A naughty dream

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Pic from the web … sorry I lost its link!

 

 

Show me now your pink crimson, your beauty
without silks or skin veils, without frills.
Your mouth know every inch of my body
firing up each thrill, shiver and spasm

Our chests grow as wishes, together
like wild needly young flesh waiting for
sister’s breath to confuse with, to mesh,
to mix close to be one and same feeling

Is this crazy dream evil, is sin?
When I’m sleeping I cannot control
my emotions and sweet senses that
upset a poor mind sometimes so empty

Our need is a violent passion
I’m a basin that asks to be filled,
that is seeking for a sister basin
where love could enter to solve desires

Is this just a bad dream? Is it worse?
Am I wearing wrong mind mask or else?
Maybe years ago was a mistaken
identity to cage me so I’m

So I play, heroin into novels,
and I think myself wrong and each night
I’m stuck into my novel I write:
that’s a new trap, a cage, that’s a lie

Is this weird and perverted world to
puzzle me like each people here, now.
It’s the realm of The Prince of the world
it’s a lie, it’s a dream, it’s a fake.

 

July, 11th 2021

Italian version

Homeless wave 2

homeless wave

Homeless wave, by AtélieKemi

 

 

I dream of a wild, a giant wave
white foam shaking the deep blue immobility:
stagnancy
widespread on ocean bottoms

I am the wave and I wander restlessly
with no place to sleep quiet,
without peace in the senses; my body
grows old and yet it craves caresses

Each of us is the wave, and we’re restless
if love doesn’t touch us, if anyone
never looks at us with sharp desire
to be one with us in sweet embrace

There’s no peace for the wave in the world
of concrete yet distracted earth things.
The Reality is larger than what
forces us and cages us: it’s the death

 

 

May, 1st 2021

 

(English version translated from the original Italian one)

Dohmangreda

Dohmangreda

 

Dohmangreda, by AtélieKemi

 

Silky turgor on your skin
stretches tremors of that May
when each thing went toward life:
grass and trees and naïve young girls

Silky turgor on your skin
yet your breast withers so fast
where are now all your past springs
where your surge and needs of love?

Had you love during that time
when you lifted young firm breasts
in the pride of your fresh years
now lost like each rose loses petals?

A sick pallor grows on you
and a cap hides your thin hair
yet your mouth blooms and it’s a
brilliant explosion of red

It’s reminder, regret or
will to win against the time?
Maybe it’s a dream, blind hope
that denies these current things

Like you I am fooled trend
caged by old memories
Thus I lose my present life
and dye hair and certainties

 

SL, Osta Nimosa, April, 8th 2021

 

Italian version

Sudden Light, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Sudden Light
D.G.Rossetti

Rossetti in a photo by Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson), albumen print, 7 October 1863

Pic from here

I have been here before,
but when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
the sweet keen smell,
the sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,
how long ago I may not know:
but just when at that swallow’s soar
your neck turned so,
some veil did fall,
I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
still with our lives our love restore
in death’s despite,
and day and night yield one delight once more?

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I always considered Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelite authors something like too much sentimental, romantic like, decadent.

Some days ago a friend told me more about them and I needed to know more abou them.

Well, I like these words much more than his paintings.

That friend said me that she finds something similar in my words and in Pre-Raphaelite ones: I am so proud for that, even if I think I am really so far from any real poet… Indeed, the idea to put into poetic stuff spiritual contents is what I try when i describes what i see or what i feel.

And now I am looking for other Rossetti’s words.

It was night

Photo by Cherry Laithang. I found it here.

 

 

These nights I was awake and desire
did suspend everything from the dark
like does willpower when cannot act
like a life that can not be complete

Tonight you met my wishes, my needs
so you sprinkled my skin with your sighs
as a precious balm and sweet fragrance
everywhere up to my womanhood

It was night and there was soft warm skin
around me and no more dark bad things
in my deep and some whispers began strange
love song …
We’re in love and Who is love offers life

 

SL, Elven Forest,
November, 21th 2020

Nightwish

 

When I feel myself as a black witch
your warm skin is my usual night wish
making my body crazy and your lips
warm and sweet eat my flesh so I twitch

I’m full often of dirty night wish
when dark cloud ends so fast every day
covering hopes and too dreams and I’m selfish
like a baby child that needs to play

Black and angry like that so bad bitch
that scared Dante and tried to him slay,
my lust grows as alone and weird birch
to whip my weak soul dreams while I liey

Without hide every worry and grief
I lie down on my bed, I’m a wait.
You are what I need on this poor Earth,
you are my only beautiful
                                           night wish


SL, Galadriel Mirror,
January, 20th 2019-October,10th 2020

Harpsichord

Chatting with my friend Aola and her autoharps…

I’ve some buttons, you know
how touch them to vibrate
my deep chords and my senses:
thus I feel
                 joy and peace

I’ve some buttons, I know
most of them and my chords.
I can feel them vibrating
thus I gaze
                 me to live

I don’t know all my chords
and my buttons. Someone lies
on my skin, someone hides
deeply into
                 my nights

I know I’ve locked chords,
buttons too: that’s my soul.
My skin needs other touch,
my heart too.
                  It’s to live

SL, Elven Forest, October, 20th 2020

That Hideous Strenght, by C.S.Lewis

C.S.Lewis and his Love, from here

 

 

from That Hideous Strenght

C.S.Lewis

 

The woman led her along a brick path beside a wall on which fruit trees were growing, and then to the left along a mossy path with gooseberry bushes on each side. Then came a little lawn with a see-saw in the middle of it, and beyond that a greenhouse. Here they found themselves in the sort of hamlet that sometimes occurs in the purlieus of a large garden–walking in fact down a little street which had a barn and a stable on one side and, on the other, a second greenhouse, and a potting shed and a pigstye–inhabited, as the grunts and the not wholly disagreeable smell informed her. After that were narrow paths across a vegetable garden that seemed to be on a fairly steep hillside and then rose bushes, all stiff and prickly in their winter garb. At one place they were going along a path made of single planks. This reminded Jane of something. It was a very large garden. It was like . . . like . . . yes, now she had it: it was like the garden in Peter Rabbit. Or was it like the garden in the Romance of the Rose? No, not in the least like really. Or like Klingsor’s garden? Or the garden in Alice? Or like the garden on the top of some Mesopotamian ziggurat which had probably given rise to the whole legend of Paradise? Or simply like all walled gardens? Freud said we liked gardens because they were symbols of the female body. But that must be a man’s point of view. Presumably gardens meant something different in women’s dreams. Or did they? Did men and women both feel interested in the female body and even, though it sounded ridiculous, in almost the same way. A sentence rose to her memory. “The beauty of the female is the root of joy to the female as well as to the male, and it is no accident that the goddess of Love is older and stronger than the god.” Where on earth had she read that? And, incidentally, what frightful nonsense she had been thinking for the last minute or so! She shook off all these ideas about gardens and determined to pull herself together. A curious feeling that she was now on hostile, or at least alien, ground warned her to keep all her wits about her. At that moment they suddenly emerged from between plantations of rhododendron and laurel and found themselves at a small side door, flanked by a water butt, in the long wall of a large house. Just as they did so a window clapped shut upstairs.
A minute or two later Jane was sitting waiting in a large sparely furnished room with a shut stove to warm it. Most of the floor was bare, and the walls, above the waist-high wainscotting, were of greyish-white plaster, so that the whole effect was faintly austere and conventual. The tall woman’s tread died away in the passages and the room became very quiet when it had done so. Occasionally the cawing of rooks could be heard. “I’ve let myself in for it now,” thought Jane, “I shall have to tell this woman that dream and she’ll ask all sorts of questions.” She considered herself, in general, a modern person who could talk without embarrassment of anything: but it began to look quite different as she sat in that room. All sorts of secret reservations in her programme of frankness–things which, she now realised, she had set apart as never to be told–came creeping back into consciousness. It was surprising that very few of them were connected with sex. “In dentists,” said Jane, “they at least leave illustrated papers in the waiting-room.” She got up and opened the one book that lay on the table in the middle of the room. Instantly her eyes lit on the following words: “The beauty of the female is the root of joy to the female as well as to the male, and it is no accident that the goddess of Love is older and stronger than the god. To desire the desiring of her own beauty is the vanity of Lilith, but to desire the enjoying of her own beauty the obedience of Eve, and to both it is in the lover that the beloved tastes her own delightfulness. As obedience is the stairway of pleasure, so humility is the . . .”
At that moment the door was suddenly opened. Jane turned crimson as she shut the book and looked up. The same girl who had first let her in had apparently just opened the door and was still standing in the doorway. Jane now conceived for her that almost passionate admiration which women, more often than is supposed, feel for other women whose beauty is not of their own type. It would be nice, Jane thought, to be like that–so straight, so forthright, so valiant, so fit to be mounted on a horse, and so divinely tall.

 

Cleve Staples Lewis

 

I wondered to find in this book (it’s a novel about the final fight between good and evil, with a lot of religious – christian- connections) a so delicate and clever observation about love.

 

Oh, yes: I’m back!. Lol.

Winter variations

JB, 2009

 

Frozen countryside looks at me now
while I go and see background fog where
trees and houses drown down near the ground,
where a church and a tower float up

Frozen countryside waits for me so
that I go today too; background clumps
itself between ice fields under fog:
There I see tower, church and belfry

Frozen countryside stretches now here
pale footsteps between ditches and background
weakened by soft fog breaths in the wind.
I see churches and silence; a tower

Countryside now is frozen. I stretch
usual path and is background your face
beyond pale grey mist streams.
My flesh misses your sweet and warm love

Countryside is my frost field which, tired,
into each day path today is limping.
This fog enters me and it’s as background
a far Church. And I struggle

 

February, 3rd 2020

 

Italian version

Night tonight

I found this pic here

 

Night tonight is so beautiful, dark.
White, high, far are the Pleiades, sisters,
and there’s an unobtrusive Moon that
winks at eventide, at lovely Venus

They are bright, shining women from past;
sky too is as a woman’s skin, velvet
black and soft, stretched out in this silence,
waiting for cuddles, love and for peace

Silly fantasies and women as
naked stars, ravings that night indulges.
A plane rapes everything, getting into
artifices into silent sky

Never stars were those women nor night
was a black lovely girl waiting quietly.
Dreams and myths mix themselves and are mads
while so much tiredness
                                      envelops me

 

January, 29th 2020

 

Italian version