Jesus, I need You

Well … it’s Christmas.

Some days ago, my dear friend Kristine shared me a strange song. I thought that I’ll used my frienship for Kristine, what I think about her deepest emotions and wishes, and some words of that song to write my 2019 Christmas wishes. I did so. Thank you Kristine. Be happy like I am. God is born. God came and comes in our so poor flesh!

These are my best wishes for next Holy Christmas.

Now I’ve into my mind and into my ears a sweet and peaceful music: John Sebastian Bach’s Cantata BWV 147 “Jesus meine Freude” (Jesu, joy of man’s desiring).
I’ve into my deep all my darkness and all the night where i was on this Advent.
I wish Jesus be born. I know Jesus is born. I wish His light, His peace, His joy.
I wish all these good things also for all you.

Jesus, I need You
by Judy Barton on Christmas, 2019

When fog hides
any idea of each way
I’m alone into grey, where I stay
There no answer responds to my why

I’m my need, I don’t feed
my pale soul nor my mind.
I’m as hole
where I can’t see my joy.
I’m a homeless old bitch
I’m grass frost under birches

When each Sunday
stops to be the Lord’s day
I’m alone in a night without rest
there’s no one that responds to my why

You are my need, feed
my pale soul and my mind.
You fill my hole
bringing me peace and joy.
Be born and be my home: then I’ll switch
to green grass under birches


December, 20th-24th 2019



Italian version



Fourth Advent week

JB, December 2019

Shadow cups pour oppression tonight
covering both sky and all the world
early and squeeze my heart: it’s request
yet worn out due to abstinence from sense and truth

Amber cup of an old rancid oil
is my mind because always distracted
by somewhere else that avoids true life
so I fish for confused souvenirs

Shadows cup pours itself on the world
that wants no my God, that digests us
as a black monster blob made of anger.
I’m still looking for You, Baby Child


December, 9th 2019


Italian version

Third Advent week

Art by Terrygold – “Terry – Riflessi sul nero n.17_001”


So my hands punish harshly my pride
chasing thoughts and sin where my effort
falls helplessly, tonight, dying silently,
lost in cold nothingness everywhere

I’m not able, I can’t by myself
I can’t avoid to fall more and more:
that’s disease of our being few things,
as men or women: as each creature

We are falling down, into the solstice
full of pagan memories and impulse.
I deny you for perverse desires
but You come anyway, Child and God


December, 1st 2019


Italian version

First Advent week


Sometime my life is a crazy dream
where I see me so different from
myself as I am really, here,
while my days run forward I don’t know

Often I live into ill bad dreams
where my thoughts take up place of real things
and I try to be better with masks
indeed tributes to my narcissism

I would be better, I should be free
from my silly, so bad and false dreams.
I know whom I should be to be free.
Come soon, O Bone Jesu. Take me

November, 20th 2019

The fourth candle

Today, at my home


The fourth candle lights up and it’s late:
like as usual it’s already here.
When I waited for, it was for wait
and I hid all my face to His light

This last candle I light up today.
It’s a memory of past that promises
future when I’ll can look at your aspect
without shadows and shame in my eyes

The fourth candle now shines while anger
rises everywhere; I shout it
and demand what I don’t. My life is
as a moaning consumed by nothing

There are four candles, they are red scarlet:
they are like lives that burn and both give
light, warm, love and too hope for the Grace.
I kneel down to the Child and His blood


December, 24th 2018

Italian version


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



December 2017


Italian version

It’s Your Advent

Photo by JB 2016

As a cat that’s now old I am warming
my black hairs and my skin at the sun;
it’s no more than a tepid ball that
loses zenith and falls to the Alps

I look back: I had so many time.
I curse at its obsessive run. I
see my errors and not fixed pulses,
as corruption of lifeless anaphors

It’s Your Advent, it’s so now, again,
and I’m waiting for you sitting on
piles of already lost, wasted chances
due to sloth or to traps. I’m so inept

Come again anyway, please, I pray
You and Your Sweet Mom, that is my Mom.
I am clumsy as a grasshopper’s that
tries to fly to the sky.
                                        I miss You

November, 27th 2017


Italian version


Almost at the end of this strange year, just when its true sense comes  another time, these are my best wishes for a Merry Holy Christmas.



Suddenly, in the winter,
you went out
beyond sights of blind eyes
toward lands, perhaps ice,
without cries, without shout

Suddenly, in the winter,
Christmas comes
as old news full of white
as a flash in my night
like some cuddles to us

Suddenly, in my winter,
death is wife
of the life in each day.
I retry this old pray
pain to faith could be knife

Suddenly, in that winter, Christ was born
in the cold, into death, into life,
as now does. Christmas comes.
Still awake, my heart find its true peace


December, 19th 2016


Christ-mas is the birthday of Christ, not the silly thing we always think to be.


DF-09134 Nativity , May 18, 2006 Photo by Jaimie Trueblood/ To license this image (9139053), contact NewLine: U.S. +1-212-686-8900 / U.K. +44-207 659 2815 / Australia +61-2-8262-9222 / Japan: +81-3-5464-7020 +1 212-686-8901 (fax) (e-mail) (web site)

Pic from the film Nativity


(Two voices for this Christmas Day)

Gabriel wanders across all the Earth
looking for someone who is now waiting.
There is no holy virgin nor man
who knows and sees himself deeply inside

We are living in this wasteland where
everything seems deserted and burnt
without aim, without heat or a flame
rich and poor people with foolish prides

Gabriel seeks a break in the walls
where the Lord of the world could be born.
He sees the dawn fire after the night,
he sees sunsets of dark and grim glory

A pale shadow is spread on the world,
upon things and the men that are sleeping
making selves gifts to a nonsense grey.
Beauty changes its colours into blank

Gabriel comes back yet this our Earth
turns herself over tired replays.
Also the art denies her own sense
without certitude: the reason is lost

Memory becomes stagnant reminders,
everything you did loses purpose.
Also rules and formats decompose,
deconstruct music and lyrics too

Gabriel can find no longer hope
only silly claims, wails of infants
that arise inane and screaming words
blustering rights about their death

Desolate existence reels and falls
(immanent programs end while they start).
No star shines at the zenith to show
where to go, what’s the faith, how to know

Gabriel again thinks of the Woman
of that ancient day when she sustained
beauty, freedom, peace, justice and truth
into her flesh in which Jesus grew

He was born, He is already born
to die and resurrected every time
inside me, in the hour of the world,
inside the sludge of what I can do

Gabriel looks for me and demands
only me. Anyway Christ is born
anyhow. Anyway Christ can born
here for me only if I want so

In a black, missing garden of sadness,
we are ironworks dark, rough and twisted,
convoluted by surges reflexed.
A light flare hard hits us: that’s forever


December, 8th 2015, Lady Day


Thanks to Severina Halostar for her suggestions and corrections.


go here for the Italian version