Juda’s tree is a girl (1st)



JB, 2023


My wisteria weeps flowers of joy.
Juda’s tree is like exploding girl,
bright pink, filling up all with brown bees
and with brisk buzzing that gives me peace

Blue periwinkles awaken; the grass
swells the meadow with modest white flowers
that are like pearls well hidden by seas
that are like happy smiles of young women

So it’s spring and all lives burst now forth
soon erasing the pauses of winter.
I feel life and it flows in my blood
and it fills both my heart and my mind

You are Easter, Passover, You’re Easter
now, You: You’re the Lord who now comes
Give faith and give hope and give all fullness
To my aging and dried poor skin


April, 16th 2023

See also a sort of continuation here

Italian version

Be to me



JB, 2019


Sharp defined by death is the life
and determines all things.
So is Man, so is Woman
though they wanted make them

But You wanted be Easter
and You are Easter now

Make me thine: give me life
So be to me. Thou. Be
to me as the sunrise

Make me moon in the night
of the world
nunc et semper
et in saecula saeculorum


 April, 15th 2023

Italian version

Easter eggs


uova 2023

As usual, here are my Easter eggs. Sorry for the bad photo. Of course, my eggs are those two: the poplar and the oak.

Happy Holy Easter to everybody!

May Christ enter our life. May His resurrection strike hard us. May we resurrect together with Him. Now.

Italian version

The Wicked Messenger

The Wicked Messenger


Pic from here

There was a wicked messenger
From Eli he did come,
With a mind that multiplied
The smallest matter.
When questioned who had sent for him,
He answered with his thumb,
For his tongue it could not speak, but only flatter.

He stayed behind the assembly hall,
It was there he made his bed,
Oftentimes he could be seen returning.
Until one day he just appeared
With a note in his hand which read,
“The soles of my feet, I swear they’re burning.”

Oh, the leaves began to fallin’
And the seas began to part,
And the people that confronted him were many.
And he was told but these few words,
Which opened up his heart,
“If ye cannot bring good news, then don’t bring any.”

Bob Dylan

Well, I’m really not sure about what Dylan wants to say here; his text seems me really unclear.

So.. why to share this stuff?

A friend, this morning, reading my previous post, Lent Friday, upsetted me saying that I have no right to show any pain, because my life is so good. I should be happy and grateful.

The world is full of people who are truly suffering.

I know it, of course. I also told her that I am totally unable to write about others: I can only describe myself. Maybe that’s another sin. I am not sure about she said me: maybe she’s right, maybe she doesn’t.

Anyway, she remembered me those Dylan’s words: If ye cannot bring good news, then don’t bring any. Perhaps Dylan thought he was the wicked messenger himself, seeing himself as a revolutionary… I do not know it and really I do not understand well his text, yet how can I be impervious to that last row? If you cannot bring good news, then don’t bring any.

There so much to think of it, above all wainting for Easter!

Immortality & Easter eggs 2022


For though in the sight of others they were punished,

their hope is full of immortality.

Wisdom 3:4

I will be back to this hope next week, but now I say that yes, despite everything, my hope is full of immortality because the prophecy has come true and comes true and even in this strange 2022 Christ resurrects and confirms that the same fate will befall us. And I will see my mum and my dad again, indeed: I will see them for the first time as they really are and they will see me.

For the moment, here are our Easter eggs, like every year. I wish everyone a holy Easter, that is: may the meaning of life shows itself.

Italian version

A white pain

Something soft, as grey mist
spreads across this small world
not like that red death mask
nor as black terror plague
sweetly it kills us now

I need eyes to watch in
I need hands to hold tight
I need friends to be close
I need love to be me

Something like a white pain
rides together with this
new weird virus and makes
mankind dull, forcing us
towards dreams

I need facts truly true
to be alive, to be far
from death innate in dreams
to be out
from that white without shape

Someone says that a man
resurrected by death
and He lives in his Church.

I decide to trust them
I need Christ who saves me
I need Him to change me
I need Him, to be me

Deep into
those clear eyes
I met Him
With those hands
He bears me
He was
in those friends

Unbelievable peace

April, 17th 2021

It’s here spring

They, here, today, a few minutes ago


It’s here spring again, It’s here spring now
all my garden declares clearly that
with wild wide-awake flowers and bright
new green grass and a blackbird that skips

Also a plum tree had waked up early
and now sprouts it’s so many white buds.
Violets are a lot and they melt
themselves into fragrance in the breeze

It’s here spring again, it is now spring
wide awake flowers, farmed or wild
in my garden declare clearly that
and they’re violets, primroses,

Lent is running fast toward your Easter
it’s another strange one, without laughs,
among silenced roads, sirens, and
infinite vanity of the whole

It’s now spring again, anyway life
breaks as well nature stasis and mine.
Like a tulip I wait for a burst
of red petals: it’s your Easter, come!



March, 13th 2021

Easter, anyway


Like every year, our Easter eggs.

Such a strange Easter, this one, but Easter, anyway.

Because whatever happens, our victory is already here.

On condition that we don’t think to be alone and to win alone, and that we entrust ourselves to His people, to the people He has saved. To the Church.

Happy, holy, Easter to all you.


April, 12nd 2020

Cold raindrops

This beautiful photo and some words by Catherine made me write this stuff


As cold raindrops
from sky to a puddle
we all run down so fast
while our sun is pale ghost
as in winter, and cries.
It’s a shadow of what it should be,
only a sign of what it could… must be

Like cold raindrop
my soul stands thin, frail,
in this world puzzled, mad,
only a shadow of what it should be
only a memo of what I could be

I’m cold raindrop
that pours weak and dull
over strong lava rock
old and black.
That’s how world treats now me,
without take care of none.
I can’t scratch its surface.

Each cold raindrop
falls from sky to ground
without sense.
I’m thus too when I trust
in my hands or my mind,
while heart dries up soon, fast.
Friday, now, my Christ dies.

There’s no raindrop
that falls without value.
Each thing goes towards place
God gave it before Time.
Three days after this pain,
after Petrus went out
and wept bitterly…
Three days after that rooster,
that sword,
sun will bright again, more
Easter comes, anyway.
Easter comes, despite me.

April, 10th 2020