito, o mais belo grandalhão da região, de todo lugar, nunca visto. O tijolo era sempre macio, suave, agradável de se encostar, e era anti barulho, anti chuva, anti água, anti frio, anti calor, ele era pós anti qualquer coisa jamais vista. Um sucesso, pesquisadores foram perguntar como foi construído aquele tijolo magnífico naquela olaria. O dono respondeu que foi o desenvolvimento de alta tecnologia que, por agora, não podia mais ser aplicado, roubaram a fórmula.

Se soubessem, se soubessem que a menina fez. Ninguém falou nada, os cientistas, repórteres e mestres de obra, engenheiros, pedreiros, doutores e especialistas calaram. Era um segredo. Mas, nós sabemos, e não vamos contar a ninguém mais. Segredo. Ninguém diria pãojolo tipão tijolão de pão. Ninguém iria acreditar mesmo.

Glassed Gaze

 



She was pretending to be crystal, being glass. 


Then she walked without moving so as not to disturb the crochet sideboard. 


The cup holders are heard quietly in a massive uproar of craziness. 


Of course, the glasses insisted on clinking, jingling away, 


and making a few notes, almost music, but no one noticed anything. Notes, notes, transparent notes. 


They do not give much chance for closet parties on the crockery counter.




She was complete, to tears of bright water from a crystal clear sun that crossed the window and hit her.


"No one serves of me! Nowadays, it is like that; we keep getting sparks.


They do not even drink me from mugs; not me, the water." 


"Water does not work for me. I want water! It will be?" 


But nothing is missing, just the usual ones that do not stop for a second to refresh themselves.


"Who wants that, after all?"


Of course, she was talking to herself as always, full of soft, flexible, and transparent thoughts. Wet soul. 


Finally, the owners - who were not theirs - came and drank it and almost broke her.


Finally, the jar calmed down, now empty. The cat said nothing, just a meow of thirst.



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Books



The Shadow


 





Light and dark does not always mean day and night, sometimes it does.

The shade stays shaded by itself all night. I thought it was dull light; was seen, but not in the light. The shadow was not the Sun; it was a light not yet seen from the Sun. Something that could tell the reason for being alive, in shadow.

(From Hat's Short Stories, not yet published)


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Click on the link:

Library






La viaje


 Mientras el viento fuerte caminaba al rededor

Aún así, después de mucho tiempo en el mar  🌊 

ve a su isla 🏝️ 

El ancla tirada en la arena. ⚓️ 

pesca 🎣 

nada más

tal vez podría vivir allí 🛖 

comprar una cabaña

escuchar la floresta 🌳 🌳 🌳

pasear a su 🐕 perro 

Pero tampoco se le daba 

El barco 🛥️ estaba bien 

Tenía una bici 🚲 

para cosas raras 

Um 🐎 caballo amigo

No tendría dudas:

seguir o quedarse

no conoce los peligros

Fue encontrar los compañeros 

subir ⬆️ montañas 🏔️ 

correr 🏃 caminos 

Es normal para quienes no siente tristeza

Fue aprender piano 🎹 

Guitarra 🎸 

🎵 🎶 notas musicales 

🪈 flauta 

Pero deseaba volar de helicóptero 🚁 

hacer horno de lenha 🪵 

Cantar 🎤 e hablar de amor ❤️ 

Ir a la casa 🏡 de su novia 

o jugar fútbol ⚽️ 

Al fin de un ⏱️ tiempo

Volvió al barco 🚤 

 

Madam Rose

 



She said she knew what the main dish would be. Is that the same as yesterday, bro? What funky will be this night? Madam, tell us. You don't know.         The old dish with a rose drawing on it is smilled. Refresh her mind, porcelain, you. You go unbalanced and shaking on the tray, I know.         It's goose this way. She, a dish like a silver moon without an edge, imitated her unbalancing a little. They smiled and gave some invisible signal that all understanding provoked new laughter. By the end, they stopped; only grumbles could heard sometimes.         She insisted it was unimportant to give to them: I knew what would put on the table.         How do you know Rose?         They ask again with some anxiety, and she pretends not to see.         Each one had eyes on the dishes and was looking at Rose.         So, an ultimate came: If you do not say what you know, we will sing for you on your survivalist birthday. She looks shocked, and a right professor gazes up at them.         "I know; only that."         A chore of acute voices came: "Cuts is that, tells another fairy tale."         She told them that she felt the smell from the kitchen and heard the chef's voice, a taste that walked in the air.         "I do not believe. Do you feel my condition? I have not seen water for more than one month."         "I do. Still, exhale alcohol."         It was incredible; she released the name used in all the dishes on that shelf. What more?         "The plate will be dry frites with juice's tangerine and lemon with pepper. Soya milk with white beans, sautéed cabbage, and broccoli, and, I can see - oh! Yes, grated walnuts and eggplant toasted in a filet with apricot. A lentil terrine adorned with mushrooms. Sour cream ice cream with strawberry and yogurt and rosy rose petals."         The chore came again, but brutal and sweet like a prayer: "fork, knife, and spoon cutlery. Linen tablecloth, napkins. Glasses of wine and water to put out the fire, enjoy this dinner."         They heard the madam saying that they were going to a restaurant tonight. "Liar!"         "I'm not lying to everyone. It will be tomorrow!"         "Tomorrow, will it be tomorrow?"         Well, tomorrow is tomorrow. If it comes false, we do not have problems, and theater interpretation is sometimes necessary to change our perfect conscience.

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Library:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Pedro+Moreira+Nt?Nrpp=20&page=5

                                                                *******