Purple loosestrife

JB, 2017

Purple loosestrife colours all the edges
of the road that goes on with the ditches
scattering water to all the green.
I’m with you and you smile and I lose me

 

August, 11 2017

Italian version

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Crabapples

This is a beautiful photo made by Catherine,
a lovely poet and a wondeful photographer: see her here

 

Now the summer
has gone
The sun paints
light crabapples
raging as well as violent
is the life

 

They are like orange pearls
in the dark of the night,
as your lips,
when they smile
into my night black thoughts

 

on the web, reading the blog Leaf and Twig,

 

October, 2nd 2017

 
Italian version

The wrong way

The wrong way, by Kristine Blackadder

 

When last week Kristine showed me her last machinima, with herself as protagonist, the first impact was a strong emotion, anyway, and saw in it powerfully expressed the wish to be,  the desire to be free.

She had and showed both an almost dreamlike version and an ordinary (“real”) one; in the last she wears her usual black dresses; the two Kristine mix each the other and perhaps the dreamlike and totally free one at a certain point seems to get the upper hand over the reality, but anyone, if alone, is able to jump with a force enough to reach a really high altitude and so we fall down again into our sad and usual custom.

Above all, no dream, no matter if it’s a magnificent one, helps us to walk the road toward our happiness.

 

Kristine, that’s what I understand seeing your movie… please! Forgive me if I am wrong and see only my own reflections.

Italian version

Here, the Hell


Here we are, as a part of a gear
that is pain made by pain
girls and women we were and now fear

     Winter days give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this ourselves made hell
     where no one can breathe well

Frozen chains bound the hearts and cold rain
like old blood wets the buds
of black plants on the ground to a drain

     Winter ways and the figures
     of this wasteland which quivers
     lead us to this foul hell
     where I hear that death knell

Life to death again: that is the flood.
Sisters moan among whispers
that strike our ears as can do a stud

     Winter boys give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this themselves made hell
     where they grow rude and swell
 

Now the life changed and it's a whipper:
red wounds filled my skin and my soul
and my tears grow so much… as a river

September, 16th 2017

Italian version

Joy

Gentiana asclepiadea, picture from here

 

Common bent feebly blurs at the blow
of the breeze rising up from the valley.
Gentian’s perfect blue shows itself deeper
than the lake abyss and swallows up me
 

I see shades of the sky in the rock
where the cyanite peeps out among quartz.
We are two, we are alone and we are happy
in the peace of a day that is joy

 

Riale, Val Formazza, August, 5th 2017

Italian version

Clemp

The village of Clemp,  JB 2016

 

I am tasting my slow steps that just
go on as they know. I ...
                      breathe the wind
which caresses the old shingle roof
of the village and the fort's stones too
 

In the silence of all the green grass
I soon vanish while all bad world's griefs
fade. Life is ...
                  as it is and right now
and it is peace and quiet consent


Clemp, August, 13th 2017

Italian version

Before the time die

Photo by JB, 2017

 

Before the time die
rolling so fast each instant to the next
till it wastes itself and my green
become like straw far-back dried out
 

Before the time go over
like each thing in a breath of nothing,
as the light in the evening, when the night
leads everyone to moan about the Absence
 

Before the time die
hiding me and each thing in a distant past,
like an instant born already old
and so something grab me when I’m upset
 

Until my time begin as new flower
true yet elsewhere, eternal, as promised
I want to be for you love but so honest,
love that seek in you God, way and meaning

 

July, 18th 2017

 

Italian version