tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46062713352744994502024-03-04T19:44:42.422+01:00desanctisbiblioblogDESANCTISBIBLIOBLOG :
lettori e lettrici con il desiderio di condividere la passione per i libri e aggiornarvi sulle iniziative culturali della nostra scuola
bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.comBlogger188125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-48162743113704986332024-03-04T19:43:00.001+01:002024-03-04T19:43:47.262+01:00Incontro con la scrittrice Benedetta Tobagi<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUUvwbszNGZLtEgW6QZ3tzFT9kbxvzcP-eazE9xOopLvEmwMx6SYqInOaLfGrt9BufIORRhNl3l_SIuzbT_eQ7WZeMKnPljxWe5JEmOX75w1-3ONXBMAtSnadVnJTEaYr45fAHTNk5p_a_w5woGzRJ5oysXWsy89y03bjfcI8UCdMakHx-kKbUaiEgl24/s2048/10017a64-4904-477d-9978-79ccd670ba12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUUvwbszNGZLtEgW6QZ3tzFT9kbxvzcP-eazE9xOopLvEmwMx6SYqInOaLfGrt9BufIORRhNl3l_SIuzbT_eQ7WZeMKnPljxWe5JEmOX75w1-3ONXBMAtSnadVnJTEaYr45fAHTNk5p_a_w5woGzRJ5oysXWsy89y03bjfcI8UCdMakHx-kKbUaiEgl24/s320/10017a64-4904-477d-9978-79ccd670ba12.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p>Grazie al progetto <span style="color: red;">"Lo struzzo a scuola"</span>, della casa editrice Einaudi, le classi del nostro Istituto giovedì 29 febbraio hanno incontrato la scrittrice e giornalista <span style="color: red;">Benedetta Tobagi</span>. Gli alunni e le alunne hanno avuto l'opportunità di dialogare con l'autrice a partire dalla lettura di due testi: <span style="color: red;">"Come mi batte forte il tuo cuore" e "La Resistenza delle donne"</span>. Il primo è incentrato sulla figura del padre, il giornalista Walter Tobagi, assassinato nel 1980 da un gruppo di giovani appartenenti a un movimento di estrema sinistra; il secondo affronta la tematica della Resistenza dal punto di vista delle donne che hanno preso parte alla lotta partigiana. L'incontro è stato molto costruttivo e, a tratti, toccante e emozionante. Le riflessioni dell'autrice hanno spaziato dal passato ai giorni nostri fornendo agli studenti e alle studentesse spunti per interpretare la realtà complessa dei nostri tempi e dando loro dei consigli per poter superare le difficoltà che i giovani di oggi affrontano. </p><p><br /></p>Stefania Masciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12282114328099268358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-63637496316150373022023-12-22T12:18:00.005+01:002023-12-22T12:18:41.821+01:00Incontro con l'autore Fabiano Massimi<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5on0r25ONv_aG3Rj3IAwsfQbLMvGJxQw1vsAnVkBK7GJskjztkKmyMgoZ-sVWOCCtnsOeb1oPmsbsqOVi1sJxb79baJlPfmpDpZW-NH-vfiFtPCqwn5LD9IC0Ir-Fg-Ia6-TcfaxZZzcqNax2rW86e4FT8Aur776UIkQSKBPU60LpYyUPqunN6lvq0k3/s4032/IMG_2629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5on0r25ONv_aG3Rj3IAwsfQbLMvGJxQw1vsAnVkBK7GJskjztkKmyMgoZ-sVWOCCtnsOeb1oPmsbsqOVi1sJxb79baJlPfmpDpZW-NH-vfiFtPCqwn5LD9IC0Ir-Fg-Ia6-TcfaxZZzcqNax2rW86e4FT8Aur776UIkQSKBPU60LpYyUPqunN6lvq0k3/s320/IMG_2629.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Credo che leggere un libro e incontrare l'autore sia il sogno di ogni lettore, sogno che talvolta si realizza, come è successo agli alunni e alle alunne della <span style="color: red;">quinta G del Liceo delle Scienze Umane</span>, che lunedì 18 dicembre nella biblioteca innovativa del nostro Istituto, hanno incontrato <span style="color: red;">Fabiano Massimi</span>, autore del libro "<span style="color: red;">Se esiste un perdono</span>". L'incontro è stato organizzato da Marina Boetti, della libreria Edumondo di Cagliari, all'interno del progetto "<span style="color: red;">6 in Storia</span>". <p></p><p>Il romanzo storico, ambientato nella Cecoslovacchia del 1938, nell'imminenza dell'invasione del Paese da parte di Hitler, racconta la storia vera del signor Winton, un inglese che insieme ai suoi collaboratori, è riuscito a salvare centinaia di bambini, in gran parte ebrei. La trama avvincente e ricca di colpi di scena rende la lettura scorrevole e accattivante.</p><p>Questa storia, bella e commovente, è restata nascosta per tanto tempo e lo scopo dell'autore è stato proprio quello di riportarla alla luce.</p><p>L'incontro è stato molto interessante, l'autore con la sua simpatia è riuscito a coinvolgere i ragazzi e le ragazze.</p>Stefania Masciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12282114328099268358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-85426700589554145622023-06-19T12:11:00.001+02:002023-06-19T12:11:54.635+02:00Premiazione Vincitori II Edizione Concorso "Poesie Dorsali"<p>Il giorno venerdì 9 giugno nella Biblioteca Innovativa della nostra scuola si è tenuta la premiazione della Seconda edizione del Concorso "<span style="color: red;">Poesie Dorsali</span>". L'iniziativa, che ha permesso a tutta la comunità scolastica di cimentarsi nella creazione di versi poetici, è stata un'ottima occasione per avvicinare gli studenti al contatto con i libri e per familiarizzare con la biblioteca. Tra i vincitori ci sono stati sia alunni che personale scolastico. Un piccolo oggetto ricordo è stato consegnato anche a tutti i partecipanti. Grazie a tutti! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Y3Zo6wI0tMmtU8NHqPCOx3mxDUlzSaQ-Xy9oV5L3ynM6B3cUVQsf9p-ffxSjoFhiv-MkT0FDynjfzV6nDBmGIrVkuJdUIg3QuMsQkA9s8I5jZ6ivudLWk-YnX2nYeKJEAoB3ZDj1EQJScIlQh1neeTMhbr-V_j7HG3VX0khm8KX_3K5isJej5qe3jHoi/s1024/WhatsApp%20Image%202023-06-15%20at%2016.29.08.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Y3Zo6wI0tMmtU8NHqPCOx3mxDUlzSaQ-Xy9oV5L3ynM6B3cUVQsf9p-ffxSjoFhiv-MkT0FDynjfzV6nDBmGIrVkuJdUIg3QuMsQkA9s8I5jZ6ivudLWk-YnX2nYeKJEAoB3ZDj1EQJScIlQh1neeTMhbr-V_j7HG3VX0khm8KX_3K5isJej5qe3jHoi/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202023-06-15%20at%2016.29.08.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_-JBjznsSoQ-2FdEg9EE1qfcl_Fkt8XZKnP9xg-Q5yYLHEOt2-aDRQNJbIw_bwaNaspOUmsPOaqJOLb_oRL-YTp8T8NuHFNkES6sQaetyf9YBMq6eChWPjJZcjSZWuro_SmTaH6b8ElE9mZG3tvtxhn2T6v1nOPQusRpRqHxaQJ2aIl3Jfelv1pXgFIz/s1024/WhatsApp%201%20Image%202023-06-15%20at%2016.29.08.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_-JBjznsSoQ-2FdEg9EE1qfcl_Fkt8XZKnP9xg-Q5yYLHEOt2-aDRQNJbIw_bwaNaspOUmsPOaqJOLb_oRL-YTp8T8NuHFNkES6sQaetyf9YBMq6eChWPjJZcjSZWuro_SmTaH6b8ElE9mZG3tvtxhn2T6v1nOPQusRpRqHxaQJ2aIl3Jfelv1pXgFIz/s320/WhatsApp%201%20Image%202023-06-15%20at%2016.29.08.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Ci vediamo l'anno prossimo con la terza edizione!!!<p></p>Stefania Masciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12282114328099268358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-65887040169318292842023-06-10T11:09:00.006+02:002023-06-10T11:11:50.098+02:00Videolina : il servizio sull'incontro a scuola con Vera Gheno<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href=" https://www.videolina.it/articolo/tg/2023/06/04/cagliari_le_parole_di_vera_gheno_agli_studenti_del_de_sanctis_del-78-1182354.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="982" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlCvnCykKuCzegOlpXywuUZSmKbnJg5c1E0TA50Qu47S6lH9JR906VIzhUVcEEXYgFKEwf7_bNsHb8iFnjnOaqsa_FF_23qVAVKjdha0S960CQXEHG7_8xzBpfVx0pjYMw7tMyKm986gH1nDHnrV4hv8VKmHLHr87U_Nn3r0iv3f5ACkcMiWSmve8/w640-h560/videolina.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span></i></b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;">Si parla di noi.....</span></i></b></span><br /><p></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-71302297201167046412023-05-20T11:48:00.001+02:002023-05-20T11:48:04.651+02:00Poesie dorsali : 4 J <p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVQrzPoelZc_wmxY6_0Rbq5ROPDzb6AYEqToas9eWrrdN8nyYjZEWk1PQxhXHA7oU_GdEvlfyrUQ5M3DM1HLQYZwchnLKUQHed8xL-EzetGIi0P2NS8CcKTRRKw4_V4eei-_zW_HEccfWBDCQX4Czc8I8iw4oXyNvySggBSxgugtVBbI4oVaHmzlq/s2048/uomini%20che.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2048" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVQrzPoelZc_wmxY6_0Rbq5ROPDzb6AYEqToas9eWrrdN8nyYjZEWk1PQxhXHA7oU_GdEvlfyrUQ5M3DM1HLQYZwchnLKUQHed8xL-EzetGIi0P2NS8CcKTRRKw4_V4eei-_zW_HEccfWBDCQX4Czc8I8iw4oXyNvySggBSxgugtVBbI4oVaHmzlq/w400-h254/uomini%20che.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Uomini che odiano le donne,</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Donne che amano troppo.</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Adesso,</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Sul filo della memoria</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Quando tutto sembra immobile</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Non avrò più paura</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Classe 4 J <br /></i></p>
bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-88355869357955856942023-05-20T11:46:00.005+02:002023-05-20T11:46:47.818+02:00Poesie dorsali : Simonetta Contu <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSlFi0WN4EkXR435HrD-A4L8Sbft1VeuuslnzT6nqPj1GjHV-6H8ufdAg0ARczX_txEpJ3ENek8s33d5nJJAqKQ8JmP4Xp0KAYpMIXoRRyRRr6bsaQYTfihIn5oP09-OUoVmwoqYGh-kdJLQRhqky1JQ-SfO-pahmkabbL3xXejJgTkmQ3lM16puk/s4000/Simonetta%20Contu%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSlFi0WN4EkXR435HrD-A4L8Sbft1VeuuslnzT6nqPj1GjHV-6H8ufdAg0ARczX_txEpJ3ENek8s33d5nJJAqKQ8JmP4Xp0KAYpMIXoRRyRRr6bsaQYTfihIn5oP09-OUoVmwoqYGh-kdJLQRhqky1JQ-SfO-pahmkabbL3xXejJgTkmQ3lM16puk/w400-h300/Simonetta%20Contu%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <i><span style="font-size: medium;">Noi non sapevamo</span></i><p></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">dieci cose che ho imparato</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">la notte è mia sorella</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">la ragazza che cancellava i ricordi</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Simonetta Contu </span></i><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-9202632114783157702023-05-20T11:45:00.001+02:002023-05-20T11:45:09.055+02:00Poesie dorsali : Giuliana Sirigu <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMvFUWU66xA1gVMmcp_soJxS-sI2U40-CCL-qPd4Aej02E8PSsDAYmJMYv8Z7jzzakw3lcbbQQVJPUkj0ry6avbYcaSNKMXr7DadcxRpTrBlz6g6pqk15F5Zm0_hvZ9WpDsr3gq0GtJy-Cd9k8PQ8PQvBRqroyT_wx8THqvzjt2rtEvmSgoAWUy9r/s4000/Giuliana%20Sirigu2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMvFUWU66xA1gVMmcp_soJxS-sI2U40-CCL-qPd4Aej02E8PSsDAYmJMYv8Z7jzzakw3lcbbQQVJPUkj0ry6avbYcaSNKMXr7DadcxRpTrBlz6g6pqk15F5Zm0_hvZ9WpDsr3gq0GtJy-Cd9k8PQ8PQvBRqroyT_wx8THqvzjt2rtEvmSgoAWUy9r/w400-h300/Giuliana%20Sirigu2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Le ragioni del dubbio</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Incompreso</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Giuliana Sirigu </i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-17110422453455536892023-05-20T11:43:00.001+02:002023-05-20T11:43:11.704+02:00Poesie dorsali : Simonetta Contu <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXMZlT8Ngt9-nGYDbA5fZGnVeJBpxDuwiTijzFiVnWO7igG5UDCR06UGZjToAZgdRBZaa25zRE2tvQZT0Zrwyvg45zgLUf395MM7X3FxN3GbU1cCJAivoBNQnWg1fX06dgwoSTn5TRxBb9rZPkWzUwFzOTIbPStAy5l9cgU2SiuF4r7igny8-LCKdK/s4000/Simonetta%20Contu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXMZlT8Ngt9-nGYDbA5fZGnVeJBpxDuwiTijzFiVnWO7igG5UDCR06UGZjToAZgdRBZaa25zRE2tvQZT0Zrwyvg45zgLUf395MM7X3FxN3GbU1cCJAivoBNQnWg1fX06dgwoSTn5TRxBb9rZPkWzUwFzOTIbPStAy5l9cgU2SiuF4r7igny8-LCKdK/w400-h300/Simonetta%20Contu.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Morire per una notte</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>ho scelto la vita</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>chiamo i miei fratelli</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>stella</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Simonetta Contu </i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-79674108193656195512023-05-20T11:41:00.001+02:002023-05-20T11:41:20.354+02:00Poesie dorsali : 4 J<p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21zw4g_HMzz-v_uCUCfAsWtJm9qCwkJTFoZyCJw-Pwys_686YIlvw4B39J5DSXpCR1g-4vgxtrzFkrJon4T97jGIQtcIZr-nq0vU5oabu1U5DOMFprrTWMbUuH6EBf4BPP8MU96hb3uLUPdCse6fhqB_fCM55FQEC1rnwfqKcZKTWFyq46JjhvfKQ/s1600/un%20ultima%20cosa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21zw4g_HMzz-v_uCUCfAsWtJm9qCwkJTFoZyCJw-Pwys_686YIlvw4B39J5DSXpCR1g-4vgxtrzFkrJon4T97jGIQtcIZr-nq0vU5oabu1U5DOMFprrTWMbUuH6EBf4BPP8MU96hb3uLUPdCse6fhqB_fCM55FQEC1rnwfqKcZKTWFyq46JjhvfKQ/w300-h400/un%20ultima%20cosa.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Un’ultima cosa,</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Emma,</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>L’amore che mi resta </i>
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>La ragazza che cancellava i ricordi</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>classe 4 J <br /></i></p>
bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-9821299596040443602023-05-20T11:37:00.005+02:002023-05-20T11:37:51.825+02:00Poesie dorsali : 4 J<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04jM0zZSiKqoSXTC_r9Lg5HtBrcrh4D4Jl-BTTIcyA9wQQz0LJ6QOt3SpalfIfcHDeL9ipBzjUk0ypTaWjUoYvyHDAoeYXedzg6gqTZbilnYj02b1kYphUXPXuQzSi4CHzQHlj9baQsFhg9VDCsTkRug-MkE_1WwSvSUexuRD0i1MxGsB9394iOQi/s1600/storia%20di%20chi%20fugge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04jM0zZSiKqoSXTC_r9Lg5HtBrcrh4D4Jl-BTTIcyA9wQQz0LJ6QOt3SpalfIfcHDeL9ipBzjUk0ypTaWjUoYvyHDAoeYXedzg6gqTZbilnYj02b1kYphUXPXuQzSi4CHzQHlj9baQsFhg9VDCsTkRug-MkE_1WwSvSUexuRD0i1MxGsB9394iOQi/w300-h400/storia%20di%20chi%20fugge.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Storia di chi fugge e di chi resta</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Non lasciarmi.</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Un’ultima cosa, </i>
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Ti prendo e ti porto via</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Per sempre</i></p>
bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-32040993148003386192023-05-20T10:41:00.001+02:002023-05-23T10:43:44.266+02:00Poesie dorsali : Rebecca Chergia<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEeiiLlWdMnu9L1gjUcEHR3SckkcdzGBfcSv69_u7Io_w2T_kxeCviGhwUV1DbdD_glpKGYdeTokTzoyFqOW7S8PuHKlp-M6_-KPwlKef4waPnmHWbmSQmodFrpJO9TjApXNbCPageu4Fa1kOxQbv0UgvN-7YIOUIHfFAhtre7EvCtVbyQb4reti4/s1024/Rebecca%20Chergia%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEeiiLlWdMnu9L1gjUcEHR3SckkcdzGBfcSv69_u7Io_w2T_kxeCviGhwUV1DbdD_glpKGYdeTokTzoyFqOW7S8PuHKlp-M6_-KPwlKef4waPnmHWbmSQmodFrpJO9TjApXNbCPageu4Fa1kOxQbv0UgvN-7YIOUIHfFAhtre7EvCtVbyQb4reti4/w400-h300/Rebecca%20Chergia%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="hq gt" id=":oh" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.875rem; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 15px 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></div><p></p><div class="ii gt" id=":qv" jslog="20277; u014N:xr6bB; 1:WyIjdGhyZWFkLWY6MTc2NjY3MzI3NzE0MTA2MzUyNyIsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsW11d; 4:WyIjbXNnLWY6MTc2NjY3MzI3NzE0MTA2MzUyNyIsbnVsbCxbXV0." style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; direction: ltr; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.875rem; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 8px 0px 0px; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><div class="a3s aiL " id=":qu" style="font: small / 1.5 Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; overflow: hidden;"><div dir="auto"><span> </span>la fine è il mio inizio</div><div dir="auto"> ancora dodici chilometri il vagabondo delle stelle </div><div dir="auto">passeggeri notturni </div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">Rebecca Chergia 4G</div><div class="yj6qo"></div><div class="adL"></div></div></div>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-86074043572105284072023-05-20T10:38:00.001+02:002023-05-23T10:40:51.702+02:00Poesie dorsali : Rebecca Chergia<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNfNf3-R9o_Wm3kI7-6eAgpIr6DuVPHH5nuo1unV-oGCVJKQn_sipK3mpn06WQ_2rRphvNzElXIUISX4MwsnCmFYRPC2FN7zl1SAqGFWQygsQ7DKs25Y1ZtFHqHVk33cO1aK0AXMbi664UvgS1I-MnLyxoUp-GGsPnNOLABucIB9iRorwvCJ61dZQo/s1024/Rebecca%20Chergia%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNfNf3-R9o_Wm3kI7-6eAgpIr6DuVPHH5nuo1unV-oGCVJKQn_sipK3mpn06WQ_2rRphvNzElXIUISX4MwsnCmFYRPC2FN7zl1SAqGFWQygsQ7DKs25Y1ZtFHqHVk33cO1aK0AXMbi664UvgS1I-MnLyxoUp-GGsPnNOLABucIB9iRorwvCJ61dZQo/w400-h300/Rebecca%20Chergia%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Un amore fuori dal tempo</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> l’ombra di quel che eravamo </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">non fa niente</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> non lasciarmi </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rebecca Chergia 4G</span></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-20273384768905839762023-05-20T09:10:00.001+02:002023-05-22T09:14:43.648+02:00Poesie dorsali : Camilla Pigliacampo<p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamzSy03ihbW0BLUbLxIOJn-KNQxQw-VX2LWEJX_5SCj5DkmYmISbaPPn2HpXtEqNT7Idua0fJVoVugdIi4zE-m2wH6AjZ87SwXefy7MXmTb6CEc4RvDCye-vP7flYK-PioVluXwuSnhlClDx2YRgFhVkKuWIgNHDGH9MwQ_veOxLC0XV_qq34tOJ0/s1080/camilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="1080" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamzSy03ihbW0BLUbLxIOJn-KNQxQw-VX2LWEJX_5SCj5DkmYmISbaPPn2HpXtEqNT7Idua0fJVoVugdIi4zE-m2wH6AjZ87SwXefy7MXmTb6CEc4RvDCye-vP7flYK-PioVluXwuSnhlClDx2YRgFhVkKuWIgNHDGH9MwQ_veOxLC0XV_qq34tOJ0/w400-h297/camilla.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Bastava chiedere</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>chi ha ucciso SARa?</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>La grande sera</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>sulla faccia della terra.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Morire pèer una notte</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>la fine è il mio inizio.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Camilla Pigliacampo 2 G</i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-52970363856502712162023-05-19T13:09:00.003+02:002023-05-19T13:09:32.010+02:00Poesie dorsali : 4 J<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxSyzrKJvTbUE4TcF3HYjEwqn8zCtXPBVYBaU-cCqpGDqRbkVQg43bi_WLLVTg6_RjbwL2SajSyX3KkUdUkfdU4mC3__i-dqV60l_mfUacGWS7nY3NMcKSYkX0z1fq8WppAiOBdoPFdoKfsP6AZZzxSE1aO8mFVswM4nM6GfYhxzC14IHwYuIPcgB/s1600/non%20%C3%A8%20lei.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxSyzrKJvTbUE4TcF3HYjEwqn8zCtXPBVYBaU-cCqpGDqRbkVQg43bi_WLLVTg6_RjbwL2SajSyX3KkUdUkfdU4mC3__i-dqV60l_mfUacGWS7nY3NMcKSYkX0z1fq8WppAiOBdoPFdoKfsP6AZZzxSE1aO8mFVswM4nM6GfYhxzC14IHwYuIPcgB/w300-h400/non%20%C3%A8%20lei.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Non è lei</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>L’ombra di quel eravamo</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Tutto chiede salvezza</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Ogni storia è una storia d’amore</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Per sempre</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>classe 4 J <br /></i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
Stefania Masciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12282114328099268358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-536471729372803172023-05-19T13:01:00.008+02:002023-05-19T13:01:59.227+02:00Poesie dorsali : Giuseppina Urru<p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhi0g3R06I243YJbHPuvCoenXmIImC87dxf-vX8OEnUZy80FgyE03JbQcTo9waWjaV5ThyQIdTv-FE1SDB0l_M1xgx9XwuLwcDA2hOK0cLIh7K13cZmHlDjOy_-siPIF16wKL24FOxjI2Xa1IWq5SYiwsaEynk1pzbWH63E5ucDoBL3gQ8IQZnBGH/s4000/Pina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhi0g3R06I243YJbHPuvCoenXmIImC87dxf-vX8OEnUZy80FgyE03JbQcTo9waWjaV5ThyQIdTv-FE1SDB0l_M1xgx9XwuLwcDA2hOK0cLIh7K13cZmHlDjOy_-siPIF16wKL24FOxjI2Xa1IWq5SYiwsaEynk1pzbWH63E5ucDoBL3gQ8IQZnBGH/w400-h300/Pina.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> Per niente al mondo</span></i><p></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">un regalo da Tiffany</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">bastava chiedere!</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> Giuseppina Urru</span></i><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-8996255863790766372023-05-19T12:58:00.006+02:002023-05-19T12:58:44.964+02:00Poesie dorsali : Giuliana Deidda<p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62EbDHXaNxhRGlnJesBQbW9-zd9cq6PL7pe8vpHkfW-Q7LBwpRMKWIhO33zWubSwrnfhYxyla5fyZJNXwH9LF94-JuzUNFoHmMsQDGZIkk3fx4UiT9yHErWyaPzW1FUARF2SzRB5d65iQ37Ohj-OMGr5qez1FUQLsA3R4vivNaEVIrYlxh_ZecrS9/s4000/Giuliana%20Deidda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62EbDHXaNxhRGlnJesBQbW9-zd9cq6PL7pe8vpHkfW-Q7LBwpRMKWIhO33zWubSwrnfhYxyla5fyZJNXwH9LF94-JuzUNFoHmMsQDGZIkk3fx4UiT9yHErWyaPzW1FUARF2SzRB5d65iQ37Ohj-OMGr5qez1FUQLsA3R4vivNaEVIrYlxh_ZecrS9/w400-h300/Giuliana%20Deidda.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Io mi fido di te</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>volevo essere una farfalla</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Giuliana Deidda</i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-10433527642886443932023-05-19T12:57:00.002+02:002023-05-19T12:57:12.862+02:00Poesie dorsali : Bianca Lecca<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZWdsR8TBCpKLJtFy_9V4QXUl7ZScCMAfECVtZFaZjWb8qrmOQt_hqZhMkHSzUUr2DZ3tlN9F-Lx-fWAPVyjG_9THJVtZw9Y8QgykgOQ3yRWlkp30BcKGMrJkzAusp-lSpgZS1pOjhCi-HczWhrHgcV7XrRgJW9AIIKTnL-IIsvwUSGgG2pL4339v/s4000/Bianca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZWdsR8TBCpKLJtFy_9V4QXUl7ZScCMAfECVtZFaZjWb8qrmOQt_hqZhMkHSzUUr2DZ3tlN9F-Lx-fWAPVyjG_9THJVtZw9Y8QgykgOQ3yRWlkp30BcKGMrJkzAusp-lSpgZS1pOjhCi-HczWhrHgcV7XrRgJW9AIIKTnL-IIsvwUSGgG2pL4339v/w400-h300/Bianca.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Lo stupore della notte</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>la lunga attesa dell'angelo</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>notti in bianco, baci a colazione</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Bianca Lecca</i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-15644269288081724602023-05-19T12:55:00.004+02:002023-05-20T11:39:44.285+02:00Poesie dorsali : Simonetta Contu <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAu13QMS2DMnoHxN2QEicsviKOL9d12zrlxb9LlCIf-AduR0t34pWHt7HqD8Zdjzs6mh3KxLxNQLAPaVccT4hvCxBn4DEA53Bhq-mHTOB4vBONPZUhyg8mlrkDJ3EJi3uGHxcz79axhMZBesYd0ADYCuUiMiHkHVGRNvaT3OJIrw1IeT-9Pz97-8L9/s4000/Simonetta%20Contu3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAu13QMS2DMnoHxN2QEicsviKOL9d12zrlxb9LlCIf-AduR0t34pWHt7HqD8Zdjzs6mh3KxLxNQLAPaVccT4hvCxBn4DEA53Bhq-mHTOB4vBONPZUhyg8mlrkDJ3EJi3uGHxcz79axhMZBesYd0ADYCuUiMiHkHVGRNvaT3OJIrw1IeT-9Pz97-8L9/w400-h300/Simonetta%20Contu3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Sono manacato all'affetto dei miei cari</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>si potrebbe andare tutti al mio funerale</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>cronache dal paradiso.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Simonetta Contu </i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-43393206934455649892023-05-19T12:53:00.002+02:002023-05-19T12:53:19.444+02:00Poesie dorsali : Giuliana Sirigu<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkI1gOnCDwBg7UmGHTVLQDZ4x9Z5BORjErsS-YY6wNdzzZrWb4iVRw2KvsyQCMIP7OJrVPlF_vQ0D-E152N5M91Wf_alS19a6y438PQ8aR3NcMTbLRf1JZF0By6rqHXASdK_M2fg80socqnjcvfLcM19yBQiLuVKuFkrMZjd2UjXL8Y2RZ21yPn6c/s4000/Giuliana%20sirigu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkI1gOnCDwBg7UmGHTVLQDZ4x9Z5BORjErsS-YY6wNdzzZrWb4iVRw2KvsyQCMIP7OJrVPlF_vQ0D-E152N5M91Wf_alS19a6y438PQ8aR3NcMTbLRf1JZF0By6rqHXASdK_M2fg80socqnjcvfLcM19yBQiLuVKuFkrMZjd2UjXL8Y2RZ21yPn6c/w400-h300/Giuliana%20sirigu.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> Il mio vero nome</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>la principessa sul pisello</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Giuliana Sirigu </i></span><br /></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-4647287179768382482023-05-19T12:51:00.004+02:002023-05-19T12:51:36.564+02:00Poesie dorsali : 4 J<p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ64c2d94sB7GHxgwsR2MtdhoaVZZsFpBz3G7GHhyNF3B_ibBymqi5MOl7tPtmpd8VOdIX0EoTyVgAmCY1PdiwRP0wFuOuLMJrYhSgvUrgBOPB7CMMEuM1pps69rHugb59Swy5bnBf-rhv08DFvzTHgiyza2OHsHeVLCytijCpc-ntpjotQfG6bHvd/s1600/frontiere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ64c2d94sB7GHxgwsR2MtdhoaVZZsFpBz3G7GHhyNF3B_ibBymqi5MOl7tPtmpd8VOdIX0EoTyVgAmCY1PdiwRP0wFuOuLMJrYhSgvUrgBOPB7CMMEuM1pps69rHugb59Swy5bnBf-rhv08DFvzTHgiyza2OHsHeVLCytijCpc-ntpjotQfG6bHvd/w400-h300/frontiere.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Le frontiere dell’uomo,</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>a sud del confine, a ovest del sole</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>quando tutto sembra immobile</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>prima di dirti addio</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p> </p><p> </p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-83717469036706198612023-05-19T12:46:00.003+02:002023-05-19T12:50:22.147+02:00Poesie dorsali : 4 J<div class="separator" style="text-align: center;"><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></p></div><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWl0jvo1ZvPpcLU_OQ1cGCVQLHfwW5apEevUR9y-gBiAOkOm_Hw-tRbns7VYnjBYgyWx6l_AcSiRTKWwIOwI6MhYTqDaMOe3oaRfi2sjycURujDe3Hx5LxaswTL63yFnLKyUQ0dQvrDHpmsbKxMavwXHyt769xx6zWDIWNrK3N3mrS3yUEg93iasAw/s1600/buio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWl0jvo1ZvPpcLU_OQ1cGCVQLHfwW5apEevUR9y-gBiAOkOm_Hw-tRbns7VYnjBYgyWx6l_AcSiRTKWwIOwI6MhYTqDaMOe3oaRfi2sjycURujDe3Hx5LxaswTL63yFnLKyUQ0dQvrDHpmsbKxMavwXHyt769xx6zWDIWNrK3N3mrS3yUEg93iasAw/w400-h300/buio.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> <br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> <i>Buio</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>la tua ombra sta ridendo</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>morendo ho ritrovato me stessa.</i></p>
<p> </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-8210802886966670362023-05-18T12:41:00.000+02:002023-05-18T12:41:06.242+02:00Poesie dorsali : Marzia Todde, Sara Meloni, Alessandra Contu<p><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyp2up9w7WBEgkXfWrde7htrbFS6U3DQYT7c_YXWvOgBV1KRmzfRWl-jTv2T4o4_x2O_LctANOlgGll8VuCjSbctDhohvXb79B_BifZN3eA0PCJ8DTANHV4LJ5P2GaqGJEHTAmeHEVYi4K_yqn6rls2EBn65uqITjyh8pwrN57ToUyrok_g7hsr5qE/s1431/IMG-20230518-che%20rabbia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1431" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyp2up9w7WBEgkXfWrde7htrbFS6U3DQYT7c_YXWvOgBV1KRmzfRWl-jTv2T4o4_x2O_LctANOlgGll8VuCjSbctDhohvXb79B_BifZN3eA0PCJ8DTANHV4LJ5P2GaqGJEHTAmeHEVYi4K_yqn6rls2EBn65uqITjyh8pwrN57ToUyrok_g7hsr5qE/w303-h400/IMG-20230518-che%20rabbia.jpg" width="303" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div dir="auto">Che rabbia! </div><div dir="auto">La radice del pianto</div><div dir="auto">morendo ho ritrovato me stessa. </div><div dir="auto">Ferite ancora aperte</div><div dir="auto">donne che amano troppo. </div><div dir="auto">Racconti di una vita, </div><div dir="auto">paura e tristezza. </div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">Marzia Todde, Sara Meloni, Alessandra Contu 4G</div> </div><p></p>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-55711242836414431492023-05-18T11:04:00.004+02:002023-05-18T11:04:35.725+02:00Poesie dorsali : Soraya, Erica, Chiara 4G<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBQR0ZCVeOhcn8GmOlrnEBTAOy0TIyBfffZVIwzO8ryJjNlGhsiq31wacSQk3Q0xIo_bujIX63ZMfsID_zlWwTaM8nkGWQR0FtoSx5cLCs396BDts4P7ZHOeFJAlqV1MOlAjXb1I7wAWIwGs6oWxJXvaOiAy6kt0EiK6GPwVcqja_3pGuRnoQM00_/s1097/Soraya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBQR0ZCVeOhcn8GmOlrnEBTAOy0TIyBfffZVIwzO8ryJjNlGhsiq31wacSQk3Q0xIo_bujIX63ZMfsID_zlWwTaM8nkGWQR0FtoSx5cLCs396BDts4P7ZHOeFJAlqV1MOlAjXb1I7wAWIwGs6oWxJXvaOiAy6kt0EiK6GPwVcqja_3pGuRnoQM00_/w394-h400/Soraya.jpg" width="394" /></a></div><br /> Sono ancora vivo: ho scelto la vita,<p></p><div dir="auto">io posso morire per una notte.</div><div dir="auto">Io posso, sono ancora vivo.</div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">Soraya, Erica, Chiara 4G</div>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-40058051648124906932023-05-18T11:00:00.005+02:002023-05-18T11:00:42.294+02:00Poesie dorsali : Laura Fulghesu e Marta Serra <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JKgx0RRXrDgTjZp1cTzej-P7JY9rbTeZsicQdEQp0jML3mAOdvb1pMjB1SfHFrXaNZkL7IB9K0GqRfG8rzHehagYqmTA0r7X2BpAbog8brgGB_ODIM-OwQyB39VhopZehLZOB-x9hQk79G9K5Dt3B486o4D2aiAwPiWz9WzJcv8ne3a2iUfm1Zyf/s4032/Il%20mondo%20nei%20miei%20occhi%20incompreso%20FULGHESU%20E%20SERRA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JKgx0RRXrDgTjZp1cTzej-P7JY9rbTeZsicQdEQp0jML3mAOdvb1pMjB1SfHFrXaNZkL7IB9K0GqRfG8rzHehagYqmTA0r7X2BpAbog8brgGB_ODIM-OwQyB39VhopZehLZOB-x9hQk79G9K5Dt3B486o4D2aiAwPiWz9WzJcv8ne3a2iUfm1Zyf/w300-h400/Il%20mondo%20nei%20miei%20occhi%20incompreso%20FULGHESU%20E%20SERRA.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> Il mondo nei miei occhi incompreso,<p></p><div dir="auto">per tutto l’anno paura e tristezza, </div><div dir="auto">niente di vero…tutto chiede salvezza</div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">Laura Fulghesu e Marta Serra 4G</div>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4606271335274499450.post-47195955095965399442023-05-18T10:59:00.001+02:002023-05-18T10:59:05.805+02:00Poesie dorsali : Mauro Erriu<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYMLpglrM5Fg3FXIUuJ9w30mp7G5_5XUI0_XzLghRF6hO98oO080M-8WmlTOsPrCDKHyn4n35e1XAsD0XOZ1LTBR4j_YYTrLhz5vWRM8BysdPGxGxF0bQWGQEhRyxuDkJ6FKk5_qbhfSInVLIJJcSy6tu8D4C-D26NuTazkYZTRk2FeKZq9d7S5Wg/s4000/Adesso%20il%20diavolo,%20buio%20vuoto%20ERRIU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYMLpglrM5Fg3FXIUuJ9w30mp7G5_5XUI0_XzLghRF6hO98oO080M-8WmlTOsPrCDKHyn4n35e1XAsD0XOZ1LTBR4j_YYTrLhz5vWRM8BysdPGxGxF0bQWGQEhRyxuDkJ6FKk5_qbhfSInVLIJJcSy6tu8D4C-D26NuTazkYZTRk2FeKZq9d7S5Wg/w400-h300/Adesso%20il%20diavolo,%20buio%20vuoto%20ERRIU.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Adesso il diavolo, buio vuoto.</p><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">Mauro Erriu 4 G</div>bibliobloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844954080890447891noreply@blogger.com0