I see

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JB, February 2020

I see turgors in grass in my garden
waiting for spring and their life explosion
I see lizards enjoying firsts warm suns
stretching bodies to taste their new lives

I see bees looking for early flowers
to prepare their next lives at this time
after winter’s blind darkness. Sleep. Cold.
I see nature that wants to be alive

I feel turgors in my lazy soul
I see tulips now ready to burst.
My two lips are so dried after winter
with no flesh love. I’m puzzled again

I see wars also in Europe where we
lost real freedom denying view of truth
looking for power, money. Nonsenses.
Where messiahs are now kings so proud. Fakes.

I see mankind so weak, I see sins
everywhere, in my soul, in each one.
Our fight against faith brought those fruits
under so lovely blue deep nice skies

I see people alone in their cages
built by evil and alien bad strengths
against peace, Beauty, sense. Against God.
After this so long Lent we need more

February, 28th 2022

Evil under the sky

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JB, February 2020

I wrote this stuff before the Ukraine war.

I know that evil begins into myself. It’s really not only a Putin problem.

February gives us longer days, gifts
when skies sink into a so deep rich blue
up there. Nothing dirties them now, anymore.
The wind blows away all smoke and sadness

God, how beautiful made your sky; February
today shares a so clear sun, a yellow
and alive party. Hug and relief.
May light win each night and bitterness

A whirlwind of air is a momentum,
shakes the cedar green from lazy sleep
of the immovable instants of winter.
Like that cedar, please solve my tiredness

It seems strange that could evil exist
pervasive, effective and so constant
under such a pure, beautiful sky.
Please God turn into strength each my weakness

February, 21st 2022

Italian version

Long-tailed Tit

codibugnolo2b22bbis

I got this photo here.

Four Long-tailed Tits come here to rest
only a little on my Judas tree.
They are gentle and tiny, also fun
and like children are happy to live

Each Long-tailed Tit I see on my
Judas tree did survive to the cold
of the winter and now seeks for food.
They already feel spring on the air

As a Long-tailed Tit I wait for
better times hoping I could see them
after this winter where I now live.
I feel cold into my sad poor soul

Like a Long-tailed Tit I’m so frail
into my deep substance. I feel old.
I saw winters and springs many times
yet I’m waiting again for One. God.

February, 10th 2022

Eucie

Eucie, by Armadir

Eucie, in a photo by Armadir Woodelf.

Gorgeous girl as a fresh spring pure breeze
near me dances and bounces so that
I’m upset, I am puzzled, aroused
as a morning ground waiting for rain

You are a sylph made with gentle sweet breath
nature’s strength, pure essence yet a woman
please embrace me, hug me as a cloud
so I’ll be less dark and sad, heavy, bad

Wrap your skin around me, feel my one
do protect my soul from nasty thoughts
see how much I need sweet honey things,
see how much I am only desire.

Then my reason gets control again
and I feel myself silly, dumb, poor
as if I hadn’t seen my soul safe.
Thank you sweet gorgeous girl, anyway

SL, Elven Forest, January, 27th 2022

Pink lake

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JB, January 2022.

Pink lake: eutrophic space,
simply mirror of sunset
blue when blue is the sky,
grey when grey, pink when pink

Beauty is there a reflection of light
even Tindall or Rayleigh game, joke
it’s substance of another
it gives us sky as gift

Pink lake rests in the plain
waiting for evening, night
while the lights of Mankind
pale and shy slowly start

I’ve no Beauty to share
when I’m only myself,
selfish skin filled with
my things, thoughts and hopes too

Pink lakes force us to watch
higher, up to the Sky.
Let me be pink and thus
be a mirror of God

January, 19th 2022

There’s a rose

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That rose, by me

 

 

There’s a rose, a new rose in my garden
she just bloomed, she’s pretty
almost like a small sun, like a drop
of its warm yellow light. She’s a rose

Today I saw a rose in my garden
she’s a rose with a flower, no more
as a lonely explosion of grace
without excess of crowds. She’s a rose

So I planted a rose in my garden.
May gave her light and warmth
and the colour of a shining dawn.
I don’t bring up her, she does live. The rose

 

June, 5th 2021

 

Italian version

Miracle of reality

 

Miracle of reality

Miracle of reality, by Solfrid

 

Who can say
what will be after dark
when the light will come, if
it will be?

Night is realm of dreams and black shadows
where eyes are not allowed to help
us to see the world, people and things
as they are, not supposed to be

You splash some colour on the blank sheet
here so that now I can see somewhat,
something, someone, a body, yourself
to rise when world begins to exist

Light is a true miracle when sun
once more raises and reality explodes
forcing us to wake up, to be alive
to be what we are born to become

Something red, maybe skin, blood… a face
comes out from fable, feeble, flat blue
texture, maybe ocean of dreams
and green spots maybe grass or tree leaves

That’s a shock, each time when our eyes
open asking us this: What the hell happens now?
Why God wants us alive, still alive
after each night of darkness and dreams?

A soul grows, raises up, that’s a face
and it expands itself to take place
in the world, to find and fill each field
with its knowledge to be fully alive

That’s miracle of reality, yes!
when real world, with all its solid things
comes to us, again, and that’s new dawn:
shoddy things become beauty, life, warmth

And you rise and you grow and I too
to explore each space there, to be close
to each friend we’ll meet here in this day
to each thing shaped by light once more

We now say
what will be after dark
because light will come here:
It will be!

 

SL, Amazing Love, May, 4th 2021

Homeless wave

homeless wave

Homeless wave, by Solfrid

 

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

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

Passage of opportunity

Passage of opportunity, by Solfrid

My friend Lanora let me find her paintings. I am really not into not figurative art, yet some of her works are really moving and full of colours. This is one of them. Thank you, Lanora.

 

There’s a bridge, somewhere, there in the sky.
When I’m happy and life is my friend
I can see it, bright red. It’s my way:
it’s a clear path and leads to your eyes

Someone says it’s a nonsense, weird bridge
that connects no land to nowhere place
because it seems to fly in the air
with no ground where it rises alone

There’s a bridge. It’s somewhere in the sky.
When I’m sad in a foggy grey world
I can imagine it, even when
I close my eyes I know it’s just there

Someone says it’s a coloured dream
and no more: silly, senseless and without purpose …
I know it exists so that my heart
may come to your one and to your God

So you painted that bridge, in the sky.
It’s my own and it’s there, as warm sign
into cold light blue tones. Yellow splash
like sun forces us to watch up, up to Heaven

February, 11th 2021

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions