Blackristine song

Take care, my friend.

I don’t know if a veil
can be a lie, can be a jail
hiding and trapping well
what I am in my hell

I need what I don’t know
maybe love, maybe more
I’m alone in this world
I’m my rain falling down

I would like sing nice words
free my soul, fly as bird
yet that red purple moth
seems a wound on my mouth

I shake my body hard
with no sense. I move hands
like a child with no dad.
Pain is my name so far

I don’t know, maybe a veil
can be a lie or a jail…
My mask falls down to earth
I show you now my heart

 

October, 1st 2019

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A Fritillary

JB, 2018

 

A Fritillary like dying leaf
trembles in sun light piercing dark shadow
there, in that clearing among high firs.
Later she flies up back like a thought

From a distance she’s gold dillydallying
that descends and too random vault, twirl
as a life without way, with no path,
almost gust of faint air in main wind

 

Genova Valley, La Todesca

August, 17th 2019

 

Italian version

Tiny

 

There’s impossible love, sometimes, here
there’s impossible touch and kiss: you’re
so thin, soft, little, frail
and I can kill you using a nail

I long for you and your lovely skin
breakable as is weak each young fresh girl
I wish kiss you and hug you so tightly
and sigh for that’s no way to do it really

It’s impossible love, this one, here
as so often I see around me
I am too thin, soft, little and frail
anyone can wound me with a nail

 

 

SL, Silks, August, 20,2019

All that heat

I look at all that heat from cool shade,
from a cave among green and old ivy.
Outside hot spell insists with cicada
in the merciless, summer day light

In your shadow I live, you are a fresh
shelter from anxiety that takes me
when I work or I go on black roads,
when I see people’s empty pale faces

Last solstice skimmed short time ago
and it’s victory of living on darkness.
I almost forget the time end
even if it comes down: I feel peace

We are in the shadow of a so strong Hand
which governs everything in best way
We are shipwrecked spread in this world
yet we are not alone. We are there
                                                      and there is here a Sense

 

June, 28th 2019

 

Italian version

 

…………………………..AND NOW…. HOLIDAY!!!!!

A strong wind

JB, that day

 

A strong wind tears white foam off from water
that swells as an old giant’s loud scream.
All hangs into a dark leaden sky,
density of each spirit is free

A wild wind sweeps my face, so my anger
moves away compared with the immense
swirling of forces greater than those
of each minute whims which I can do

Wind. I stand up with effort and upright
turning my chest against booming sea.
I feel all this my body alive
then a smile looks for you and I’m safe

 

Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone,

April, 25th 2019

Italian version

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

Narrow crosses

JB, that night

 

Ancient square grey stones tell us dark stories
about power and passions and fights.
The austere building, that stole popes from Rome
at that time, seems invincible, immense

Narrow crosses draw black and strange carvings
from where I imagine shooting arrows
down to square and those people, to tourists,
that are pale shadows of splendid people

Where the hell did those strong people go,
they who raised you with each cathedral,
which was Europe salvation that time?
Solitude freezes now all my bones

 

Palais des Papes, Avignon,
April, 22nd 2019

Italian version

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

This stone highland

JB, 2019

 

This stone highland that boxwood shrubs dress
thickly with small hard leaves as a robe
climbs down steeply to the river ghost
where a ravine become wider meander

White rock deforms in concentric spasms,
isoipses that marks so a cadence
of warm climate and parched hardground
towards the ancient mill, at the source

That fresh water like faith and like hope
caused motion of people: thus wheat
became flour and then became bread
for miles all around here. It was life.

I go down and climb back in the circus.
I look at terebinth and lentisk
building alien landscape that refers
to the sea: it’s true factor yet absent presence

Each thing changes, so houses and churches
were destroyed and turn now to vain tourism,
empty goals only for pleasant holiday.
Oh my Christ, return clear and alive

 

Cirque de Navacelles,

April, 24th

 

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

 

Italian version