Genevieve

Near that Unicorn

 

Near a white unicorn, elvish trees
are around us as dark discrete shield.
You lay lazy and beautiful on
the horseback: your arms dreamily down

Our colours are lovely together:
my black skin on your grey one with stars
and red flowers as blood in a night
when tears are not enough, not so much

Our colours are lovely tonight.
My gold eyes into your deep blue ones
where they lose themselves looking into
those two pure water wells in your face

Near a white unicorn, elvish trees
are around here and looking at us.
Black and purple and grey and white stars:
we share our skins close. Naked souls

 

SL, Elven Forest, September, 7th 2019

Ruined theatre

 

(Dedicated to my friend Sharrow Decosta)

 

Like an arrow you enter my dreams,
this my second life where my soul wants
to be naked and fragile to be
seen without pain nor bad sinful thoughts

 
On the stage of this theatre we run:
only a moment we meet, then alone
we go back as a ghost among chairs
of a ruined place without life

 
Soon the curtain will slide down, the scene
will return black and dark as before.
Now we are near and close: hug me, please!
Let the dark feelings out of these doors

 
Like an arrow you enter my dreams
this my naked soul and all her pains.
See my nude heart here down, on this floor
I feel you into me so deep, Sharrow!

 

Second Life, Kessler, 19th May, 2017

Cold skin

 

My friend Terry made this pic in SL. These words are both for me and for her.

Cold skin shows all my thoughts naked, so
every night  I dress darkness to go
where I meet you to make love alone.

We are only a bright little star
that survives in a shiver, then dies
lost in nowhere space without a cry

Daylight cuts off the truth and my masks
come to protect myself from those eyes
as my clothes hide my shameful flesh

No one may ever see my deep soul
otherwise I became brittle glass.
No one must ever see myself nude

I kneel down, often I kneel and lie
under the bad world eyes that strip me:
white and cold then I show no girl’s soul

White and cold as a dead woman knows

SL, Helvete Norge Fjord,
November 15th, 2015

 

Here you can find the bad translation into the Italian language.

I am wrong

 

Today something was wrong, today I
too was wrong

Loneliness is
as a box in my mind, as a wall,
as a dark silent wood while the light
fills the meadows’ grass out of my night

I’m alone, I am wrong, I was here
with no dress on my bed when you left
me and my love, when I fell, when I felt
my skin cold

You are away and beyond
this my dark shadows’ wood,
this my black evil’s wall,
this my bad boxed mind,
out of my hard, dry skin
out from  my silent substance
away from this my pale world

Today something was wrong, always I
am wrong too

September, 1st 2014

Tender as …

 

Tender as
a new leaf early in spring
without walls around me, without hates
nude in depth like a fresh water pool
green, all green, always green …

Tender as
daughter’s young cheek and skin
as a just broken bud in this spring
clear as the last rain over the lumps
green and green, till death green …

I am now in that dream even if
see I bad me and my winter’s poor life
Easter I in your eyes see and cry
and pray God to be green, again green

 
17th April 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?

The waves: Susan – Le onde: Susan

(pic from: Shay’s Word Garden: Troika)

Never sleeps a wild beast in my eyes
nor quiets down. I’m the dirt,
the beech roots and those gaps in the hedge
where her kiss you, my hate.

Primal girl, I a cradle surround
of rough, feral, maternal instinct.
I’m the daughter who daughters defends
in the sunlight or by night, anyway

I do not have a sea and my wave
is immediate drive, it’s the strength
of frost moors, of the shadow that crouches
in the quivering, ancient forests

Tuesday, 5th february 2013

 

Una belva selvaggia negli occhi
mai s’acquieta. Conosco la terra,
le radici dei faggi e quei varchi
nella siepe e quel bacio, mia rabbia.

Primitiva, una culla circondo
di selvatico e ferino istinto.
Sono stirpe che stirpe difende
nella luce o la notte, comunque

Non ho mare e il mio fremito d’onda
è pulsione immediata di forza,
di gelate brughiere, dell’ombra
che si acquatta nel bosco fremente

Le onde: Rhoda – The waves: Rhoda

(pic from: http://lamusicadentro.iobloggo.com)

Mi ferisce la folla che guarda
quanto sono inadatta nel mondo.
Nuda come la carne sui ganci
del negozio disagio distillo

Dalla vampa dell’alba alla notte
sul mio mare la luce discende.
Sono solo una pozza distante
d’acqua autistica e rondini assenti

Bianche barche governo in un sogno
grande come una tazza, le onde
sono solo i miei piccoli passi
nel giardino che sola attraverso

.
Hurts so much the crowd when looks at me
showing how I’m unfit in the world.
Naked as poor meat on the shop hooks
I distill my uneasy distress

From the blaze of the dawn till the night
on my sea the sunshine brightens down.
I am just like a puddle away
alone water, no swallows to fly

White boats I manage and it’s a dream
as big as only a cup, the waves are
generated by my own small steps
in the garden where lonesome I walk

Monday, 5th december 2012

 

 

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?
Tentennare.
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

Shadow dress

Shadow dress the night makes and it’s present
for us loving both in this new summer
My skin catches your warm lips and shivers
my soul now is this body and its wishes

Dark flesh I’m and my hairs darker and
like a mystery of darkness my flower
which you want and I give you to kiss
when the universe bangs, red rose purple

After you in the bed lay and I change
my thoughts into wrong and silly words
don’t leave me uncompleted, I dress
good and distress and life chases closely

Monday, 19th June 2012