Genevieve

Near that Unicorn

 

Near a white unicorn, elvish trees
are around us as dark discrete shield.
You lay lazy and beautiful on
the horseback: your arms dreamily down

Our colours are lovely together:
my black skin on your grey one with stars
and red flowers as blood in a night
when tears are not enough, not so much

Our colours are lovely tonight.
My gold eyes into your deep blue ones
where they lose themselves looking into
those two pure water wells in your face

Near a white unicorn, elvish trees
are around here and looking at us.
Black and purple and grey and white stars:
we share our skins close. Naked souls

 

SL, Elven Forest, September, 7th 2019

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All that heat

I look at all that heat from cool shade,
from a cave among green and old ivy.
Outside hot spell insists with cicada
in the merciless, summer day light

In your shadow I live, you are a fresh
shelter from anxiety that takes me
when I work or I go on black roads,
when I see people’s empty pale faces

Last solstice skimmed short time ago
and it’s victory of living on darkness.
I almost forget the time end
even if it comes down: I feel peace

We are in the shadow of a so strong Hand
which governs everything in best way
We are shipwrecked spread in this world
yet we are not alone. We are there
                                                      and there is here a Sense

 

June, 28th 2019

 

Italian version

 

…………………………..AND NOW…. HOLIDAY!!!!!

Peace and crickets

This movie is by Francesca Bonfatti

 

Peace and crickets knead themselves at evening
with leftover heat wave of this day.
I release my mind free: it finds sweetly
you and thinks about you everywhere

You gave me your caresses tonight
I caught you full of passion and quiver
like a tender surrender and gift
to that love that still takes us so tight

Evening star shins up there looking at
me from a deep dark sharp blue clear sky
into the summer night. It is fullness
of memories, that are now too much,
                                                             and it’s hope

 

Italian version

 

They grow up

Toward London together with my sons, 2017

 

After these rainy and strange and cold months
everything is well usual, awake
in the world of green life,
                                        in this time
where already spring is warming up

You are peaceful too. I look at you
while you talk and have rest quietly.
What will do our sons to whom we
gave both life and sense to be in the world?

Now they go unsteady and shaky but
but they try as we too tried then.
Let’s give them all that field we could to have
when our time was so dense: a promise

 

May, 31st 2019

 

Italian version

A strong wind

JB, that day

 

A strong wind tears white foam off from water
that swells as an old giant’s loud scream.
All hangs into a dark leaden sky,
density of each spirit is free

A wild wind sweeps my face, so my anger
moves away compared with the immense
swirling of forces greater than those
of each minute whims which I can do

Wind. I stand up with effort and upright
turning my chest against booming sea.
I feel all this my body alive
then a smile looks for you and I’m safe

 

Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone,

April, 25th 2019

Italian version

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

Narrow crosses

JB, that night

 

Ancient square grey stones tell us dark stories
about power and passions and fights.
The austere building, that stole popes from Rome
at that time, seems invincible, immense

Narrow crosses draw black and strange carvings
from where I imagine shooting arrows
down to square and those people, to tourists,
that are pale shadows of splendid people

Where the hell did those strong people go,
they who raised you with each cathedral,
which was Europe salvation that time?
Solitude freezes now all my bones

 

Palais des Papes, Avignon,
April, 22nd 2019

Italian version

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

This stone highland

JB, 2019

 

This stone highland that boxwood shrubs dress
thickly with small hard leaves as a robe
climbs down steeply to the river ghost
where a ravine become wider meander

White rock deforms in concentric spasms,
isoipses that marks so a cadence
of warm climate and parched hardground
towards the ancient mill, at the source

That fresh water like faith and like hope
caused motion of people: thus wheat
became flour and then became bread
for miles all around here. It was life.

I go down and climb back in the circus.
I look at terebinth and lentisk
building alien landscape that refers
to the sea: it’s true factor yet absent presence

Each thing changes, so houses and churches
were destroyed and turn now to vain tourism,
empty goals only for pleasant holiday.
Oh my Christ, return clear and alive

 

Cirque de Navacelles,

April, 24th

 

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

 

Italian version