Terry’s Empty chairs

Terry empty chairs Cover

My friend Terry made into Second Life this art installation, where as usual she is her model. It moved me, especially for the sweet sadness and the melancholy of all the installation, that looks at something no more (or not yet?) there.

After I wrote my text, I knew that Terry dedicated her installation to her dad.

 

(to Terry with affection)

White smooth skin, baked clay,                    1 Terry empty chairs Terry
modest and statuesque, you wear
only crimson nail polish.
A mask always occludes your mouth

No words and no caresses,
no kiss can warm your lips
sealed in stunned stasis.
Each thing is only silence of absence

You’re alone, wandering empty rooms,
with no friends, mates, companions around.
Antique pink on the walls contrasts with
your so pale, delicate, marble flower

2 Terry empty chairs Frames

 

Black frames say deep dark space:
they tell it as thick, worrying
empty sockets that lost any memories
about who lived there, into their picture

 

3 Terry empty chairs Garden

 

You do live a green dream, colours and
gentle birds hovering in the air
like a breeze thickening nice presences,
chirps that are given to joyful love

 

4 Terry empty chairs prospects 3

Then a spectrum of empty prospects,
lifeless too, follows the garden where
there are colours and light and birds, joy:
follows it, closes it with stress, anguish

Benches sit down inside a dark park
and so many chairs stacked or spread
through the empty night streets, waiting for,
without one who enjoys or lives them

 

5 Terry empty chairs Vespa

 

Like those chairs, an alone empty Vespa.
You watch it, maybe thinking of someone
dead, not here, maybe a friend that taught you
to fish,
when you were only a child

 

A strange feeling makes turgid my breasts
as I look at your so gorgeous body
I’m lame and very small and I feel
your skin close to me and it’s ice cold

 

SL, Osta Nimosa, August, 24th 2021

 

Italian version

There’s a rose

DSCN1403-min

That rose, by me

 

 

There’s a rose, a new rose in my garden
she just bloomed, she’s pretty
almost like a small sun, like a drop
of its warm yellow light. She’s a rose

Today I saw a rose in my garden
she’s a rose with a flower, no more
as a lonely explosion of grace
without excess of crowds. She’s a rose

So I planted a rose in my garden.
May gave her light and warmth
and the colour of a shining dawn.
I don’t bring up her, she does live. The rose

 

June, 5th 2021

 

Italian version

I’m relaxing

DSCN1416-min

That evening, by me

 

I’m relaxing
After silly bad things, after evil and sins
after days of strong work

In the evening
after shining of sun, after wet heat and dun
pale skies like an artwork

I’m relaxing
For so long and so far I awaited for spring
now she paints all with green

Now it’s evening
A soft breeze slowly strokes honeysuckles
bumblebees seem to chuckle

And my mind smiles, in peace, about files
no more scary

Like a faery
in the evening, when air smells of green clary
I’m relaxing

 

 

May, 29th 2021

 

 

Homeless wave 2

homeless wave

Homeless wave, by AtélieKemi

 

 

I dream of a wild, a giant wave
white foam shaking the deep blue immobility:
stagnancy
widespread on ocean bottoms

I am the wave and I wander restlessly
with no place to sleep quiet,
without peace in the senses; my body
grows old and yet it craves caresses

Each of us is the wave, and we’re restless
if love doesn’t touch us, if anyone
never looks at us with sharp desire
to be one with us in sweet embrace

There’s no peace for the wave in the world
of concrete yet distracted earth things.
The Reality is larger than what
forces us and cages us: it’s the death

 

 

May, 1st 2021

 

(English version translated from the original Italian one)

Dohmangreda

Dohmangreda

 

Dohmangreda, by AtélieKemi

 

Silky turgor on your skin
stretches tremors of that May
when each thing went toward life:
grass and trees and naïve young girls

Silky turgor on your skin
yet your breast withers so fast
where are now all your past springs
where your surge and needs of love?

Had you love during that time
when you lifted young firm breasts
in the pride of your fresh years
now lost like each rose loses petals?

A sick pallor grows on you
and a cap hides your thin hair
yet your mouth blooms and it’s a
brilliant explosion of red

It’s reminder, regret or
will to win against the time?
Maybe it’s a dream, blind hope
that denies these current things

Like you I am fooled trend
caged by old memories
Thus I lose my present life
and dye hair and certainties

 

SL, Osta Nimosa, April, 8th 2021

 

Italian version

Miracle of reality

Miracle of reality

Miracle of reality, by AtélieKemi

Who can say
what will be after dark
when the light will come, if
it will be?

Night is realm of dreams and black shadows
where eyes are not allowed to help
us to see the world, people and things
as they are, not supposed to be

You splash some colour on the blank sheet
here so that now I can see somewhat,
something, someone, a body, yourself
to rise when world begins to exist

Light is a true miracle when sun
once more raises and reality explodes
forcing us to wake up, to be alive
to be what we are born to become

Something red, maybe skin, blood… a face
comes out from fable, feeble, flat blue
texture, maybe ocean of dreams
and green spots maybe grass or tree leaves

That’s a shock, each time when our eyes
open asking us this: What the hell happens now?
Why God wants us alive, still alive
after each night of darkness and dreams?

A soul grows, raises up, that’s a face
and it expands itself to take place
in the world, to find and fill each field
with its knowledge to be fully alive

That’s miracle of reality, yes!
when real world, with all its solid things
comes to us, again, and that’s new dawn:
shoddy things become beauty, life, warmth

And you rise and you grow and I too
to explore each space there, to be close
to each friend we’ll meet here in this day
to each thing shaped by light once more

We now say
what will be after dark
because light will come here:
It will be!

SL, Amazing Love, May, 4th 2021

Homeless wave

homeless wave

Homeless wave, by AtélieKemi

 

There’s a tower, just there, near the corner,
strong thin matter, as one of us, standing
near the giant sea that has no limits
to its power or strength or time also

A large wave as anomalous shiver
shines so white, like a pure and clean spirit,
or breath came from a powerful goddess
of the past, when all was only silence

It’s explosion of white: foam and water
with no rest hit and upset the blue
quiet depths yet it is without evil
as wild something who shouts to be alive

We are watching at that nature’s play,
weak and little as poor tiny creatures
waiting for that wave could bring back here
something found at the end of the sky

The wave goes and returns and again
brings us toward that weird foreign sky
and then back to the dry ground and more
again there, again here, so we are puzzled

By the sea side the wave sees us here
near the tower, on our safe dryland
brown and dark, with no green grass nor trees
as a still place where life seems an absence

Each of us is a homeless wave, often,
because life is so small, narrow, tight
and the world can not cage our wishes.
There’s no home here for our swollen souls

Our nothing is a so sharp feeling
as that black thin high tower, the corner
of the picture … and we are that nothing.
Yet we know that we are and we love

 

 

May, 1st 2021

There is always a sunset

There is always a sunset, by

 

here is always a sunset because
each dawn sun rises higher again
to ensure that we are still alive
in this world made for us by you, Lord

Pain and joy are so close in this way
where we walk sometimes also with friends;
someone comes, someone goes far away…
someone dies… I remember each of them

There is always a sunset; sometimes
it’s the death of each light: everyday
light arises then falls in that pit
bottomless where dark eats everything

Let me think to that long lasting night
without sun, northern, or even worse:
to that infinite dawn that aborts
without shining of full light: a failure

Maybe it’s a sort of dirty  trick
where someone plays against us: a game
to confuse our poor minds with suns that
do not carry out their true purpose

Sometimes our life goes toward that dark
as if we were unable to do good
as if we were poor lives that escape
without beauty or love, without joy

I saw your so bright sunsets, so shining
filled with red and orange and blue
filled with joy, alive, artworks that
show us all that light that we all need

 

February, 28th 2021

 

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions

Trusting border

Another Lanora painting! You can find her visiting her new blog, Atélie Kemi.

Well, that picture together with another post of a friend, Catherine, make me write this stuff… Sorry, I changed something in these words after my first version published…

 

It’s a dream perhaps,
or else maybe
it’s a nightmare and no one can know
because evil and good can be close
so their difference
now and again
seems light and slight too and
little thing

Maybe it’s
something like a small glade
among dark forest trees in the North
magic space amongst old tough dim firs
there,
where maidens go to sigh
while
they think about their love
as I did.

There’s a shape near to the border,
yes there
it’s a woman maybe, I can think.
She’s a woman, there, and I am sure
because that shape is not but myself.
She walks just near to the limit of
the glade placed into that odd dream
she treads carefully since dreams and both
nightmares can be so close
anyway

Trusting border of truth
where we see
this weird world,
where we know each right step,
easily walking there, into a safe line
yet where borders so often make us
curious creatures and wish
to see and know what is further beyond

It’s a dream perhaps,
or else maybe
it’s a nightmare and no one can know.
It’s confused
however it’s clear
as my life is and like my path too.
Bloody red like warm thoughts are still
there

Trusting border of both them:
light and
night and always twilight.
Good and evil, such as
black and white,
so close self-mix and tangled knot and
close, so close as not solvable knot
and exactly we are just that knot

February, 20th 2021

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions.

Passage of opportunity

Passage of opportunity, by Atélie Kemi

My friend Lanora let me find her paintings. I am really not into not figurative art, yet some of her works are really moving and full of colours. This is one of them. Thank you, Lanora.

 

There’s a bridge, somewhere, there in the sky.
When I’m happy and life is my friend
I can see it, bright red. It’s my way:
it’s a clear path and leads to your eyes

Someone says it’s a nonsense, weird bridge
that connects no land to nowhere place
because it seems to fly in the air
with no ground where it rises alone

There’s a bridge. It’s somewhere in the sky.
When I’m sad in a foggy grey world
I can imagine it, even when
I close my eyes I know it’s just there

Someone says it’s a coloured dream
and no more: silly, senseless and without purpose …
I know it exists so that my heart
may come to your one and to your God

So you painted that bridge, in the sky.
It’s my own and it’s there, as warm sign
into cold light blue tones. Yellow splash
like sun forces us to watch up, up to Heaven

February, 11th 2021

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions