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
Pic from here
Foggy smoke: so we are and the breeze
of the nightfall erases and melts us
like the breath of a child on a mirror:
like we’re nothing that nothing breaks up
Foggy smoke and its doubts fast corrodes
purity in all virginal looks.
So each smile turns into twisted sneer
where the love is just claimed domain
Too warm days in this fog. So rare freshness
and clarity too I research inside you,
in your eyes, which I spy while the close
of a so confused life haunts myself
After foggy smoke and at the evening
sweetness I meet again; the fatigue
of the affairs of the day calms itself.
Then I can hope some peace here with you
Foggy smoke, I soon vanish. Everywhere
I see silliness into this world
and in what I do too. Rarely at times
I surprise an immense, splendid Beauty
July, 4th 2017
pics by JB 2017
Strange world, so different
All the skyline is changing: the city
is rebuilding herself without worry
about old stones. A church
sadly rests in the shadow
Over me there’s a climber, a worker
on an ice building made with glass, steel.
He clings on overhanging surfaces
without fear: in a thin rope he trusts
Strange people, so different
I like your so laborious constancy,
your smart way to be alive organised
I am only a poor provincial person
and can’t try to explain my sensations
I don’t know what you tell me while speak
your strange language or where is your God,
where you really are going toward,
what you quite want to build with your love
In the cold morning where I am walking
also I overhang all my claims
and a rope from above is my hope
to be safe despite bad, foolish drives
I am like those church wrecks on the tarmac
under new, haughty, bright towers now.
I beg that all these ropes can hold up
you and me. Can the hope bear our weight
London, April, 19th 2017
Up: one of the music of yesterday ceremony, here by one of my favourite ensable…
Last night I went to a church where there was a Via Crucis sung by a chorus in which I have some friends.
It was beautiful and touching; each station of the Cross was marked by a chant a cappella: before and after only silence. I listened to several treasures of the millenary cristian tradition: from medieval songs to Allegri, Mozart, Rachmaninov, Bardos.
All that beauty surprised and moved me deeply, above all because it was all about pain and death and not only human pain and death: God died. How much beauty the man was able to build in the arts about such a tragedy!
So, I thought that it is not only the blue of the sky, the colours of the springs, the lips of my love or the joy for the life to show me God, but also the darkness, the pain. The death.
If the man, this very poor being, has the power to make beauty from the death… what’s the power of God?
Photo by JB, 2017
A wreck blackthorn is a candid moan
in the hedge, border of a wild fallow.
As cheek blush of young woman in love,
as the bush, also my heart now blooms
Unassuming, the blackthorn is shining,
everybody now sees how it’s beautiful,
candid life in the incipient season
which promises songs to little birds
A white blackthorn is a candid smile
in the sad sea of everyday, twigs wreck.
Please, put blossoms on me, on my branch!
Spring founds Easter out from the usual time
March, 21st 2017
Thank you Leda for your suggestions!
(to my love, to my mountains)
A soft breeze carries me far away
toward mountains where rocks and lights leap
where my steps, my effort and the Beauty
bring me somewhere so near to the sky
We are together, I walk and you walk
on the path within silence. We are close.
I need you, I need also the enormous
feeling of boundless life, soaring love
September, 6th 2016
Oh, Leda, thank you for your bright suggestions!