First rain

pic found here


First rain comes in the new coming year
that has come by now and that now passes
on the lake, on the woods and the mountains
and on me, on my alarmed look

Just now a frozen breeze brings me back
languors of all my time and the snow
covers the alps of far and distant worlds
where each summer and beauty hurt me

Give me strength to go further me while
the cold tightens my mind and her thoughts
to go where You want me, where You wait
me and my heavy spirit of ice

Bring me away from the winter sad time
of my relentless, slow and bad nights
me, that look at my old withered glares
in the clouds that flow and so fast go

January, 3rd 2018


Italian version





My smoke

Photo by JB 2017


I need pain in my life
to see well what I am
I need night in my light
to see You further me

In the garden of sun
trees and shrubs enjoy light.
Where their roots look for peace
there’s an ancient cave dark

Under ground, I go there
to see me in the smoke
to feel all that my smoke
and to be as the smoke

Like that cave is my life
many days in my years
when I swear any light
and become only smoke


January, 13th 2018


pic by JB: my 2017 Crib


Purple tears are the leaves
after the autumn’s gold in the wood.
I look at the frost coming down to
the world, that quickly runs to the solstice


The leaves drip to the ground like my days
in the gardens now soaked with winter.
I pray that Something want now return
in the Advent, when life can reborn


My crib is still awaiting a Child,
strange king who gives Himself to the people.
I’m the one who sleeps showing her back
the one You come to save



December 2017


Italian version


It’s Your Advent

Photo by JB 2016

As a cat that’s now old I am warming
my black hairs and my skin at the sun;
it’s no more than a tepid ball that
loses zenith and falls to the Alps

I look back: I had so many time.
I curse at its obsessive run. I
see my errors and not fixed pulses,
as corruption of lifeless anaphors

It’s Your Advent, it’s so now, again,
and I’m waiting for you sitting on
piles of already lost, wasted chances
due to sloth or to traps. I’m so inept

Come again anyway, please, I pray
You and Your Sweet Mom, that is my Mom.
I am clumsy as a grasshopper’s that
tries to fly to the sky.
                                        I miss You

November, 27th 2017


Italian version


Pale light

Another beautiful pic from Leaf and twig


Pale light gives me the sun in this day
made by orange and red in the woods
and by yellow too, when each leaf knows
that soon will be down dead in the mud

I enjoy this pale light of the sun
when so gorgeous each leaf gives me fire
in the woods dressed themselves with light.
There will be soon new life from the mud

Eros, thanatos, much more each day
I can see watching at this strange world.
My faith must help me during a life
that I cannot see only as beasts do


October, 26th 2017

Italian version


Before the time die

Photo by JB, 2017


Before the time die
rolling so fast each instant to the next
till it wastes itself and my green
become like straw far-back dried out

Before the time go over
like each thing in a breath of nothing,
as the light in the evening, when the night
leads everyone to moan about the Absence

Before the time die
hiding me and each thing in a distant past,
like an instant born already old
and so something grab me when I’m upset

Until my time begin as new flower
true yet elsewhere, eternal, as promised
I want to be for you love but so honest,
love that seek in you God, way and meaning


July, 18th 2017


Italian version


The rope

pics by JB 2017


Strange world, so different
from mine

All the skyline is changing: the city
is rebuilding herself without worry
about old stones. A church
sadly rests in the shadow

Over me there’s a climber, a worker
on an ice building made with glass, steel.
He clings on overhanging surfaces
without fear: in a thin rope he trusts

Strange people, so different
from mine

I like your so laborious constancy,
your smart way to be alive organised
I am only a poor provincial person
and can’t try to explain my sensations

I don’t know what you tell me while speak
your strange language or where is your God,
where you really are going toward,
what you quite want to build with your love

In the cold morning where I am walking
also I overhang all my claims
and a rope from above is my hope
to be safe despite bad, foolish drives

I am like those church wrecks on the tarmac
under new, haughty, bright towers now.
I beg that all these ropes can hold up
you and me. Can the hope bear our weight

London, April, 19th 2017

And finally the Italian version