This is a beautiful photo made by Catherine,
a lovely poet and a wondeful photographer: see her here


Now the summer
has gone
The sun paints
light crabapples
raging as well as violent
is the life


They are like orange pearls
in the dark of the night,
as your lips,
when they smile
into my night black thoughts


on the web, reading the blog Leaf and Twig,


October, 2nd 2017

Italian version


I am faded


photo by J.B., 2016

Now I’m faded as autumn brown leaf
after blushing with her last day's fire
after green, sun, wind, sky, free life style
now I’m faded,

                I’m autumn.

seeing mirrors, enough seeing masks.
After needing to run I need peace,
slow long love days in which to be nice.
That’s my prayer and that’s what I ask

November, 15th 2016


Thank to my friends Leda and Lemonodo for their suggestions!

Italian version

Pastel colours

This is an image by Seedbud

Pastel colours of lost universe
a soft wind draws, melancholy stream
on the peace of the water that runs anyway.
Where I’m going and where is my paint?

Yellow autumn swamps earth and landscapes
and my silly thoughts also and my eyes
Beeches make red the forest while I
am here waiting for green and new leaves


November, 7th 2014

Judy Barton


Kiba, Thank you for the beautiful photo!

Una rosa ed è tardi germoglia
nel grigiore di pallide nebbie
sboccia rossa e violenta in autunno
come incongrua, amorosa presenza

Sciocca Dorothy e dove le scarpe?
Nelle fiabe finite sepolte
tra la polvere e il tempo, relitti
di sognanti illusioni e d’istinti

Blocca vita, emozione perversa
che si annida in languori distanti
come d’altri
e di cremisi vesti.
Una rosa germoglia ed è tardi

Un antico rubino, un imbroglio
che collega a passate esistenze
D’altra donna e me stessa il dipinto
come allora e non so
quale vinca

Sunday, 21th october 2012
It’s too late but this rose is now budding
in the greyness of my land’s pale fogs
it buds red and so violent in the autumn
like incongruously, both loving presence

Foolish Dorothy where are your shoes?
They are buried in the fairy tales ending
wrecked between the dust and the time,
dreamy illusions and vain cry of instincts

Stops life for it’s a perverse emotion
that itself nests among distant languors
like of anyone else’s red dresses.
It’s too late but a rose is still budding

An old ruby now change in a cheat
that connects me to past lives, the
and the other girl just like at that time
and I cannot know which of two wins