gold and light make together my bed.
Yellow, orange and blue paint sharp drawings
demonstrating an order, a sense
After the confused darkness of winter
Rich in gold and so precious my bed,
it is like when you touch my nude skin,
You, the sweet love that lives in my depths.
I feel peace overnight, when I’m sleeping
Now my bed turns to gold and it shines
as the light in the room and reflects
my thoughts full of the warmth of affection.
You are my spring and you scatter my winter
May, 31th 2015
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
You introduce me to the sun today
when the summer is falling into autumn
and the night wins again on the day
and my face grows old while I watch you
You reflect the sun also today.
The equinox just went down and the mist
demurely dresses brown dry old twigs
that already sleep dreaming for leaves
You were sun and it was autumn day
in the strange old age owned by Rome;
we were young and my being across
the time was quite without any reason
You direct my gaze towards the sun
even if the time hurts also you
and my anger denies all the light.
In your eyes I see marks of splendour
September, 23rd 2016
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
Till now I posted here only fresh stuffs, yet the last things I’m posting are made by old words that describe my previous life, the one before I met my Love.
That fact explains why the style is so different and also why the contents tend to despair. Just this week, thanks to an idea of my friend Leda, I’m finishing another work named “Chiaroscuro” (that is “Light and dark”) in which I fix chronologically this existential transition between light and darkness, which also at present still crosses my days , although no more in such desperate tones.
Beyond the space,
Further the light
Of the stars
There’s a shrunk world
All encrusted with boredom
Photo by Judy Barton, 2011
Chiaroscuro every day moves forward,
as expression and moment, variation
of each life that soaks deeply my chest,
blind boost made by emotion and knowledge
I’m a lot of collected contraries,
lazy waiting or burning delirium
for each type of goods and rich vocation.
I am frost that the sun can well solve
Be now you to melt frost: here’s the dawn
of the white season closing each light,
every dark, every breath, everyone.
Dissolve scabs so the light could gush out
September, 21st 2016
Photo by Judy Barton, 2009
As I am, you will always can see.
I should be slutness, darkness,
curse against life and God, for I’m bad
when alone with my flesh: that’s my cry
Sometimes I am my beast; I could list
all my evils and sins full of nights,
grown as wrinkles which hope to be smooth.
But I’m a devoted bride, I’m a wife
I’m my skin and my grey shadow, sad,
but you can turn me into bright light.
Don’t you let me alone with my crowds
deep inside my corrupt and fool mind
As I am, you will always may see.
I am often impervious to the others:
To avoid any abuse, I’m my mask,
but you can free myself from my nights
Please, now take me, breathe me and my mind
even if I can choke who sighs so
close to me. You take me, here, now, just!
I’m poor thing, nothing else, without love