Each thing shines

 

220px-cannaindica2

Pic from here

I wrote this stuff at first in Italian language, then I wrote this English version. That’s no merely a translation yet something new.
A nice surprise, for me

Each thing shines as life is light itself
grass and trees and the lake and small towns
also white rocks drink light, they that old
age and water vibrate hard chalk skin

Sharp cries by some cicadas from trees
increase feeling of distress and warmth
to be awake in this pale summer day
so that I am as a weak bankrupt doll

There’s a spot of vermillion down there
it’s an Indian shot happy for sun
giving its colour as gift to us.
I sit while my mind goes far from here

A church’s bell rings measuring the time
while it gives it a sense, a way, paths
where to go to be really life, light
for those that want find truth, beauty, God

Then a soft gentle breeze wraps my face
giving me refresh, relief, solace
whilst a large butterfly comes from woods
flying around me, buzz and Indian shot

I see: one is the life, it goes from
winter to summer, always again
yet it runs endless across the time.
I feel sap and blood flow as are friends

 

July, 24th 2021

 

The calla

JB: the new calla

 

In my garden the calla was yellow,
yet now purple it came back this year
and it’s larger, a bloom of tall leaves
with those spathes of violent flowers

Only few things are strictly coherent
with themselves and their substance
so that a lot goes changing so often.
Thus, the essence of facts can be fickle

I would like the world stable and pretty,
fitting to what I carry inside,
to the instances of meaning and peace,
to myself, poor collection of moments

I know that You are and rule everything
even the much I don’t understand.
Let me be where you call and want me
make me useful, not vain silly instinct

June, 27th 2021

Italian version

Homeless wave

homeless wave

Homeless wave, by AtélieKemi

 

There’s a tower, just there, near the corner,
strong thin matter, as one of us, standing
near the giant sea that has no limits
to its power or strength or time also

A large wave as anomalous shiver
shines so white, like a pure and clean spirit,
or breath came from a powerful goddess
of the past, when all was only silence

It’s explosion of white: foam and water
with no rest hit and upset the blue
quiet depths yet it is without evil
as wild something who shouts to be alive

We are watching at that nature’s play,
weak and little as poor tiny creatures
waiting for that wave could bring back here
something found at the end of the sky

The wave goes and returns and again
brings us toward that weird foreign sky
and then back to the dry ground and more
again there, again here, so we are puzzled

By the sea side the wave sees us here
near the tower, on our safe dryland
brown and dark, with no green grass nor trees
as a still place where life seems an absence

Each of us is a homeless wave, often,
because life is so small, narrow, tight
and the world can not cage our wishes.
There’s no home here for our swollen souls

Our nothing is a so sharp feeling
as that black thin high tower, the corner
of the picture … and we are that nothing.
Yet we know that we are and we love

 

 

May, 1st 2021

A white pain

Something soft, as grey mist
spreads across this small world
not like that red death mask
nor as black terror plague
sweetly it kills us now

I need eyes to watch in
I need hands to hold tight
I need friends to be close
I need love to be me

Something like a white pain
rides together with this
new weird virus and makes
mankind dull, forcing us
towards dreams

I need facts truly true
to be alive, to be far
from death innate in dreams
to be out
from that white without shape

Someone says that a man
resurrected by death
and He lives in his Church.


I decide to trust them
I need Christ who saves me
I need Him to change me
I need Him, to be me

Deep into
those clear eyes
I met Him
With those hands
He bears me
He was
is
in those friends

Unbelievable peace

April, 17th 2021

Rag doll

 

It’s a machinima by Kristine.

My friend Aola showed me a poetry she wrote about Second Life Rag dolls; it was really impressive for me, so that I asked her permission to stole and corrupt her nice work; after it, Kristine remembered me her short video… Then I wrote this post.

As a rag doll I go
across my second life,
a soft puppet made with threadbare rags
an old stuff built with pieces of cloth

If I’m here
that’s because life broke me like it did
to you too

I’ve my Love and my faith
I am blessed and lucky and I …
I was lucky till now … and thus why
do I need something else?

As rag dolls all we go
across each life we have,
like soft weak, fragile puppet that are
really unable to stand up alone

We are here
because we look for what
each of us cannot gain without help…
What is it? Our way, our peace.
Our sense

 

SL, Elven Forest, April, 1st 2021

 

Lazarus’ Sunday

JB, now.

Well, I think it is very silly to share captions to some words, yet I must say that this is the first time I tag a stuff with coronavirus and apostasy too. My first time. I see a connection there and I must shout it.

Thank you Kristine for your contribution to open my eyes. Thank you. Be good.

 

This my dying vine sprouts
dry brown buds on wood branch
without lifeblood or hope
to be tender green leaves

There’s no more spring in mankind,
in this endless and soft feral feria
enveloping us in a pale stuff
where each thing becomes laziness

Lazarus also sleeps, still in silence,
bloodless and under white linen shrouds
waiting for life that is still suspended.
Anyway, all we are now death sick

I’m my dying vine with brown
sprouts that dry on branch wood
without lifeblood or hope
to be tender green leaves

First of all, it is not this disease
to bite life: it is sloth that fades us
like confused grey fog and cancels
every bud rush toward flowers burst

What I say is the world of rich’s evil,
sin of those who enjoy present-days,
even if dull, whilst deny salvation.
I am guilt like apostate is.

I am that dying vine and no sprout
I show but dry ones on my branch wood
They are without lifeblood nor they can
show a hope to be tender green leaves

 

March, 21st 2021

Italian version

There is always a sunset

There is always a sunset, by

 

here is always a sunset because
each dawn sun rises higher again
to ensure that we are still alive
in this world made for us by you, Lord

Pain and joy are so close in this way
where we walk sometimes also with friends;
someone comes, someone goes far away…
someone dies… I remember each of them

There is always a sunset; sometimes
it’s the death of each light: everyday
light arises then falls in that pit
bottomless where dark eats everything

Let me think to that long lasting night
without sun, northern, or even worse:
to that infinite dawn that aborts
without shining of full light: a failure

Maybe it’s a sort of dirty  trick
where someone plays against us: a game
to confuse our poor minds with suns that
do not carry out their true purpose

Sometimes our life goes toward that dark
as if we were unable to do good
as if we were poor lives that escape
without beauty or love, without joy

I saw your so bright sunsets, so shining
filled with red and orange and blue
filled with joy, alive, artworks that
show us all that light that we all need

 

February, 28th 2021

 

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions

Blue primrose

Sorry for this bad photo, but it’s evening here

 

Blue primrose puzzled in climate trap
fought against frost and snow, still alive
in this rainy, gray and no cold day,
sharing colour as dark stifled smile

I’m like her in these so changing times
in this world I’m not able to know,
to understand as I did in the past.
In the winter sad garden I stay

Would you come again, frost of past days?
Would You come into me, to stay, God?
I’ve no bright colours, I’ve no green leaves.
In my winter sad garden I pray

 

February, 6th 2021

 

Frost soon came

Well, I know this is not a nice stuff. Anyway, please, consider that words left far from me for many time, from last Christmas. They do so, sometimes, and when it happens i miss them so much.

I hope I may have again words as before.

J.B.

Frost came, frost
                         later went
each day spent
                         leaves no trace

Sunlight shines
                       on white ice
it’s a lace
                       in my mind.

Like a blind
                     I go around
as a clown
                    or a ghost.

Frost soon came,
                   frost soon went
lazy days,
                  sad grey scent

January, 30th 2021