Broken bridge

JB 2017

 

Broken bridge
as a life without sense
way not useful to go further, there,
ghost of roads on which nobody walks

Broken bridge
it’s a badly made building,
yet a symbol of selfish to be

Broken bridge
so each the other cannot ever meet.
Modern torture is cutting connections

We are alone in this poor darkness’ life

 

October, 29th 2017

Italian version

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Red blood

JB, 2017

 

Red blood of an exotic Woodbine
lights again at the gates of the winter
in the gardens and among the stubbles,
where it pierces thick veil made by mist
 

Vivid purple flares up so much violent,
as if be woman’s flesh grown up turgid
that screams looking for love satisfaction.
I see lips tremble, lying in the grass
 

Red and green: that’s the life resurrection,
and is filled with beauty at the dawn
till the evening when I come back home.
I’m in love and desire you tonight

 

October, 16th 2017

Italian version

Crabapples

This is a beautiful photo made by Catherine,
a lovely poet and a wondeful photographer: see her here

 

Now the summer
has gone
The sun paints
light crabapples
raging as well as violent
is the life

 

They are like orange pearls
in the dark of the night,
as your lips,
when they smile
into my night black thoughts

 

on the web, reading the blog Leaf and Twig,

 

October, 2nd 2017

 
Italian version

This life

 

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

 

Italian version

White and pure

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

 

A joke for AngelRaya

 

arda-imbocco-grotta_005_web

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

meet again


SL, Elven Forest chat, December, 10th 2016

 

After all

afterall

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

 

Italian version