Perhaps

 

angelo

Pic by Dony Mugnai, found here

 

When you say “perhaps” you
talk about something vague
that might be or might not
something maybe you’d like
it to be. It’s a hope, maybe vain

“Perhaps” sounds as a breath
come from nowhere, as breeze,
fresh air moved by my mind,
breath from odd thoughts, from hide
spots of brains, hearths, of urges
born as mere odds, as chance

So “perhaps” refers to
dreams, not aware tools, acts;
something that could be true
yet now it is not so

My “perhaps” is like hope
about love, about life.
I would “perhaps” could be
I wish me can be true
I would like see my wings
to spread out of my shell
to make fly this my wreck

 

SL, Rainbow Rhapsody, July, 23rd 2022

 

Swifts

 

DSCN0260-min

Pic by me, that place, that day

 

A short holiday makes little lighter
all the cares that give me many troubles
This old town gives itself to us and
owns us like it did when we got married

Crazy game all swifts play fast and freely
while I watch them black under the sky
                                                            over Siena.
As it’s usual I envy them when
my eyes and mind scroll across deep blue

Please, don’t let our memory wane
and our passion turn to old regret:
It’s my love odd and needs skin and flesh,
to be concrete and not abstract trend

 

Siena, July, 1st 2022

 

 

Italian version

 

My crow cries

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Pic found here

My crow cries like did Poe one once shouting
nevermore
even if everything always happens:
life and death, love and pain, hate and joy
run together

A gull flies printing its shadow fast
on this Earth where we stand up like dreaming
while I confuse to do, to be, sleeping,
to find shivers of love on my skin

Save me, oh!
Free me now, again, free me now Lord
watch at my ill poor weak troubled mind
see the flesh You gave me as weird gift…
Please consider how much I’m poor thing

Give me each thing I need, that is love,
that is knowledge to be safe, that’s peace

Castiglioncello, July, 6th 2022

Word

Word

S.Quasimodo

Pic from here

You laugh at me, flaying myself for words,
bending around me in the straining elms,
the blue edge of skies and hills
and quivering waters’ voices,
wiling my youth
with clouds and hues
the light submerges.

I know you. Waylost in you
beauty lifts your breasts,
scoops to your hips and in gentle sweep
spreads over you shy sex,
flows down in harmony of forms
to the ten shells of your lovely feet.

But wait; if i take you,
you too become word to me, and sadness.

Salvatore Quasimodo – Traslation by Jack Bevan

This is one of the best poems I ever read. Better: one of my favourite poems.

So sensual and so sad both. Almost densperated. That “I know you” (Ti so in the original Italian version) bring us into a deep intimacy and meantime into an immense sadness.

Those two last lines are almost unberable and filled with a so great pain… Well, rereading it in these so strange days makes me understand better the poet and feel a sharp melancholy.

Original version (Italian)

Parola

Tu ridi che per sillabe mi scarno
e curvo cieli e colli, azzurra siepe
a me d’intorno, e stomir d’olmi
e voci d’acque trepide;
che giovinezza inganno
con nuvole e colori
che la luce sprofonda.

Ti so. In te tutta smarrita
alza bellezza i seni,
s’incava ai lombi e in soave moto
s’allarga per il pube timoroso,
e ridiscende in armonia di forme
ai piedi belli con dieci conchiglie.

Ma se ti prendo, ecco:
parola tu pure mi sei e tristezza.

Bad strong coffee

crema-for-espresso.jpg

Pic from here

Strong black coffee I drank.
Now my mouth tastes bitter and thus
other lips would find testing my ones

To stand up, to be really upright
in this so weird, ill and naughty world
I need hugs and too cuddles: so blight
drops and I can be better than odd

No one can stand up, upright alone
each of us is just only a poor thing
our lives are all like a weak moan
we are as bird without any wing

Human beings … are such some poor thing
women, men, always thus: error prone
enough fragile to fall down, to cling
each day to someone else as a stone

Strong black coffee I am.
Like my mouth, tastes bitter me too.
Other lips wouldn’t test my ones more

SL, Elven Forest. June, 10th 2022

Xilocopa

DSCN1936-min

Photo by me: that wistaria

Like solitary bee or a moth
that confuses her nights with each day,
anyway always greedy for scent,
my thought flies over wisteria flowers

My thought points itself as in racemes
on my wisteria hanging to ground,
drags me and it’s a so heavy thought
that would like to soar toward Your sky

Give peace and a more lively warmth
to my evanescent heavy flower
that’s a pale mirror to the deep sky
and, please, a clearer life
                                        and substance

May, 17th 2022

Italian version

A knot (to Eucie)

knot

She, Judy, that place, that day

Light and air made you as a cute sylph,
golden matter and diaphanous too
warmth to hug to not sense to be alone.
Trying to love sometimes seems to hug ghosts

There’s a knot between right and left side
There’s a knot bounding your light thin silk
There’s a knot hiding shy female things
where your body becomes left or right

Into a knot there are sweet secret things
that knot makes walk and dream my poor mind
so I feel weak and silly my heart.
There’s a knot before intimacy

I need places to rest, putting face
in safe soft friendly warm alive place
as a child, as a pet looking for
a nice and pleasant shelter to sleep

I perceive a knot into my flesh
rooted there, where I need love and breaths,
a knot rooted so much into me
to force my soul to think sinful thoughts

I’ve a knot deeply into my deep
I see a knot hiding shivers of love
I’m a knot between heaven and hells
Solve that knot, let me walk on safe ways

Light and air made you as a cute sylph,
gentle matter and diaphanous too
warmth to hug to not sense to be alone.
Dreaming love sometimes is as hug ghosts

SL, Elven Forest, May, 13th 2022

Breath me, by Sia

Breath me

Sia Kate Isobelle Furler

sia-1

Pic from here

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there’s no-one else to blame

Be my friend, hold me
Wrap me up, enfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up and breathe me

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found
Yeah I think that I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe

Be my friend,…

 

 

May, 8th 2022

 

Rain. A tribute to Terrygold by Kristine Blackadder

Rain by Terrygold. Machinima

I already told you here something about this Terry’s beautiful and moving work.

There, I already tried to say something about a so nice Kristine’s machinima about “Rain”, the last art installation built shared by Terrygold into Second Life.
Well, this beautiful friend, Kristine, was not satisfied by her machinima, and felt her need to make more and better: thus, another video was born: “Rain by Terrygold”.
These so dear and clever two friends, Kristine and Terry, go on to grow better and better as artists.

This time Kristine gives space and dignity to the words used by Terry in her work. Kristine makes a beautiful machinima where Terry’s words are in great evidence, while into the original art installation our eyes and our minds are so captured by pics and landscapes that words are subordinate and for instance I self really did not give them their real importance and beauty.
The translation into English from the original Italian text was made by another dear friend, Annalisa Mulialina, while a fourth friend, Shyla, enhanced those words with her so pleasant voice.

Four clever and gentle and dear friend, four women from both the sides of Atlantic Ocean made this wonderful work.

I enjoy their work so much; I enjoy more and more their friendship with Judy.

This machinima was accepted into that so great SL event that is FantasyFaire 2022: it will be presented during the event scheduled on Saturday, April 30th, as showed below here.

Rain FF schedule

And this is the event SLURL

Blood waves

Lanora 1aLanora 1b

Stuff written watching last Solfrid paint, the one here above in a sequence of two, named 1a and 1b. Blood waves is only the title of my stuff.

Anyway, I’m happy she restarted to paint!

Blood waves grow and branch out till the canvas
shows no more than a crimson large space.
Like a nightmarish time we do live
here and now during such odd bad days

Without thinking we go ahead. We
manage sadness with dreams and love hopes
Yet emotion is only instincts’ slave
so denies space to reason and knowledge

I felt never myself silly as
in the present time when evils swell
up again showing terrible faces
to an old feeble mankind that falls

Blood waves arise like warped image
and fill a second canvas with pain
that increases and enters my mind.
Absurd war and apostasy. Death

SL – Peaceful Land, April, 9th 2022