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

Maybe the linden tree

 

I found that pic here

 

My dear friend Sharrow told me something about this stuff, so I changed something in it.

Thank you, Sharrow!

 

Maybe is this soft sweetness of linden
that spreads itself around in the air
into the already warm night of May

like strong wine which confuses my mind,
 

Maybe is this May sudden sun which
draws my linden out from the sleep where
I lay lazy, old and tired too
as I am a dry clod far from all
 

Maybe it’s this my spring that May slips
into me and so my blood again
boils renewed and alive. A tear melts
all my masks. Look at me: I am yours
 

I feel a deep peace into my womb
barren and running toward the nothing.
Now, please, move stronger me and push me
deeply to the way we are looking for
 

 

May, 28th 2017

 

Italian version

 

Previous version:

Maybe is this lime tree and its sweetness,
like strong wine which confuses my mind,
that spreads itself around in the air
into the already warm night of May
 

Maybe is this May sudden sun which
draws my lime out from the sleep where I
vegetate so old and tired too
as I am a dry clod far from all
 

Maybe it’s this my spring that May slips
into me and so my blood again
boils renewed and alive. A tear melts
all my masks. Look at me: I am yours
 

I feel a deep peace into my womb
barren and running toward the nothing.
Now, please, move stronger me and push me
deeply to the way we are looking for

Now my bed turns to gold

JB 2017

 

Now
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

 

Italian version

Red cachemire

 

JB, 2017

 

You paint using so sinuous thoughts
every night all my night and my skin
quivers, trembles and asks for caresses
as she was still young and gets upset

 
Spring is trap and a danger for minds,
it’s a fire, it’s as scattered poppies
like the blood of a young woman when
she surrenders and gives her to love

 
In the winter I wanted my bed
red and I doodle my unsure dreams
every dawn as in cashmere designs
when you go far and I think alone

 
I don’t fulfil you, you don’t to me, neither
it’s enough this flesh for the immense wish
that you open wide as the blue does
when it breaks the clouds and at last shines

 

May, 9th 2017

 

Italian version

I’m a gift

Flower myth, 1918 – Paul Klee

A rosebloom I give you as a gift. It has whorls
red, rich, complex, compound
like the unspeakable hope that my flesh
as well as my deep spirit requires

 
This rosebloom I give you as a gift. Feel its taste:
the same of my warm blood, the same colour.
It has the scent of all my desire
that your glance upsets and fiercely stokes

 
Get the bloom: it’s my gift for your love.
Then myself I’ll be gift, restless matter
delicate with petals and thorns
which defends both my shame and frail marrow

 
A rosebloom is my gift: I give you it.
You breathe it, kiss, caress, enjoy it
This my present that is me, my question.
My rose I give you helpless tonight

 

May, 3rd 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

 

You introduce me

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

Italian version