First rain

pic found here


First rain comes in the new coming year
that has come by now and that now passes
on the lake, on the woods and the mountains
and on me, on my alarmed look

Just now a frozen breeze brings me back
languors of all my time and the snow
covers the alps of far and distant worlds
where each summer and beauty hurt me

Give me strength to go further me while
the cold tightens my mind and her thoughts
to go where You want me, where You wait
me and my heavy spirit of ice

Bring me away from the winter sad time
of my relentless, slow and bad nights
me, that look at my old withered glares
in the clouds that flow and so fast go

January, 3rd 2018


Italian version





Corpus Domini

Pic found here


This my present is maybe described
using runes, so I can’t find its key
hidden into such alien strange seasons
full of mystery, dryness and shadows

Algorithms made by an abstract coldness,
betray each our human awareness,
liquefy any real essentials
and give up themselves to bestial instincts

Deviant morals gain day by day death
while our reason is pray of deep sleep
and so wavers and more monsters come.
Everything is due, claimed possession

The reality lies low as dream,
a delirium of insipid wishes.
Violence is so a normal thing
everywhere: echo and terrible scream

we shuffle around as in slippers:
only pale and blind shades
of those who lost their role in the world.
My Church seems also a joke

I’m a jump of acrobatic cripple
and pretend and hold me toward nothing
while each thing falls down all around here.
Make us real, me too. Give me sense


June, 27th 2017

Italian version

Today they kill him

Today they kill him.
The State kills him.

Angel of God,
my guardian dear,
to whom God's love commits me here,
ever this day,
be at my side
to light and guard,
to rule and guide.

Meet Charlie Gard

The rope

pics by JB 2017


Strange world, so different
from mine

All the skyline is changing: the city
is rebuilding herself without worry
about old stones. A church
sadly rests in the shadow

Over me there’s a climber, a worker
on an ice building made with glass, steel.
He clings on overhanging surfaces
without fear: in a thin rope he trusts

Strange people, so different
from mine

I like your so laborious constancy,
your smart way to be alive organised
I am only a poor provincial person
and can’t try to explain my sensations

I don’t know what you tell me while speak
your strange language or where is your God,
where you really are going toward,
what you quite want to build with your love

In the cold morning where I am walking
also I overhang all my claims
and a rope from above is my hope
to be safe despite bad, foolish drives

I am like those church wrecks on the tarmac
under new, haughty, bright towers now.
I beg that all these ropes can hold up
you and me. Can the hope bear our weight

London, April, 19th 2017

And finally the Italian version


Estote fortes


Estote fortes in bello
et pugnate cum antiquo serpente
et accipietis regnum aeternum,

Be valiant in war
and fight the ancient serpent
and you shall enter the everlasting kingdom,


Cry the sap

Like some wreck of a life that has gone
stumbling over the time in the past
old dead things in the water now swim
overlapping reflection of trees


The leaves are blooming buds
and breath on Hardened wood
made like stone by the sadness of winter.
The canal stretches out between fields


Also I walk around overlapping
memories to this day, mixing tiredness
with the sighs of a spring
for which the country yearns in the cold


In myself there’s the yesterday’s chill
lasting in all the evil I can.
Make me water and canal, reflection
of You: I’ll show the light that is in the day


When You said to reborn as a child
maybe it’s like old men that can wake.
As an excess of life from my branch
cry the sap because You resurrect

April, 9th 2017

Italian version



Pic from here

If I think I am right
if I see black as white
If my night is a sigh
and I find not my site

If I do not agree
and think that I could be
better me fully free
even if I am a flea

when my life almost gone
lies like a bored swan
with no strength, without brawn
without joy and withdrawn

Anyway Easter comes
when You rise again. Does
anyone blind the shine
of the least single sun?

You don’t need any pass
to save me from myself.
Let I be not impasse
to my way out, besides

Friday, 14 April 2017