This life

 

Photo by JB, 2009

This life gave me your eyes so clear, light
during my winter days, a concretion
of cold, sadness and silence
that you win, that you suddenly won when we met us
 

Yes, the life gave me your lovely eyes
full of beauty like the linden smile
when it scatters its scent and the sweetness
in the warm ride to the next solstice
 

The life gave me as present your eyes
and your lips and your hands and your skin
that I touch and a shiver moves me
while my soul moans and quivers and ripples
 

This life gave me your eyes, nowadays
tired yet again stretched forward
beyond me and the world, to the horizon
of each gesture so thrown even further

 

June, 19th 2017

Maybe the linden tree

 

I found that pic here

 

My dear friend Sharrow told me something about this stuff, so I changed something in it.

Thank you, Sharrow!

 

Maybe is this soft sweetness of linden
that spreads itself around in the air
into the already warm night of May

like strong wine which confuses my mind,
 

Maybe is this May sudden sun which
draws my linden out from the sleep where
I lay lazy, old and tired too
as I am a dry clod far from all
 

Maybe it’s this my spring that May slips
into me and so my blood again
boils renewed and alive. A tear melts
all my masks. Look at me: I am yours
 

I feel a deep peace into my womb
barren and running toward the nothing.
Now, please, move stronger me and push me
deeply to the way we are looking for
 

 

May, 28th 2017

 

Italian version

 

Previous version:

Maybe is this lime tree and its sweetness,
like strong wine which confuses my mind,
that spreads itself around in the air
into the already warm night of May
 

Maybe is this May sudden sun which
draws my lime out from the sleep where I
vegetate so old and tired too
as I am a dry clod far from all
 

Maybe it’s this my spring that May slips
into me and so my blood again
boils renewed and alive. A tear melts
all my masks. Look at me: I am yours
 

I feel a deep peace into my womb
barren and running toward the nothing.
Now, please, move stronger me and push me
deeply to the way we are looking for

Stormy weather

 

pic by sellsworth, from here

Paris, London, Kabul, Teheran …

 

Stormy weather again on the lake
as the troubles I keep in my mind.
People run to look for some repair;
I still here wait for cool on my face
 

Stormy weather again in this world.
Someone somewhere is preparing wars
in the middle of eastern warm lands
where the mankind knew how to eat grain
 

Stormy weather again in lost towns
where no one understands to see sense
in his acts further what he can see
with his eyes or touch with his own hands
 

Stormy weather again in my soul,
in your one and wherever a man
or a woman can live or can stay.
Without horizon there all falls: rain

 

June, 6th 2017

 

Italian version

Now my bed turns to gold

JB 2017

 

Now
gold and light make together my bed.
Yellow, orange and blue paint sharp drawings
demonstrating an order, a sense
After the confused darkness of winter

 
Rich in gold and so precious my bed,
it is like when you touch my nude skin,
You, the sweet love that lives in my depths.
I feel peace overnight, when I’m sleeping

 
Now my bed turns to gold and it shines
as the light in the room and reflects
my thoughts full of the warmth of affection.
You are my spring and you scatter my winter

 

May, 31th 2015

 

Italian version

Ruined theatre

 

(Dedicated to my friend Sharrow Decosta)

 

Like an arrow you enter my dreams,
this my second life where my soul wants
to be naked and fragile to be
seen without pain nor bad sinful thoughts

 
On the stage of this theatre we run:
only a moment we meet, then alone
we go back as a ghost among chairs
of a ruined place without life

 
Soon the curtain will slide down, the scene
will return black and dark as before.
Now we are near and close: hug me, please!
Let the dark feelings out of these doors

 
Like an arrow you enter my dreams
this my naked soul and all her pains.
See my nude heart here down, on this floor
I feel you into me so deep, Sharrow!

 

Second Life, Kessler, 19th May, 2017

Red cachemire

 

JB, 2017

 

You paint using so sinuous thoughts
every night all my night and my skin
quivers, trembles and asks for caresses
as she was still young and gets upset

 
Spring is trap and a danger for minds,
it’s a fire, it’s as scattered poppies
like the blood of a young woman when
she surrenders and gives her to love

 
In the winter I wanted my bed
red and I doodle my unsure dreams
every dawn as in cashmere designs
when you go far and I think alone

 
I don’t fulfil you, you don’t to me, neither
it’s enough this flesh for the immense wish
that you open wide as the blue does
when it breaks the clouds and at last shines

 

May, 9th 2017

 

Italian version

I’m a gift

Flower myth, 1918 – Paul Klee

A rosebloom I give you as a gift. It has whorls
red, rich, complex, compound
like the unspeakable hope that my flesh
as well as my deep spirit requires

 
This rosebloom I give you as a gift. Feel its taste:
the same of my warm blood, the same colour.
It has the scent of all my desire
that your glance upsets and fiercely stokes

 
Get the bloom: it’s my gift for your love.
Then myself I’ll be gift, restless matter
delicate with petals and thorns
which defends both my shame and frail marrow

 
A rosebloom is my gift: I give you it.
You breathe it, kiss, caress, enjoy it
This my present that is me, my question.
My rose I give you helpless tonight

 

May, 3rd 2017

Italian version