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

 

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

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.

I’m my demon

 

I’m my demon

I am evil, I spread
my day following wish that can’t give
me light or to turn to happy my time.
Thus my time runs away… toward what?

When I entered the water of life
there was beauty of black hairs and strength,
there were soft lips and eyes so clean, bright
grey and green. There was hope

Now I’m leaving this sea where we swim.
No more soft, this my body dries up
yet lust and will to make love grows up.
I’m my demon, that horrible bitch

Yesterday is no more, with no sense
except sin: I awaited that skin
cuddled my face and chest and down there…
Don’t’ let me alone with my bad thoughts

Don’t let me alone or I’ll be sin

 

Sunday, November, 8th 2020

A strong wind

JB, that day

 

A strong wind tears white foam off from water
that swells as an old giant’s loud scream.
All hangs into a dark leaden sky,
density of each spirit is free

A wild wind sweeps my face, so my anger
moves away compared with the immense
swirling of forces greater than those
of each minute whims which I can do

Wind. I stand up with effort and upright
turning my chest against booming sea.
I feel all this my body alive
then a smile looks for you and I’m safe

 

Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone,

April, 25th 2019

Italian version

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

Dead saint stones

JB, 2019

Dead saint stones. They were strong,
full of fervour and passionate faith,
now they stand again orderly and giant
witnesses of Church that lived before

Sleeping saint stones, now are as pale hearts
with no sense and distorted, reduced
simply to business chance or to a cue
for romantic dreams of old past artist

We are poor bad stones nightly when this
so rapacious world comes and grabs us
to confuse our mind turning it
into hip depraved conformism

We were Easter light stones in the past,
but as that rock stones we were sold to
the World Prince. Make us life again, Lord
that guide our way and the history

 

Abbaye de Fontfroide,

April, 23rd 2019

 

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

Italian version

Twilight

JB, that evening

 

I look at you so far from this loggia
while lights and colours turn on from windows
beyond the well of night that’s that lake.
A nightfall grips by fear now my world

You are there, in your houses, as usual
common business, and duties and laughs;
someone now prepares dinner or goes back
from his work and he’s welcome again

Yet now there are so powerful shadows
spread all over the world to bring terror
dark like black breath of worse ancient demons.
Make me one of your servants, God, Lord

January, 28th 2019

Italian version

A nickname

A photo of mine, 2019

 

In that chatroom, her nickname was Desert Rose.

 

A stone rose
scales herself
 

As crust plasters
hidden soul
 

With bronze thoughts
during days
 

Dried reflections
of calcite
 

Witness of
burnt dead seas
 

And of thoughts
buried deep
throughout the time
 

And of colours
in chalk frozen
 

A stone rose
scales myself

 

A mIRC chatroom, 2005