picture by Marcela Bolivar
(Dedicated to LedaEuropa)
(The girl) The girl lies on the fresh and soft grass
near the beach, where she feels all the life
of the sea as a swelling, and seagulls.
The warm sun soon will caress her skin
(Leda) There a sudden weird love, as a swan
enters her, as a flabby white cloud,
and rapes her slipping his long strong neck
everywhere, like a lustful long snake
The dawn brushes the girl body now
with its yellow and pale grazing light
and the sea breeze takes to her the waves
as some delicate, far, moving whispers
Leda is both a dream, promise and flesh;
she is betrayed by that pagan sky
like all: Danae, Europa, Io, many ...
like each woman who pays live the world
August, 21st 2016
Photo by J.B., 2016
The air is lighter and invades me so deeply
into my chest and into my mind
to enrapture my grey perverse soul
beyond me and this weighty world's weird
The air is lighter and tempts me and my body
so I climb quickly to find my peace place.
In the refuge I mix and confuse
dreams and memories and silence
Mezzalama Shelter, August, 19th 2016
Thank you to my sister LedaEuropa for her suggestions!
St.Julius Isle, Orta Lake, J.B., 2013
Ancient myths tell us stories about
poisonous snakes and dragons and evil
nestled into this gloomy black island
filled with pagan and perverse rites
Now a calm joy invades every bay
and the same happiness welcomes us.
Black nuns bent under the weight of years
and novices both smile happy: they’re light
The millennial basilica is painted
with the colours of that old time life,
with the current certainty and with
the so serene song of women peace
I would like to find my peace path too
and at present time my way to joy.
Every wave here is whispering sweetly,
firmly however the hope really now
June, 26th 2016
My big evil grows hard alike maize
suddenly and so fills all my field
during the dry and warm summer times.
All my grass raves about damp soft soil
Ghosts of flowers and desert white lights,
empty ambitions of upset dreams, chords,
leave as sediment blankets of sleep.
Every day now turns into straw tones
June, 22th 2016
Simone Baschenis, 1539 Danza macabra, St.Vigilio Church, Pinzolo
Bones made boards, dreams
just are crumbs,
sterile bridges to nowhere land always
crushed hopes which soon and fast fly
from the things. They are wrecks in the night
Fancies tie up in bundles themselves
heteronyms and so faded masks.
Without flesh any ivory appearance
of the life has the colour of death
SL, Enoki, June, 18th 2016
Photo by J.B., 2009
Four pins sew upon me some, few excuses
usual and obsolete, anyway
when my cold skin begs you for affection
while it is parched by a fierce frenzy
The love always burns down: only a breath
that the modest sweet night can preserve
such as flashes of light at the sunset.
I steal from you the love I pretend
May, 26th 2016
Photo from wikipedia
Privet fragrance floods me in the garden
sweet as a caress during the night
when I can find comfort and my flesh
feels relax and the spasm soon collaps
As a young blackbird my poor soul scampers
looking deeply in the life grass for something
that is precious and worth to live with.
I am caught by an odd happy peace
My skin shrivels and my legs lost their
strength together with their youthful pride
yet a new and strange hope now grows up.
I am lovely when I climb my anger
May, 29th 2016
Thank you dear Marina: I did not know this beautiful song. Fly, blackbird, fly!