Photo by JB, 2009
This life gave me your eyes so clear, light
during my winter days, a concretion
of cold, sadness and silence
that you win, that you suddenly won when we met us
Yes, the life gave me your lovely eyes
full of beauty like the linden smile
when it scatters its scent and the sweetness
in the warm ride to the next solstice
The life gave me as present your eyes
and your lips and your hands and your skin
that I touch and a shiver moves me
while my soul moans and quivers and ripples
This life gave me your eyes, nowadays
tired yet again stretched forward
beyond me and the world, to the horizon
of each gesture so thrown even further
June, 19th 2017
Anemone nemorosa in wood. JB, 2017.
This silly spring song is dedicated to Angel Morning
Almost spring, sunny day, winter goes
in the grey velvet of each past times.
Under young woods the anemone's light
is the breath of the new life that cries
White and pure, fresh and lovely
you start dancing cute and lonely
Each tear drop that falls from the sky
like the kiss of dew on morning grass
recalls me that each thing must fast run
toward cold places; I always ask "Why?"
White and pure, you are so lively.
When you dance I grow sad, lonely
When the sunlight becomes low and shy
as at the sunset, when the mist wins,
leading me though me toward black nights,
I am a shiver that seeks my Love's eyes
White is your soul, I am ugly
like a savage herb, a pussly
Sin and death are deep in me: a fight.
As in a dream I saw you this morning
dancing alone in the wood clearing.
You are anemone light, fresh and white
Without thoughts of sin, lovely
you dance cool. I look at you freely
Second Life, Elven Forest, March, 11th 2017
Thank you to my dear friend BC for his suggestion to my bad english
Mitla at the door of the cave, in the Land of Arda
I entered the chat at the morning while She was saying bye the go to sleep, at the other side of the world…
As cold tears anywhere
the fog darkness hard hugs everyone,
kisses nude skin and lips
while I’m waiting for news.
Then and soon
a mad rush as the sun light hot strikes,
breaks each dream in my eyes, calls me to
my such grey, usual life.
I wake up, you go sleeping …
in a dream, maybe we
SL, Elven Forest chat, December, 10th 2016
A beautiful photo by Anibrm Joung. Tank you Anibrm!
A long queue of poles enters the sea
as the wish to run toward the sky
where two landscapes quite different meet
each the other, where perhaps there’s true
Where do they go forward? To the sea?
They can not reach the line so far, there
the horizon is still farther, none
of those poles can go there to see God
I’m a beach, sandy place under waves
that come here then along always go.
My life swings like those cold and blue waves
my thoughts like those poles want to go there
All the lives are a wave: stop and go
start again, up and down, then be back.
After all, yet a gap then that line
which confuses my mind like my end
SL, Blue Curacao, January, 21st 2017
On my table an assassin bug
goes around, takes a look:
surely a prey it is looking for, now.
It’s so nice yet a thin little monster
Warmer winters let it come here to me
from the south, as the sin
when it enters my mind like a shiver
coming from dark and bad earths of mist
when I kill every good in myself
November, 22nd 2016
In another world I use the nickname “Mitla”, a comic’s character.
She is a witch killed by the poison of her own snakes
Mitla is tired and she breeds the snakes
that kill her while his time so fast passes
Her virtues into vices change; she
fondles miseries of futile instincts
Alike a cat she skips into a dream,
benefit of her second nice life
with which she goes along and it’s easy.
Only one is the life and its essence
May, 25th 2016
Photo By Kevin Chung, December 18, 2010, found here
People of dying elsewhere, always,
mishmash of any fruitless pretexts
of pride rights and absurd, silly hopes
of not human morals made by sand
How was that we were no more and nothing?
There was the sense, a path and salvation.
Unrealistic novation caught us
sinking every truth in the dream
Not here, now, never and anymore
our aim only better vacation.
We are prints on the water: some flashes.
We are like smoke that fog reabsorbs
May, 19 2016