I leave things

JB, 2020, There

 

I leave each thing behind. I relax
my weak arms on the grass, where the moss
is still fresh by last rain
which already swells rivers downstream

Water flows like my years,
dragging memories and things
that are no longer anything, mists
so that mix hope with life

Still new holiday, old mountains too:
they are motionless, wide
and compete with the sky for more space.
I’m a shadow in the forest dark

 

Genova Valley,

August, 2nd 2020

 

Italian version

The green grass of Claemp

I’m so confused… I know that my English is very bad, yet I cannot stop to try it.

Well … I try again… and thanks to my friend Bonchance Longfall for his suggestions

Claemp, that day. Photo by JB, 2020

She drinks happily laughing the sunlight
under blue sky: the green grass of Claemp

Light imbues every clump, stem and leaf
so she shines: it’s the green grass of Claemp

Meadows sing Life and breeze is a caress
as a cuddle on green grass of Claemp

There’s a Beauty surrounded by mountains
she’s alive and she’s green grass of Claemp

Here I smile and again find the power
of the life in the green grass of Claemp

There is silence and peace and that fills
all my heart among green grass of Claemp

Here you are and God too watches us
while we sit on the green grass of Claemp

Claemp, Brenta Dolomites

August, 5th 2020

Italian version

Sudden downpour

JB 2019, that day

 

Sudden downpour breaks clouds below us,
where Ayas Valley opens itself
widening its green far to the east
where Elina is kissed by wind

There I climbed for my so young years
among rock ruins, boulders and screes
to find myself, beyond any path
footed by crowd, beyond summer rules

I was looking for huge solitudes
on the peak where I placed a cross.
Then I missed you, soon, so nostalgia
made me run back to your tight hugs

Here we are, quite in front of that mountain
in the clear sky above the dark rain.
We are in peace and enjoy this last day
of vacation. Our gaze goes on far

 

Zerbion Mount,

August, 30th 2019

 

Italian version

A Fritillary

JB, 2018

 

A Fritillary like dying leaf
trembles in sun light piercing dark shadow
there, in that clearing among high firs.
Later she flies up back like a thought

From a distance she’s gold dillydallying
that descends and too random vault, twirl
as a life without way, with no path,
almost gust of faint air in main wind

 

Genova Valley, La Todesca

August, 17th 2019

 

Italian version

Life is stronger

JB, that day

 

Red cliff falls so fast into deep blue
cobalt and it is as wasteland ruins
where past life died out ages ago
shredded due to each torture by time

Into salty cracks now there are roots
of tenacious and yellow trefoils
mixed with austere sea fennel, strong,
which new green spreads across these dry breccia

We disturb seagulls and they develop
agile flight toward to sky, against
wind and flooding the air with their calls.

Life is stronger than nothing. That’s all

Saint Raphael,
April, 27th 2019

Italian version

 

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

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.

Narrow crosses

JB, that night

 

Ancient square grey stones tell us dark stories
about power and passions and fights.
The austere building, that stole popes from Rome
at that time, seems invincible, immense

Narrow crosses draw black and strange carvings
from where I imagine shooting arrows
down to square and those people, to tourists,
that are pale shadows of splendid people

Where the hell did those strong people go,
they who raised you with each cathedral,
which was Europe salvation that time?
Solitude freezes now all my bones

 

Palais des Papes, Avignon,
April, 22nd 2019

Italian version

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

This stone highland

JB, 2019

 

This stone highland that boxwood shrubs dress
thickly with small hard leaves as a robe
climbs down steeply to the river ghost
where a ravine become wider meander

White rock deforms in concentric spasms,
isoipses that marks so a cadence
of warm climate and parched hardground
towards the ancient mill, at the source

That fresh water like faith and like hope
caused motion of people: thus wheat
became flour and then became bread
for miles all around here. It was life.

I go down and climb back in the circus.
I look at terebinth and lentisk
building alien landscape that refers
to the sea: it’s true factor yet absent presence

Each thing changes, so houses and churches
were destroyed and turn now to vain tourism,
empty goals only for pleasant holiday.
Oh my Christ, return clear and alive

 

Cirque de Navacelles,

April, 24th

 

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

 

Italian version