See you soon …
One of my silly cats
come here, stop themselves,
take a look all around
then they go
elsewhere as sweet kisses who like
soft young warm girls’ cheeks and
go to taste other more
Only silly minds can
think to return to hunt them
because they are free, higher
over you in deep skies
Catlike, myself waits too
curled up on a chair
for they come
to free my soul again
April, 8th 2021
They, here, today, a few minutes ago
It’s here spring again, It’s here spring now
all my garden declares clearly that
with wild wide-awake flowers and bright
new green grass and a blackbird that skips
Also a plum tree had waked up early
and now sprouts it’s so many white buds.
Violets are a lot and they melt
themselves into fragrance in the breeze
It’s here spring again, it is now spring
wide awake flowers, farmed or wild
in my garden declare clearly that
and they’re violets, primroses,
Lent is running fast toward your Easter
it’s another strange one, without laughs,
among silenced roads, sirens, and
infinite vanity of the whole
It’s now spring again, anyway life
breaks as well nature stasis and mine.
Like a tulip I wait for a burst
of red petals: it’s your Easter, come!
March, 13th 2021
Photo by Cherry Laithang. I found it here.
These nights I was awake and desire
did suspend everything from the dark
like does willpower when cannot act
like a life that can not be complete
Tonight you met my wishes, my needs
so you sprinkled my skin with your sighs
as a precious balm and sweet fragrance
everywhere up to my womanhood
It was night and there was soft warm skin
around me and no more dark bad things
in my deep and some whispers began strange
love song …
We’re in love and Who is love offers life
SL, Elven Forest,
November, 21th 2020
from The Picture of Dorian Gray
Pic from here
Music had stirred him like that. Music had troubled him many times. But music was not articulate. It was not a new world, but rather another chaos, that it created in us. Words I Mere words t How terrible they were I How clear, and vivid, and cruel 1 One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them I They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to form- less things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?
Maybe it’s a book about sin, maybe it’s a book about our wish to be alive. In any case, in it there are a lot of deep and detailed description of our soul. Music and words: I do not comment what he says much better than what I could do.
Chatting with my friend Aola and her autoharps…
I’ve some buttons, you know
how touch them to vibrate
my deep chords and my senses:
thus I feel
joy and peace
I’ve some buttons, I know
most of them and my chords.
I can feel them vibrating
thus I gaze
me to live
I don’t know all my chords
and my buttons. Someone lies
on my skin, someone hides
I know I’ve locked chords,
buttons too: that’s my soul.
My skin needs other touch,
my heart too.
It’s to live
SL, Elven Forest, October, 20th 2020
Better to go there to see this pic. Judy (Mitla) is the cat girl on the right.
This my puppet in a dream
behaves as a silly cat.
Are you sure am I just so?
My words freshen what we are
I’m a puppet of the fate
when I trek alone and think
that I can own my true lot.
My words twist so what we are
I’m a puppet into a stream,
a fast flow that swamps each thing
without sense or reason so
my words try to show my aims
Also a puppet becomes free
from her ropes when knees before
Who created her with love.
My words look for what we are
SL, Milk Wood, September, 12nd-October, 3rd 2020
See you soon
Pic from here
On Being Human
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.
The tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth’s salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves’ fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang –can angels measure it?
-An angel has no nose.
The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf’s billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
-An angel has no nerves.
Far richer they! I know the senses’ witchery
Guard us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb’d sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.
Clive Staples Lewis
First time I read these words, they seem very close to that moving and beautiful movie by Wim Wenders with a so interesting title: Wings of Desire.
You can easily see a clear connection between this poetry and my blog.
Without these words this blog couldn’t exists.
Maybe my English is too much bad to go on to write here…
Maybe I deceived myself
Maybe it is better I quit with this stuff …