Alien world

 

Monreale, JB 29.IV.2023

Tomorrow, Saturday, I’ll be in another short trip, so I post one day earlier this stuff and share it today. Of course, it’s about my previous short holiday

 

Alien world make by gold, arabesques,
and hieratic Byzantines known saints,
old mosaics by Venetia and Islam
encompassed in Catholic ways

Sunny world with fragrant orange trees
along avenues, with foreign figs
evergreen, mighty giants
stretching out wooden arms

Ancient world, friendly people
proud of their ancient glories
and sightseers who bite everything
like a prey that is later recounted

Strange world that can absorbs any sense.

I come here, only and just a few days,
as to measure so distant, far cultures,
tripping in my own body that fails.

Anger of being old can destroy

 

Palermo, April 29th 2023
(rearranged on May, 6th 2023)

Italian version

Do and cannot

 

Castiglioncello, Tuscany, JB. July 2022. It’s that Athel tamarisk broken and reborn

 

Tamarisk grows back again; I turn
often off useless days trying to making
Now fatigue melts away and now peace

 

takes more space from the torment of maybe,
always shadow of “I do” and “I can’t”.

Nothing is enough when there’s no substance

 

July, 5th 2022

 

Italian version

Day of nothing

 

There, some years ago. JB, summer 2016

 

Finally, here’s a day of none, nothing
after a peaceful night made to sleep.
My head empties, and my body wilts
with each of its so tired old muscles

Yesterday I lost words, cause my flesh
needed everything to go up and up
and then wild and fast jumping downhill
it found again strength and knowledge

Today I’m watching my day go by
like it was really and actual vacation.
I can take a book to read a novel
I still hope and wait that Something happens

 

Faé House, September, 3rd 2022

 

Italian version

Holiday

 

Pic about me: Nivolet, 2016

I am going back to my mountains. See you soon!

Lol… not too much soon, indeed.

Kisses

🙂

 

To my daughter

 

JB 2021, The Twins (near Alimonta Shelter)

 

You run nimbly, joy and freshness spreading,
aware of your so young and firm muscles.
On the path sloping down among stones
I see myself in you and tail you

Then my legs give in and I can not
keep your young rate and follow your steps.
You go away and I slow down, laughing.
My time gets shorter, yours rises higher

 

Coming back from Alimonta Shelter, August, 9th 2021

Italian version

Subimago

 

JB 2021, Val Nambrone

 

I don’t care if each step is a pain,
maybe due to a sore leg sinew.
Each peak of Brenta Dolomites smiles
while white clouds gentle mantle its rock

Here and there icy, clear water cuts
somewhere, sometimes my path, breaking off
fords and bridges, so -forcing delays.
Wealth of splashes is wonder

Last days rain filled streams, filled floods
and they vent showing powerful joy.
In the crystal clear ponds I can see
mayflies, pearls, and white Geridae

They will rise – it is time – from the water
sub-images and images fully made:
they’ll be light, a new fluid to enjoy,
tiny ascending as dance in the air

Fleeting sub-image, I dance like them.
I too would like to cast off my skin
old and tired and beautiful rise
truly how You made me: it’s my song

 

Milegna, August, 5th 2021

 

Italian version

 

The stream gurgles

 

JB 2021, that day, bridge to Milegna

 

The stream gurgles fresh things, song of water
running down draining hornblende crystals
that are dark, black and blacker than places
where I plunge my poor mind every night

I smoke and I enjoy the sun lying
as a lover, down, on the green grass.
While I rest in the shade I remember
a spring gushing from stone: it’s like ice

Today rain’s water kissed my hair
imbuing me everywhere, flowing through
all my neck and my shoulders and back.
Even that rain was a tender lover

So I walked there, my steps were sure,
I went towards soft clouds, higher up.
I found my muscles warm, strong again.
I feel life rise again and it’s great

 

Casa Faé, August, 2nd 2021

Italian version

 

P.S.: I know that “to gurgle” is intransitive: it’s so also in Italian language. Yet I really wish to write what I wrote. Sorry.

Rain’s relief

 

JB 2021, that day, there

 

This was the beginning of my last holidays

 

Beech trees show pitch-black foliage today
and smooth shiny trunks like marble columns.
The rain falls softly everywhere,
relief of each wild beautiful green

A dark gap leads into the woods, where
coolness thickens grey ghosts
that a breeze gently frays.
They are spirits of mine, from far years

I was young and perhaps I was cuter
and more nervous in my stronger muscles
I pursued my pride running so fast
and both silent, and wild and so foolish

Well, I’m here, and my holidays starts,
while my mind is erasing all frills
that make hard each the days of my year.
I am free and dissolve in the air

Also larches turn soft and thin branches
towards the ground and I indulge them,
so I lay my arms beside my hips.
I breathe water and air and feel good

 

Casa Faé, August, 1st 2021

Italian version

Holiday!

See you soon …

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