Anacridium aegyptius

(pic from here)


I watch these your gold eyes with the strips
of a black alien shadow, disturbing.
Also my eyes have such dark insertions
that I too cannot know: is this me?


Your dress is an hard armour, defended
by spurs, thorns. You are made
by mechanical instinct; the wings
are two sheaths.


When did I block my flight to escape?


May, 13th 2015

The original, Italian version, is here

Will win winter








Will win winter perhaps this my pale
life of nothing but myself exceeding
each my talents, my eyes to my belly,
my uneasy hands shake only the air

Is now winter till here, grey the sky
dirty snow on earth looses. I cold
feel my skin both my soul and this heart.
Easter wish I to be back alive

Stop my winter, delightful sweet love
be my spring toward Easter and truth
of a life story which runs to end
be my colours, the blue in my sky

Take off masks from my so tired face
show me, put me on my true own way
take my hands, force me to be myself
true that people to be whom I’m born

Will win winter, perhaps, if I cry
alone, justice and truth alone looking for.
Give me eyes, give me heart, fulfil me
I’ll fix my sight where you try to see

(Written for you and You in a strange, almost spring snowing day)

20th March 2013


nebbia web





An year, another.
Spring and winter, both: a day
so black and white and dark and light and
me and me, the other me, the better one
the worst!

An year, another.
I older feel my body and me. Now older.
I am
a night love son, so daughter of
a blind impulse, an empty skin
in shadow fog, not visible but nude,
anyway nude
so poor!

An year, another.
More faded is my breast and stars
a spider draws and I
between my eyes and up can see.
Pale smoothed life, as pale
moonlight not day.
My shiver, love, squeeze harder, squeeze
my heart
and me!

An year, another,
another me.
I hope another life;
in you I see
another me.
I hope you love and Christ
would make me adult.
Make adult me!
Extract myself from me, from this
so masked face both nude
So kneeling I
I pray

16th March 2013

Nude in white

(Nude in white_002_1 by Moki Yuitza)

Thank you Moki for your beautiful pic!

Like a virgin she is white, as a dove,
pure and nude
she contracts
all herself
whole her body so strong and booth thin
all her soul.

White on white
she wants exit to live
chasing flesh, pouncing herself
to exist exit
rising from the white sheet.

Not a maiden nor white,
never pure
I too lie in the white
of my pale life:
that’s my sheet
my flat sheet.
A white sheet,
flat on it
my life acts

I’m my shadow,
my white shadow,
I’ve no shadow
white on white on the floor
pale my sheet.
Sometime exit a word.
Only sometimes my words try to exit
to stand up
piercing that flat surface
to exist.

So attempt
I to hole the white floor.
to not acting for me:
to be me
I must exit the conventions’ floor
I’ve to exit that sheet.

Finding so colours, shapes.
Finding me.

Friday, 8th February 2013

The waves: Judy and Virginia – Le onde: Judy e Virginia

(Virginia Woolf, “The waves” author)

Woman saw woman in the sunrise
in the rise of the light at the morning
Woman saw in the sea the wave widens
and deep into herself all the waves mixed

I feel me inside her, I feel strongly
her inside me and find myself into
every face of her character painted
and in her sun, her sea and her waves …

A lot of second lives I go across
I am everyone and both none.
I cling to the usual thing, I don’t look
at my destiny while my time runs

Behind all my words I hide myself
showing me
only to my love or to far fellows.
Many people compressed I am.

When I safe and undressed I lie
in the night and to a maiden I fit
what I feel, who I am, what I wish,
then I see my soul nude as well me

I enjoy the pale winter sun warmth:
on the wall my limbs cramped I spread
whilst my soul is vibrating and checks
of each mask its reflections and waves

Everyone I would be at the same time,
all those which my skin usual surrounds;
I would take beauty from each my mask
as a crystal reveal me and enjoy

The shore brokes any rush
while the light faints into the time.
Jinny grows old, perhaps
Luis is mourning that kiss in the edge.
Rhoda dies; never close any phrases
Bernard, Neville stops
all his words.
Susan tired looks at her old hands.

What has been is befallen, still stays
only a question: why so much?

Thursday, 7th february 2013

Vide donna romantica donna
nella luce del sole dell’alba.
Vide l’onda nel mare allargarsi
e in sé le onde di tutti mischiarsi

Sono dentro lei, io forte sento
lei in me e mi scopro nei volti
delle facce che penna dipinse
e nel sole, nel mare e le onde …

Molte vite seconde attraverso:
sono tutte e nessuna. Mi stringo
nelle cose di sempre e non guardo
il destino nel tempo che corre.

Mi nascondo
in parole e mi mostro soltanto
nell’amore o a compagni distanti.
Sono tanti, in un corpo compressi.

Quando giaccio sicura mi spoglio
nella notte e a ragazza conformo
ciò che sento e che sono, che voglio
e me guardo.

Godo il caldo del sole d’inverno:
rattrappite le membra distendo
mentre l’anima accerta vibrando
d’ogni maschera le onde e riflessi

Vorrei essere tutti ad un tempo
quelli che la mia pelle circonda;
d’ogni maschera assumere il bello
e cristallo svelarmi e goderne

Frange scoglio del mare ogni slancio
mentre sviene la luce nel tempo.
Jinny invecchia, Luis forse rimpiange
nella siepe quel bacio.
Rhoda muore; non chiude le frasi
Bernard, Neville
dismette parole.
Susan stanca si guarda le mani.

Ciò che è stato è successo ed avanza
solo ancora domanda: a che tanto?

Venus of Lost Hopes

(Venus of Lost Hopes,

by Timomachos Pegasi)

Durante le ultime settimane ho speso molto del mio tempo in SL a DNA “Art and Music Fusion” guardando le opere di Timo e, soprattutto, guardando questo  dipinto.
Questa figura, dettagliata e sospesa in uno sfondo omogeneo ed anonimo, quasi da carta
da parati, non mostra i canoni della perfezione ma quelli della vita. La sento molto “mia” e vedo in essa molta me stessa.
Il suo gesto, come suggerisce anche il titolo, riprende qualcosa della Venere di
Botticelli, ma il pudore dell’originale qui è sostituito dall’ambiguità: le sue mani
stanno coprendo il suo corpo oppure essa si sta mostrando?
Ecco il tema della nudità: essere nuda. Scoprirsi. Mostrarsi. Mostrare il proprio
essere, non tanto il proprio corpo (il mio non ha nulla che meriti di essere mostrato).
Abbandonare le proprie difese e quindi essere vulnerabili. Esporsi agli altri, esporsi

alle insidie del mondo.
Gettare le proprie maschere.
Sì? No?
Dove guarda questa donna? Il suo sguardo toglie al dipinto ogni spunto erotico, ogni
equivoco legato a pulsioni meramente carnali. Guarda dietro di me, dietro di di noi che
la guardiamo. Oltre noi. Guarda più in alto.
Cosa cerca? Cosa c’è là in fondo, là sopra, oltre l’orizzonte visibile?
Ridendo, dicevo ad una amica che questo dipinto potrebbe essere la mia didascalia o,
almeno, la didascalia di Judy Barton.
Grazie, Timo.

Non dimostra certezza il mio corpo
che uno sguardo smarrito sospende
oltre carne che cieca si arrende
concedendo me stessa in amplesso

Forse ignoro se me sto mostrando
o nascondo con pudichi gesti,
se rivelo che sono o mi spoglio
come gioco di maschere e imbroglio

Spuma dicono divenne donna
segno della bellezza e d’amore.
Non mi sembro più simbolo: intacca
la giornata la pelle e me dentro

Già mi sento sfiorita e la vita
come un’ombra accennata mi sporca.
Cosa ho perso e che cosa è rimasto?
Oltre voi, sopra voi sto cercando

During the last few weeks I’ve spent a lot of my SL time at DNA “Art and Music Fusion”, looking at the works of Timo and, above all, looking at this beautiful painting by Timo.
This figure is detailed and suspended in a homogeneous and anonymous background, almost like wallpaper; it does not show any canons of perfection, but the life’s ones. I sense
it very “mine” and I feel a lot of myself in it.
His gesture, as the title suggests, takes something of Botticelli’s Venus, but the
modesty of the original picture is here replaced by ambiguity: are her hands covering or
showing her body?
This is the theme of nakedness: being nude. Discovering. Showing. Showing my deep being,
not just my body (my body does not have anything that deserves to be shown). Abandoning my defences and thus to be vulnerable. Expose myself to the other people, to be exposed to
the dangers of the world.
To throw down my masks.
Yes? No?
To waver.
Where is seeing this woman? Her glance removes from the painting any erotic cue, any
ambiguity related to purely carnal instincts. She looks behind me, behind us that are
looking at her. Beyond us. She watches higher.
What are she looking for? What’s far beyond, over there, beyond the visible horizon?
I said to a girlfriend of mine that this painting could be my caption, or at least the
caption of Judy Barton.
Thanks, Timo.

Does not show any sureness my body
so suspended by an amazed look;
no more I will be as blinded flesh
that surrenders to whatever wish

Maybe I do not know if I’m showing
or hide me with shamefaced gestures,
if I say that I am or I’m stripping
as a game made with masks and deception

They say that woman came from sea foam
as a sign of the beauty and the love.
I do not feel more like any symbol:
the day affects my skin and me deeply

I feel already faded and life
like a light shadow begrimes my peel.
What did I miss and what is here left?
Beyond you, over you I am looking for

DNA Exibition, saturday, 17th november 2012

I’m my mask

I’m my mask after sunshine and harder
than my clothes my skin close myself
mirrors can’t see this timid girl trapped
no rain me can damp but all me bashes

No eye may see my body as my soul
nor my feelings are spread: I’m my show.
All the day I’m not me but another
people with my same face, not my heart

Soon but in too much time will be night
with you I will go out from my cage
Shadows get back dissolving my theatre
by the night. I’m illusion, perhaps

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Between light and the darkness

Between light and the darkness I’m all true
naked and wearing my nudity itself
I’m my flesh and the skin that it closes
just my feels’ is explosion and you know

Twilight zone before lose me or dreaming
again felt for you in love and still loved
just my lorica and masks are then loosed
as makeup when I tear when I think it

Tuesday, 13th march 2012