As in autumn now rain turns to gray
this unhappy world without a sense
that it doesn’t see, find or too want
lost in vain nonsense or importances
Pure white plum tree is looking for space
among meaningless jumble of buds
shrunk in uncertain passage to green.
I keep watch around looking for peace
March, 3rd 2020
This beautiful photo comes from Catherine’s blog
Mist clouds lakes and the neighbouring hills
of the High Brianza fade as grey figures
almost dissolved in distant landscapes
which include things and their background too
Indistinct horizon enters me
while more sun again warms my thin skin
and recalls me past summer just gone.
I’d so much like cleanness in the world
October, 9th 2019
Pic found here: thank you.
Black and lead: it’s your flight, big grey heron
in the hoary substance of air
firm and tired in this new November
to which we are fast going. To the dead.
You were archangel when Leonardo
gave wings to the Annunciation that world
would be saved and redeemed by Christ.
Today I look at you, sadness weaving
October, 31st 2019
pic by JB: my 2017 Crib
Purple tears are the leaves
after the autumn’s gold in the wood.
I look at the frost coming down to
the world, that quickly runs to the solstice
The leaves drip to the ground like my days
in the gardens now soaked with winter.
I pray that Something want now return
in the Advent, when life can reborn
My crib is still awaiting a Child,
strange king who gives Himself to the people.
I’m the one who sleeps showing her back
the one You come to save
Another beautiful pic from Leaf and twig
Pale light gives me the sun in this day
made by orange and red in the woods
and by yellow too, when each leaf knows
that soon will be down dead in the mud
I enjoy this pale light of the sun
when so gorgeous each leaf gives me fire
in the woods dressed themselves with light.
There will be soon new life from the mud
Eros, thanatos, much more each day
I can see watching at this strange world.
My faith must help me during a life
that I cannot see only as beasts do
October, 26th 2017
Red blood of an exotic Woodbine
lights again at the gates of the winter
in the gardens and among the stubbles,
where it pierces thick veil made by mist
Vivid purple flares up so much violent,
as if be woman’s flesh grown up turgid
that screams looking for love satisfaction.
I see lips tremble, lying in the grass
Red and green: that’s the life resurrection,
and is filled with beauty at the dawn
till the evening when I come back home.
I’m in love and desire you tonight
October, 16th 2017
This is a beautiful photo made by Catherine,
a lovely poet and a wondeful photographer: see her here
Now the summer
The sun paints
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
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,
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!
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
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
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
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