le blog ioanlila

Estilda came from the drogheria. A word that suggested to it, like a ondeggiamento mystérieux, arranged drug that it could cure it. C ' it was its way to take a word and to peel it as if it were a silk fruit, a mature banana that it fused in the bocca.' _ it to be to take d' a vertige it appeal to, but it to be strait, therefore it to pass dinanzi a window to decorate like a tree Born them, with small sphere hardly good glass étincelants and tape to imbellire dress consumed for they to render a po' pomp antan. When he was young, it would have stopped in order to admire them and to imagine a prince of an exotic country, but here that it twenty-three years had completed… eh yes, it aged, she was the truth, it was said - elle, the sad smile to the angles of its lips, observing itself with discretion in the windows of the city, with the fear not to see other thing, or the evening, long, dinanzi to the ice… Lorsqu ' it twisted also, like gamine espiègle, to the step sautillante, impossible to confuse, Estilda seemed a cerva without worry, a tooth of lion that diffused itself to the eyes of the guides with the devozione of a spring rain, a bird tropicale.' The dew drop, the spring rain, when l' air feels the gattini of salice. The gattini of wicker they are beautiful also, but those of salice are still beautifulr than those than wicker, since are gilded! It went as if it were still more contents than same, and its firm buttocks jumped under l' light dress, that it assumed the form of its body. Ô but had much job, the day was as soon as begun, the basket in wicker sfregava its coscie, would believe own step still more sautillante, the posterior part much straight one, that it sets in action l' fresh air with the tips of its centers of which era thus fair, thinking that its femminilità shone with the grace with which examined the ways of the city every morning, when it appreciate to make expenses for the house of the Mr. engineer; it worked you like woman of the cleansings, kitchen and a saddleback to any horse. Unless Mr. engineer was nearly cold with it. He paid well, embêtait, it was not even the pain, since it was fast, he did not stop of the day, he worked with fury, but gladly, if foutait the peace; c' it was a thing that he did not comprise: because Mr. engineer did not let out its head of all these papers, that he blackened with its fine writing and former, to which was dedicated, the poor one, of the morning to the evening, to twist the posterior part. C' it was in its heart this pitié that divora of a woman for l' man who held in its arms, that they were, at the same time, its child, broken its amant and from the daily fatigue… but this that is that engineer happened with good Mr., that he calculated arched of bridge, that designed cariatides majestic, girls to the bodies cambrés like on the forehead of the world, and invented tows fascinantes of the imaginary rollings-mill to wind, than somigliavano to the prolific coscie of the exotic women, of ornaments works them for the corridors of the buildings, that created alarming metropoli fascinantes and who gave the vertige to it, the head thus from the flight in football of the Montgolfier siblings (1783), Bell had not still invented telephones (1876), and Marconi had not still used its radiotelegraph. The lines were oblique, dynamic, ascendantes, vertical, imaginary, cold, transparent, sacerdotales, did not understand them of the rest, but it had something of the reproduced prolific spells from Parmigianino (1503-1540), about which they discussed Mr. long engineer and Lorenzo father; quest' last it gave to it, with l' immobility of its positions monosyllabiques, brividi, because of theirs dramatisme dangerously incitatore in its incantesimo block, as a masturbation cold of a woman dinanzi to a man pétrifié from the long one attended of it marks them aphrodisiaques for a desire woman inasperta, but incapable to express its feelings… the meat urlait in its body ondoyant: " it takes - moi! " " , like an of campania that vibrates because of the nocturnal sounds, but the language of the senses was dumb, extase the sexual era as a threat dell' gross abduction of the vandales, the spirit remained stupéfait of terror that plagues, and however, Mr. engineer Lucas, a name impossible to pronounce to high voice, since it shone on the time of its palace like a petal of nénuphar - columns, métopes and triglyphes - of the entablements recomposed from Coveting in clear-dark… " and father Lorenzo, the old horse that attended the scale celestial in order to leave in the immortale travel, hennissait, nasillard, cited the God name, dinanzi to which any effort was null, waste, deterioration, futilità or blasphème provided that have the guarantee of the perfection - and Estilda, it meant than them of its room of the grenier, where it withdrew itself with discretion once begun the interminable debates on the heart, filosofali matter, anguish, substantialité, categories, Platon, the filosofale stone, Aphrodite, Cheval of Troy, Agamemnon, the roman right and the vilenie of the splendeur of the nénuphar in the snow… to to believe that these words could replace the tremblotement light of the eyelids which awakened from the fine veins of tow of a butterfly golden in the inconstance cadaverous of the night, of which it had thus much fear. Sure, it was not possible that this dimension of the world that took form like a snow smoke on the squares of the dark windows for of usual, since the mysteries ressortissaient with l' falls it over all; delicate ondeggiamento of a candle end that leccava the mature ones and created fantastic shadows, monster derived from the truth of the grown mouldy registries, of letters like to the invers, having a decorative role in the structure of the reasoning and opulent creator of the excess of the profile in gold that defined the supreme God dell' infinitely in which one reached the precise laws dell' occasion and l' allegoria of the war that ties secrets between it polulates; stirring them as in a furnace in which the senses are polished and recorded, till the moment in which it will be discovered/will have uncovered the filosofale stone, than prince de Lagas it knew centuries since and of it had shared the secret to the Pharaohs Egyptians, created the symmetry of the full poetry of sensualité of the secret thought. Stiff on its dress bloomed for recoudre in the edge, Estilda listened, like in fremito of layers, the words whispered of Lorenzo father, than it was astonished that no thinker has uncovered anchor the quarter dimension of the world where lived, neither also quest' thin energy that could transmuer the lead in gold, the sand in diamonds and the body of a crazy scientist besides the limits dell' universe closed in a drop d' water of roses where a bit of star powder has been scattered, harvest, not without emotion, on the hairnet pétrifiée nell' eternity of the Sphinx. The hand of Estilda shook, the punctures dell' needle in the edge dell' dress it seemed heavy they worried and, felt it the sweat dell' emotion smaltir itself on its thorn; jolt its shoulders and listened carefully, but it meant the words for a time, therefore it began to dream of that knight who its languiva heart, the dream of any girl according to waked up from romantiche history d' love; during all that time its head recorded the chuchotements that they come from the part en-bas, of fused in the solid bronze of the memory of the world, that she would have been many simpler for it without the suffering of the thought of its landladies, that seemed to suffer/tourmenter from centuries in order to render all' humanities the secrets crushed under the wheels golden of the history, and Lorenzo father gargouillait to laugh, to believe that it suffocated. Sure, the images iconoclastes of the empires of the thought recomposed the mosaic of a rigid cult and audacious, based on the pure theorem of mystical geometry, interfered with this dynamic calculation of the convergence of the cold and irreali colors, to which the density of the matter defined from its pulsionale and apparently irregular rhythm referred, but were just this chaos that more closely was defined from rigid laws, that they could be put in order more dall' wide? uvre sull' originality of the symmetry in causam. It had much warmth, transpiré and a torpeur pleasant yellow color had been insinuated between its strong coscie lemon and, astounded from the murmure of the words that floated, irreali, in the part en-bàs, its hands have been insinuated like with their will towards quest' crossing of stars and of skies, where the flower of its body shook, it is touched of fingers with surprise, that they wait for of being taken from this spasme of the body that overflowed its blood with outbreaks of hot flowers like the sun, than is broken off in a mosaic fine and full of it appeal to, while its landladies, than it caused this terrible excitation to it with of the job " the history, l' ethics, logic and the fisica" , than anagrammé " HELP" , to believe that it gave thus all' humanity a new opportunity perhaps riscoprir itself in the anguish marécageuses of the thought - to which Estilda Melpoda had renounced in favor of the extase infinite and pure that single one had been caused much, dreamming a knight who would have made erra it to dip, from its caresses, nell' the ocean of the senses, and Lorenzo father concludes to the way rubens-rubentis: " … it was necessary to us to have been an artistic form of the moral cut in the stone of the senses… " " - and at this precise moment Estilda Melpoda he pushed the outcry of an orgasm ravageur, to believe that he confirmed the opinions of the father, and Lucas, the padr

 

 

joi, 1 mai 2008

VREAU S~ DESENEZ O FRUNZ~

 

Pentru Carina

 

Vreau s` desenez o frunz`,

Dar micu]a buburuz`

M` ceart`, c`-i frunza ei…

Buburuzo, tu ce vrei?!

 

Frunza mea e desenat`,

Nu este adev`rat`.

{i-mi explic` buburuza

Cum c` e [i ea ca frunza.

 

 

|NTREBARE

 

 

Merge ra]a la plimbare,

Pe c`rare.

Vine vulpea [i-o inha]`.

Vulpea asta e cam hoa]`!

Ia s` desenez un ciine…

I-o fi foame? S`-i dau piine?

O s`-i desenez un os,

Dar cum s` i-l fac gustos?!

 

FLUTURI MOV CU ARIPIOARE

 

Pentru Thalisa

 

Cine-a mai v`zut vreodat`

Cum deseneaz` o fat`,

Fluturi mov cu aripioare

{i balauri cu picioare?

 

Ei bine, eu desenez!

Floarea cum s-o colorez?

Cu albastru de cicoare…

Ia te uit`, vrea s` zboare!

 

 

DELICATA P~P~DIE

 

Cind din iarb` m` imbie

Delicata p`p`die

S` ii fac o umbrelu]`…

I-o pictez, c` e dr`gu]`,

{i ii fac [i o rochi]`,

S` mearg` la gr`dini]`.

 

PRICHINDELUL

 

Se dedic` prichindelului Alex Vi[enescu

 

Princhidelul deseneaz`

Cu o cret` pe trotuar

Litere de-abecedar.

Parc-ar fi ni[te frunici,

Literele astea mici.

Da, dar, literele mari

Sint ca fluturii hoinari.

 

CRETA FERMECAT~

 

Pentru Thalisa

 

Creta mea e fermecat`,

Pentru c` a[a, de-odat`,

A pictat stele pe cer,

|nc`rcate de mister.

Licurici pierdu]i prin iarb`,

{i pitici veseli cu barb`.

A mai desenat aici

Un arici…

De zici c` zboar`

Ca arcu[ul pe vioar`…

Hei, aceasta e o tob`!

M-oi fi in[elat? Nici vorb`!

Auzi]i-o cum necheaz`,

Asta e o tob` treaz`,

Pentru c`, dac` dormea,

Nu mai [tiu cum se numea.

 

C~LU}UL

Se dedic` prichindelului Alex Vi[enescu

 

Un c`lu] de catifea

Ar fi vrut s` bea cafea.

S`-[i aprind` o ]igar`

{i s` cinte la vioar`.

L-a certat un spic de gru

Tr`gndu-l discret de friu:

-Du-te, m`, s` galopezi,

Dac` vrei s` te distrezi…

 

AVIONUL DE H|RTIE

 

Avionul de hrtie

Credea c` e p`l`rie.

|mi ateriza pe cap,

Pe cuier [i pe dulap.

Dac`-l duc pe cimp s` zboare

O s` cread` c` e floare…

Ia stai s` te colorez,

S` crezi c` e[ti titirez.

Dar deja am ame]it

De atita invrtit.

Mai bine s`-i fac picioare,

Ca s` mearg` la culcare.

 

C~SU}A MELCULUI

 

Melcul meu vrea o c`su]`

Mai mare [i mai dr`gu]`,

Cu cerdac [i cu gr`din`,

Cum are orice g`in`.

Stai pu]in! i-am spus in [oapt`,

Casa asta are poart`?!

 

CURCUBEUL

 

Curcubeul str`luce[te

{i pe cer se arcuie[te,

|n culori atit de vii,

S`-i bucure pe copii.

 

L~CUSTA

 

Cum s-o desenez cind sare

Pe l`custa asta care

}op`ie prin iarba crud`

{i pe rochie se ud`?!

 

Saltul ei prin aer pare

C` ar fi raz` de soare -

O insect` colorat`

Ce viseaz` c` e fat`.

 

FETI}A {I PLOAIA

 

Cnd incepe s` plou`,

Cint` acoperi[urile caselor,

{i ne sim]im mai bine amindou`,

Desennd b`ltoace pe str`zile ora[ului.

 

Pe buna mea prieten`, ploaia,

Cum s` o colorez nu [tiu,

A[a c` mai desenez o b`ltoac`,

|n care cint` broscu]ele pin` trziu.

 

{i o s` fac [i un nuf`r de z`pad`,

Pe un lac argintiu,

{i o s`-mi colorez intreaga via]`,

Ca pe un fulg gra]ios [i zglobiu.

 

ARICIUL

 

}epos [i mic se furi[eaz`

Ariciul, in gr`din`, pe sub frunzele de varz`.

Este atit de mic, l-a[ duce-n cas`,

Dar s-o intreb pe mama, de m` las`.

 

Dar cum s-o-ntreb?! ea a plecat la pia]`,

Iar tata-i toat` ziua la servici!

O fi [i speriat [i trist, c`-i singur…

Mai bine-l iau acas` pe arici.

 

VR~BIU}A

 

Vr`biu]a a venit la mas`.

Este ora s` ii dau firmituri.

Am pentru ea o felie de pine

{i azi o s` ii dau [i pr`jituri.

 

{i o s` fiu [i eu o vr`biu]`,

{i o s` ]op`i vesel` prin cas`,

{i, cind o s` vin` tata de la servici,

O s` se minuneze de vr`biu]a lui gra]ioas`.

 

{i o s`-mi cumpere [i pr`jituri,

{i o s` le m`ninc mine cu prietena mea,

Ca nu cumva s` cread`, s`r`cu]a,

C` sint o feti]` egoista si rea.

 

VEVERI}A

 

Veveri]a, cu ochii ei mari [i iscoditori

{i cu coada ei stufoas`,

S-a c`]`rat in copacul cu frunze verzi,

{i imi pare azi c` e tare voioas`.

 

Ce mai faci? o intreb, [i ea sare

Pe o creang` mai groas`,

{i abia acum in]eleg c` ar vrea s`-i arunc

O alun` gustoas`.

 

C~MILA

 

C`mila [tie ce e mila,

C` mila este, in marin`,

Mai mare dect este metrul!

Dar ce-o fi oare termometrul?!

 

C~LIMARA

 

Cerneala st` in c`limar`,

Peni]a st` [i ea in toc,

{i un gind trist m` infioar`,

C` nu mai am idei deloc!

 

GR~DINA DE FLORI

 

|n gr`dina de flori

Snt attea culori,

C` i]i vine s` mori

De ati]ia fiori!

 

De-ar fi florile-n zori,

Ca n`me]ii de flori,

Tot ati]ia fiori

Ne-ar trezi inspre zori!

 

Dar sint florile, ori,

Sint doar norii din nori,

Sau sint numai fiori,

Risipi]i peste flori?!

 

P~PU{II  MELE |I E SOMN

 

P`pu[ii mele ii e somn,

{i-ar vrea s-adoarm`, dar, deodat`,

|ntr-o fereastr` i se-arat`

O-nchipuire aerat`,

Un fulg de nea ce se tope[te

{i curge ca un riu pe geam.