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

Sudden Light, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Sudden Light
D.G.Rossetti

Rossetti in a photo by Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson), albumen print, 7 October 1863

Pic from here

I have been here before,
but when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
the sweet keen smell,
the sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,
how long ago I may not know:
but just when at that swallow’s soar
your neck turned so,
some veil did fall,
I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
still with our lives our love restore
in death’s despite,
and day and night yield one delight once more?

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I always considered Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelite authors something like too much sentimental, romantic like, decadent.

Some days ago a friend told me more about them and I needed to know more abou them.

Well, I like these words much more than his paintings.

That friend said me that she finds something similar in my words and in Pre-Raphaelite ones: I am so proud for that, even if I think I am really so far from any real poet… Indeed, the idea to put into poetic stuff spiritual contents is what I try when i describes what i see or what i feel.

And now I am looking for other Rossetti’s words.

A white pain

Something soft, as grey mist
spreads across this small world
not like that red death mask
nor as black terror plague
sweetly it kills us now

I need eyes to watch in
I need hands to hold tight
I need friends to be close
I need love to be me

Something like a white pain
rides together with this
new weird virus and makes
mankind dull, forcing us
towards dreams

I need facts truly true
to be alive, to be far
from death innate in dreams
to be out
from that white without shape

Someone says that a man
resurrected by death
and He lives in his Church.


I decide to trust them
I need Christ who saves me
I need Him to change me
I need Him, to be me

Deep into
those clear eyes
I met Him
With those hands
He bears me
He was
is
in those friends

Unbelievable peace

April, 17th 2021

Catlike words

One of my silly cats

Catlike words
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

Italian version

Rag doll

 

It’s a machinima by Kristine.

My friend Aola showed me a poetry she wrote about Second Life Rag dolls; it was really impressive for me, so that I asked her permission to stole and corrupt her nice work; after it, Kristine remembered me her short video… Then I wrote this post.

As a rag doll I go
across my second life,
a soft puppet made with threadbare rags
an old stuff built with pieces of cloth

If I’m here
that’s because life broke me like it did
to you too

I’ve my Love and my faith
I am blessed and lucky and I …
I was lucky till now … and thus why
do I need something else?

As rag dolls all we go
across each life we have,
like soft weak, fragile puppet that are
really unable to stand up alone

We are here
because we look for what
each of us cannot gain without help…
What is it? Our way, our peace.
Our sense

 

SL, Elven Forest, April, 1st 2021

 

Lazarus’ Sunday

JB, now.

Well, I think it is very silly to share captions to some words, yet I must say that this is the first time I tag a stuff with coronavirus and apostasy too. My first time. I see a connection there and I must shout it.

Thank you Kristine for your contribution to open my eyes. Thank you. Be good.

 

This my dying vine sprouts
dry brown buds on wood branch
without lifeblood or hope
to be tender green leaves

There’s no more spring in mankind,
in this endless and soft feral feria
enveloping us in a pale stuff
where each thing becomes laziness

Lazarus also sleeps, still in silence,
bloodless and under white linen shrouds
waiting for life that is still suspended.
Anyway, all we are now death sick

I’m my dying vine with brown
sprouts that dry on branch wood
without lifeblood or hope
to be tender green leaves

First of all, it is not this disease
to bite life: it is sloth that fades us
like confused grey fog and cancels
every bud rush toward flowers burst

What I say is the world of rich’s evil,
sin of those who enjoy present-days,
even if dull, whilst deny salvation.
I am guilt like apostate is.

I am that dying vine and no sprout
I show but dry ones on my branch wood
They are without lifeblood nor they can
show a hope to be tender green leaves

 

March, 21st 2021

Italian version

It’s here spring

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,
                                                  hyacinths

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

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.