In that day, for the first time in my life, I did not go to my work to avoid snow chaos.
Winter ice freezes any trees’ shade
covering with thick and clotted frost fog
every branch, every trunk and this landscape.
In my heart I feel that rime and hoarfrost
Where are beautiful mountains’ white ghosts
which adorned my strange and flat sea:
the Po Plain waiting quiet for green life
dreaming any sap turgor of March?
Snow is now only an accident, chaos
really not virgin whiteness, it’s hitch
and I live into thoughts of old childs.
Lazy rest in the warmth of my bed.
Frebruary, 1st 2019
Italian versione here
Today, at my home
The fourth candle lights up and it’s late:
like as usual it’s already here.
When I waited for, it was for wait
and I hid all my face to His light
This last candle I light up today.
It’s a memory of past that promises
future when I’ll can look at your aspect
without shadows and shame in my eyes
The fourth candle now shines while anger
rises everywhere; I shout it
and demand what I don’t. My life is
as a moaning consumed by nothing
There are four candles, they are red scarlet:
they are like lives that burn and both give
light, warm, love and too hope for the Grace.
I kneel down to the Child and His blood
December, 24th 2018
Thies beautiful image, described by nice words, is from this beautiful blog
Ice leaf, life
is no more into your green blood now
burnt and brown as dead ground
Tree leaf left
in the winter frost glass
that remembers when water flowed down
Leaves and lives
fossil signs of my soul
dreams and hopes about age without falls
On Seedbud blog,
December, 11th 2018
Here there is something in Italian about the same argument
Milan, JB, that day
Also we spin around as these foolish
pigeons turning each dry thin twig
among waste baskets and passers-by,
pastime for every dog on its leash
Under me, under ground subway runs
it’s a tremor that riddles all things
as strange, obvious and widespread upset,
as neglected disorder that’s nothing
The alpha city is around everywhere
lost in so futile cares and distracted
of life left on vacation by people.
Pace is not this small bench in this park
Milan, Gregor Mendel Park, October, 30th 2018
Photo by JB, 2018
Some anemones still bloom within
their companions that dry any fruit
fitting so life and hope to this season
that decrees defeat and silence too
Also larch trees cry yellow leaves now
among leftovers of tired grass
aimed at signs of next winter start.
Maybe I too can bloom, if I can
Toward Col Portola, August, 24th 2018
Judy is entering a sphere
My friend Terry built a new art expo based on ten spheres in which several artists made their works. Each sphere is as little world and it is possible enter them. The opening of this expo will be on next September, 14th 2018.
In my worse silly mode I wrote this stuff about it.
What’s a sphere? an austere
cry to show we are alive,
a small box, often block
trapping smiles in this rock
What’s your sphere? A mystère
you don’t know, when sincere
look at your bloody heart
waiting for a restart
In my sphere I’m asleep
sad and bad and I creep
toward black hole that eats
what I want in my deep
Into a sphere we all live
without sky, love and light
as poor things that deprive
themselves of any fire
SL, Casvian Caye, September, 8th 2018
Photo by J.B., 2018
Blue light, she is reflected by water:
dragonfly turns around and the pool
is her whole universe so contracted.
She doesn’t know about Dolomites, there
I too go around, trapped days
of the norm that dulls every sense,
where I lose both Your world and Your Beauty
and I waste all my life and its meaning
Malga Valchestria (Brenta Dolomites), August 4th, 2018