Holyday!!

No stuff here for some weeks: holyday, at last!

 

Bye bye

 

🙂

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This wave

Photo by JB, 2018

 

I already know this wave, its side
toward me, toward returns to beach
firm and usual, full of all my going…
I beg You: take my ship away from its port.

 Give me a further that drown any pale
norm, a stagnant backwash, empty roaming
across all usual seasons and balance
that sleeps dreaming about silly itself

 Give me impulse to face the blue of
Your so distant clear sky and the night
of my confused heart, of my nothing.
Let me be like a life, like its bloom

 

July, 9th 2018

 

Italian version

The storm

Oh, I’m so sorry: yesterday I cannot post this stuff, so I do it now.

 

Photo by JB, 2017

 

I experience the silence of mountain
lonely as balcony over the plain
where each river flows, where each old land
is now fighting against roads and buildings

 

A big storm is preparing in the west side,
it will be here soon, symbol and fact.
I stare at its black night, at its feature
that completely hides sun and blue sky

 

July, 11th  2018

 

Italian version

Cicadas

Photo by JB, 2017

 

Fussy noise by cicadas invades me
and comes down from the top of old cedars
growing through my mind and all the garden,
paroxysm in the heat of today

It’s a summer’s sign and marks this time
that regenerates futile instincts
to the love that fades always at night.
I long for complete fullness of days

 

July, 6th 2018

 

Italian version

 

Yellow straw

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Yellow straw tells me old story
about seasons and work, about fruits
Now it dries at the sun, useless, dead
tired gold poured down on the fields
 

You cut straws for me once, in my prime,
inside mature wheat stem, in the summer,
you told me about butterflies, bees
leading so my young life to its bloom
 

Now I am in the evening of days,
as sail broken by slaps of bad wind.
I know that you are alive and you are better
yet I wish here your strength, your strong hand

July, 4th 2018

 

Italian version

Reed flute

Pic from here

 

Rumi (1207-1273), Persian poet and mystic

 

Any reed will regret her old swamp
where she was born among sister reeds.
Now she is moaning with sweet music and
whoever hear her remembers that pain
 

We are stagnant in this stifling air
while we are going through these tired sedges.
Any color today is a pale viola
secular sobriety without hope

 

March, 8th 2018

 

 

Italian version

 

 

Modest redstart

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Modest redstart watches me behind
old wisterias and then comes down here
on loose gravel where frisks looking something
at the ground as I too often do
 

I feel birds’ joy and freshness that chirps
in the clear and bright light of the day
while I smoke slowly thoughts in the shadow.
Just this moment is beautiful God

 

June, 15th 2018

 

Italian version