Now my bed turns to gold

JB 2017

 

Now
gold and light make together my bed.
Yellow, orange and blue paint sharp drawings
demonstrating an order, a sense
After the confused darkness of winter

 
Rich in gold and so precious my bed,
it is like when you touch my nude skin,
You, the sweet love that lives in my depths.
I feel peace overnight, when I’m sleeping

 
Now my bed turns to gold and it shines
as the light in the room and reflects
my thoughts full of the warmth of affection.
You are my spring and you scatter my winter

 

May, 31th 2015

 

Italian version

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Red cachemire

 

JB, 2017

 

You paint using so sinuous thoughts
every night all my night and my skin
quivers, trembles and asks for caresses
as she was still young and gets upset

 
Spring is trap and a danger for minds,
it’s a fire, it’s as scattered poppies
like the blood of a young woman when
she surrenders and gives her to love

 
In the winter I wanted my bed
red and I doodle my unsure dreams
every dawn as in cashmere designs
when you go far and I think alone

 
I don’t fulfil you, you don’t to me, neither
it’s enough this flesh for the immense wish
that you open wide as the blue does
when it breaks the clouds and at last shines

 

May, 9th 2017

 

Italian version

I’m a gift

Flower myth, 1918 – Paul Klee

A rosebloom I give you as a gift. It has whorls
red, rich, complex, compound
like the unspeakable hope that my flesh
as well as my deep spirit requires

 
This rosebloom I give you as a gift. Feel its taste:
the same of my warm blood, the same colour.
It has the scent of all my desire
that your glance upsets and fiercely stokes

 
Get the bloom: it’s my gift for your love.
Then myself I’ll be gift, restless matter
delicate with petals and thorns
which defends both my shame and frail marrow

 
A rosebloom is my gift: I give you it.
You breathe it, kiss, caress, enjoy it
This my present that is me, my question.
My rose I give you helpless tonight

 

May, 3rd 2017

Italian version

The Sunday of the Blind Man

J.B., 2017

The sharp steel of the plough
turns nude thighs made by earth
shaping clay into forms
of exotic brown women

Even if I can count
everyday in the mirror
many springs on my face,
this one twists hard my flesh

A light rain shines the field
where I cross lewd forms
and disperse silly thoughts
while I walk with you, talking

My mind is sick with fog
penetrating my depths
My desire is dull substance:
wash the mud from my eyes

March, 26th 2017

Italian version

Erotica

Picture reworked by JB, 2017

Kiss Me
where my body makes me really a woman,
mix your love to desire and warm up
my blood till to my cheeks and the neck;
so I am greedy spasm that wants all

Drink me
where my chest again blooms showing buds
pushing out greedy, looking for love,
calling you and pride substance displaying
my skin still tensed up for a little

Have me
where I close my eyes asking you all
what you can and moreover the life
now, right now, and for ever and ever
and more life compared with what you could

Brush me
where I seek everything and more inwardly
inside my flesh and my heart, when my
mind shocks me turning anxiety to a question
that does not quench the thirst that so raises

Give me
that peace that you can give to myself
while I tremble and beg, satisfy
me so that the night flares up like purple
when I am for you gift while I’m asking

Bring me
away, where the sky joins the Earth
to a big something that I want reach
further the wave that upsets the sea.
Make me wing and both whisper and music

Find me
when I’m lost and so betray my good
on the reefs, and the abyss sees me,
clasp me to you and call me, wake up
my soul and so a prayer can flow

 

February, 19th 2017

Italian version

As a flute

Pic from here

Greek, Early Classical Period, 470–460 B.C.: Eros playing the double flutes.

As a flute,

please play me as a flute

in your hands

Give me breath till I sing

so that ring each my most hidden reed

in my heart; press my strings

and my skin: it’s so tight!

 

Make me music

        make it beautiful

                              so I receive

SL, Galadriel’s Mirror, October, 30th 2016

 

Italian version

Leda

picture by Marcela Bolivar

(Dedicated to LedaEuropa)

     (The girl) The girl lies on the fresh and soft grass
     near the beach, where she feels all the life
     of the sea as a swelling, and seagulls.
     The warm sun soon will caress her skin

(Leda) There a sudden weird love, as a swan
enters her, as a flabby white cloud,
and rapes her slipping his long strong neck
everywhere, like a lustful long snake

     The dawn brushes the girl body now
     with its yellow and pale grazing light
     and the sea breeze takes to her the waves
     as some delicate, far, moving whispers

Leda is both a dream, promise and flesh;
she is betrayed by that pagan sky
like all: Danae, Europa, Io, many ...
like each woman who pays live the world



August, 21st 2016

Italian version