This beautiful photo comes from Catherine’s blog
Mist clouds lakes and the neighbouring hills
of the High Brianza fade as grey figures
almost dissolved in distant landscapes
which include things and their background too
Indistinct horizon enters me
while more sun again warms my thin skin
and recalls me past summer just gone.
I’d so much like cleanness in the world
October, 9th 2019
In that day, for the first time in my life, I did not go to my work to avoid snow chaos.
Winter ice freezes any trees’ shade
covering with thick and clotted frost fog
every branch, every trunk and this landscape.
In my heart I feel that rime and hoarfrost
Where are beautiful mountains’ white ghosts
which adorned my strange and flat sea:
the Po Plain waiting quiet for green life
dreaming any sap turgor of March?
Snow is now only an accident, chaos
really not virgin whiteness, it’s hitch
and I live into thoughts of old childs.
Lazy rest in the warmth of my bed.
Frebruary, 1st 2019
Italian versione here
Where does lead my road this so grey morning?
Into fog that wraps heavily all things
frosty grass, rimy stubbles and dark
trees that seem only scattered skeletons
Where does lead my road also today?
Towards gates of a new confused day
that together throws deadlines and blackmails
some small things to do before night come
Where do lead again roads anyway?
Into a world I no more understand
where perhaps hope goes bad ...
I know that there is sun above here
give me it
December, 18th 2018
Photo by JB, 2018
I can hardly climb up on this ice
while I limp to win any balance;
I hear showers and I see the stones
roll about among splashes of white
So thick, sneaky fog envelops me
and a thought about you, down below
God, it’s slippery! Accept each my step
in your hands. Save me, please
Vedretta dei Sfulmini,
August, 8th 2018
Pic by JB, 2018
Empty mind with no thoughts
doesn’t know what I am
lost in silly streams made
by mist, details and fog
Snow came, snow soon has gone
so the ground is back brown
mix of mud and fresh hopes
of sense and better days
A life’s breath splits the clouds
that invade all the things’
and thoughts’ space
In the winter’s cold March
can grow up
March, 4th 2018
Photo by J.B., 2018
This stuff can be considered my own version of some verses
red in a beautiful poem by Marina Raccanelli, where she writes in Italian
ora che il vento ci spinge
verso incroci sbagliati
sentieri senza biforcazioni
now when the wind drives us
toward wrong crossroads
paths without junctions
Marina shares her poem just when I am in a wrong crossroad, so her words move me so much …
Thank you Marina and forgive me that stole your words!
Silly wind of emotion led us
to the peace of impossible land
whilst we lost reason and real things
The same wind now drives us toward there,
to wrong crossroads, mad paths, where we don’t
see nor junctions nor truth nor ourselves
There, where our emotion is dead
as a bird hurled against the glass,
where the window is closing our dream
Here now only there’s silence and fog.
January, 29th 2018
Photo by GB, 2016
This one is my true sea
it’s my plain with its jewels: the lakes
its waves are all the Brianza slow hills
leading me to my highlands, the Alps
Water sea is all equal to itself.
I need signs in the land to walk to
peace and joy: I need poplars and oaks
when my fog hides the sun and the truth
In my earth sea I need
you and your eyes, your glance
to see better myself and the way
where we go, go together, go ahead
November, 27th 2017