JB 2021, The Twins (near Alimonta Shelter)
You run nimbly, joy and freshness spreading,
aware of your so young and firm muscles.
On the path sloping down among stones
I see myself in you and tail you
Then my legs give in and I can not
keep your young rate and follow your steps.
You go away and I slow down, laughing.
My time gets shorter, yours rises higher
Coming back from Alimonta Shelter, August, 9th 2021
JB 2021, that day, there
This was the beginning of my last holidays
Beech trees show pitch-black foliage today
and smooth shiny trunks like marble columns.
The rain falls softly everywhere,
relief of each wild beautiful green
A dark gap leads into the woods, where
coolness thickens grey ghosts
that a breeze gently frays.
They are spirits of mine, from far years
I was young and perhaps I was cuter
and more nervous in my stronger muscles
I pursued my pride running so fast
and both silent, and wild and so foolish
Well, I’m here, and my holidays starts,
while my mind is erasing all frills
that make hard each the days of my year.
I am free and dissolve in the air
Also larches turn soft and thin branches
towards the ground and I indulge them,
so I lay my arms beside my hips.
I breathe water and air and feel good
Casa Faé, August, 1st 2021
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, 
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
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
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
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
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
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, 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
I’m my demon
I am evil, I spread
my day following wish that can’t give
me light or to turn to happy my time.
Thus my time runs away… toward what?
When I entered the water of life
there was beauty of black hairs and strength,
there were soft lips and eyes so clean, bright
grey and green. There was hope
Now I’m leaving this sea where we swim.
No more soft, this my body dries up
yet lust and will to make love grows up.
I’m my demon, that horrible bitch
Yesterday is no more, with no sense
except sin: I awaited that skin
cuddled my face and chest and down there…
Don’t’ let me alone with my bad thoughts
Don’t let me alone or I’ll be sin
Sunday, November, 8th 2020
JB, 2020, There
I leave each thing behind. I relax
my weak arms on the grass, where the moss
is still fresh by last rain
which already swells rivers downstream
Water flows like my years,
dragging memories and things
that are no longer anything, mists
so that mix hope with life
Still new holiday, old mountains too:
they are motionless, wide
and compete with the sky for more space.
I’m a shadow in the forest dark
Genova Valley,
August, 2nd 2020
JB, 2010
After holidays and winter flashes
there’s sun warmth.
I stretch out legs and arms.
All around mist congeals and blocks my
world and landscapes, remaining pale there
I begin to feel older myself,
to realize my acts are now more slow
despite my flesh that throws my mind far
toward young girl’s thoughts and toward dreams
I compressed emotions, a life
which now overflows causing this upset
that disturbs both my brain and my flesh,
old yet learning me as maiden stuff
Where did go years I spent, time I lost
without kisses and cuddles or smiles,
filled with duties and jobs that I now
feel so dry, feel so cold,
feel as lack?
I’m ashamed of so many words I
group with pens on sheets I hide, unknown:
those are outbursts of people I am,
schizophrenic mind without good drive
Other people are into my deep,
men and women that sometimes like flares
can arrive to my eye to look out:
here’s thus laughs, sometime cuddles
I can
February, 14th 2020
Photo by JB, 2014
Here we are again: a year more
fell due silently amid empty memories
that don’t give substance to this my present.
What is left of all travelled time?
Plum trees and buds wake up again, now
while I see new green in fields and woods.
Dry and dusty ground supports my steps
I think Easter is a far mirage
March, 17th 2019
In that day, for the first time in my life, I did not go to my work to avoid snow chaos.
JB, 2019
Winter ice freezes any trees’ shade
covering with thick and clotted frost fog
every branch, every trunk and this landscape.
In my heart I feel that rime and hoarfrost
Where are beautiful mountains’ white ghosts
which adorned my strange and flat sea:
the Po Plain waiting quiet for green life
dreaming any sap turgor of March?
Snow is now only an accident, chaos
really not virgin whiteness, it’s hitch
and I live into thoughts of old childs.
Lazy rest in the warmth of my bed.
Frebruary, 1st 2019
