Windshield

 

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I wrote today stuff after I saw Catherine pic and words on her blog, here. This pic is by her.

Our eyes often cannot see how
the real world is, as when falling rain
flows across window’s glasses so that
all things change into hazy pale forms

And so often my eyes don’t see how
real things, people and thoughts truly are
as when rain falls on my windshield and
changes roads to perverted bad dreams

Human eyes seem built to do not see
the world that is beyond their small glasses
rough and imprecise shapes of each thing
become dream, nightmare, not real facts

Please, cut off cataracts from my eyes,
from my mind so that I will can see
iuxta propria principia Your world,
finding in it my true sense, my way

 

on the WEB, visiting Catherine blog, October, 15th 2021

 

Gaslight

 

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JB 2021. Horror Museum: the last SL Terry work

Kristine suggested me this intriguing word: gaslight.

She also sent me this link, because I did not undersand what she meant. This is my silly joke (?) about it.

 

Gaslight might
be as an evil sight
burning air
old trace of
something live
no more fight
Death who bites

Gaslight is
something old,
aged word with weird taste
in the night

A pale lamp, steampunk stuff
something yellow
in the dark heavy fog
at the docks
pain and blight

Maybe ill brightness as
a thin cloud
like a bad fairy light
lost and creepy landscapes
maybe green, maybe yellow
as a ghost
maybe like fireflys cloud
otherwise
will-o’-wisp
bluish flame on wild field
a fire that does not burn
greenish grass or dead shrubs
dried plants
fruit of hidden decay
underground, rubbish rot
corpses trace

Gaslights change colours, things
make reality weird
so we fail, full of doubts.
Someone acts like gaslight

Psychological crime
that ruins our minds
in this new bad pale world
making me be unsure
about me
falsifying real life
and reality too

Puzzling fire, scary fire
sign of death
with no smoke
a ghost that has no face
without shape

Gaslight might
be as an evil sight
burning air
old trace of
something live
no more fight
Death who bites

 

my home, October, 7th 2021

 

Terry’s Empty chairs

Terry empty chairs Cover

My friend Terry made into Second Life this art installation, where as usual she is her model. It moved me, especially for the sweet sadness and the melancholy of all the installation, that looks at something no more (or not yet?) there.

After I wrote my text, I knew that Terry dedicated her installation to her dad.

 

(to Terry with affection)

White smooth skin, baked clay,                    1 Terry empty chairs Terry
modest and statuesque, you wear
only crimson nail polish.
A mask always occludes your mouth

No words and no caresses,
no kiss can warm your lips
sealed in stunned stasis.
Each thing is only silence of absence

You’re alone, wandering empty rooms,
with no friends, mates, companions around.
Antique pink on the walls contrasts with
your so pale, delicate, marble flower

2 Terry empty chairs Frames

 

Black frames say deep dark space:
they tell it as thick, worrying
empty sockets that lost any memories
about who lived there, into their picture

 

3 Terry empty chairs Garden

 

You do live a green dream, colours and
gentle birds hovering in the air
like a breeze thickening nice presences,
chirps that are given to joyful love

 

4 Terry empty chairs prospects 3

Then a spectrum of empty prospects,
lifeless too, follows the garden where
there are colours and light and birds, joy:
follows it, closes it with stress, anguish

Benches sit down inside a dark park
and so many chairs stacked or spread
through the empty night streets, waiting for,
without one who enjoys or lives them

 

5 Terry empty chairs Vespa

 

Like those chairs, an alone empty Vespa.
You watch it, maybe thinking of someone
dead, not here, maybe a friend that taught you
to fish,
when you were only a child

 

A strange feeling makes turgid my breasts
as I look at your so gorgeous body
I’m lame and very small and I feel
your skin close to me and it’s ice cold

 

SL, Osta Nimosa, August, 24th 2021

 

Italian version

So short skirts

 

Of course, no pic here!

 

 

Girls walk across my street, they display
so short skirts and suntanned skin, legs
slender, beautiful, young and quite firm.
Their hair is fresh as smiles in the wind

Others go with light top, short pants and
sneakers. They move light and steadfast: they
go to run along canal towpaths
alone with their thoughts, hopes and their faiths

Each leap is a soft dance of their chests,
guiltless bounce, free and cute as birds jumps.
Their race moves also me, in my deep
and I feel languor and a strange sweetness

Then a desire for love takes me strongly
as a mind trap and I dream caresses
on my thickening and hungry skin
and it thrills and vibrates like a shiver

I will look for your warmth tonight, please:
do not withdraw from me, give me peace,
don’t leave me in my naughty bad dreams
give me peace and comfort my wild flesh

 

August, 23rd 2021

 

Italian version

Miracle of reality

Miracle of reality

Miracle of reality, by AtélieKemi

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

Trusting border

Another Lanora painting! You can find her visiting her new blog, Atélie Kemi.

Well, that picture together with another post of a friend, Catherine, make me write this stuff… Sorry, I changed something in these words after my first version published…

 

It’s a dream perhaps,
or else maybe
it’s a nightmare and no one can know
because evil and good can be close
so their difference
now and again
seems light and slight too and
little thing

Maybe it’s
something like a small glade
among dark forest trees in the North
magic space amongst old tough dim firs
there,
where maidens go to sigh
while
they think about their love
as I did.

There’s a shape near to the border,
yes there
it’s a woman maybe, I can think.
She’s a woman, there, and I am sure
because that shape is not but myself.
She walks just near to the limit of
the glade placed into that odd dream
she treads carefully since dreams and both
nightmares can be so close
anyway

Trusting border of truth
where we see
this weird world,
where we know each right step,
easily walking there, into a safe line
yet where borders so often make us
curious creatures and wish
to see and know what is further beyond

It’s a dream perhaps,
or else maybe
it’s a nightmare and no one can know.
It’s confused
however it’s clear
as my life is and like my path too.
Bloody red like warm thoughts are still
there

Trusting border of both them:
light and
night and always twilight.
Good and evil, such as
black and white,
so close self-mix and tangled knot and
close, so close as not solvable knot
and exactly we are just that knot

February, 20th 2021

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

This world is wearing thin

Well, a friend shared me some songs by these two women. Some of their texts are interesting and intriguing, as this one is.

There is no matter between this song an my silly stuff, except for my anaphora.

 

Snow came, went and Shakespears
Sister sings of insane
people laying, as dud

Is this world wearing thin?
Do you think of escape?

Snow has gone far from here
white now turns into rain
as earth alters to mud

Is this world wearing thin?
Do I think to escape?

This mad mud without blood
grows high, faster and sad
in dark winters so bad

This world is wearing thin
and I cannot escape

Each sound stops in my ear
silence turns into pain
Earth seems empty of buds

I see world wearing thin
with no place to escape

It’s a joke this my tier
made by words about drains
in which life disappears

I see world and I’m thin
yet it has not my scrape

 

December, 5th 2020

Pale Lady of the night

JB, November, 25th 2020

 

Tonight Mars is so close to the Lady
and he whispers to her his red words
maybe they are about love and war
maybe they are full of sandy thoughts

She wears shining white dresses, made by
white rocks that cannot know any wind
nor the sound of a voice, nor fresh rain.
All is lost in the middle of nowhere

From ages she is my pale Lady of nights,
cold and pure as a virgin alone.
She chose to live without any words
when Sun drove her away from day pomp

Her soul spreads throughout ocean of silence
without take care of women, of men.
She is merely idea, frozen word
useless concept: a stone in the sky

Tonight Mars is so close to my Lady
and he whispers to her red lost words
maybe they are about old-time passions
maybe they are just my sandy thoughts

 

November, 29th 2020

Mother Goose

Better to go there to see this pic. Judy (Mitla) is the cat girl on the right.

This my puppet in a dream
behaves as a silly cat.
Are you sure am I just so?
My words freshen what we are

I’m a puppet of the fate
when I trek alone and think
that I can own my true lot.
My words twist so what we are

I’m a puppet into a stream,
a fast flow that swamps each thing
without sense or reason so
my words try to show my aims

Also a puppet becomes free
from her ropes when knees before
Who created her with love.
My words look for what we are

SL, Milk Wood, September, 12nd-October, 3rd 2020