Pink lake

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JB, January 2022.

Pink lake: eutrophic space,
simply mirror of sunset
blue when blue is the sky,
grey when grey, pink when pink

Beauty is there a reflection of light
even Tindall or Rayleigh game, joke
it’s substance of another
it gives us sky as gift

Pink lake rests in the plain
waiting for evening, night
while the lights of Mankind
pale and shy slowly start

I’ve no Beauty to share
when I’m only myself,
selfish skin filled with
my things, thoughts and hopes too

Pink lakes force us to watch
higher, up to the Sky.
Let me be pink and thus
be a mirror of God

January, 19th 2022

I’m that one

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JB, yesterday, after we made our nativity scene

 

I’m that one who now sleeps on the grass
near the heat of the fire freeing our
body and mind from cold thoughts
where so often each one can get lost

Both a shepherd or woman, doesn’t matter
we are the same deep down in our Mankind
strange and fickle and now very tired
fighting between emotions and reason

I’m that one and he sleeps near the warmth
of all common and usual safe things
I sleep while all the universe changes
while light and its true sense is being born

They say that the crib is from Benino’s (*)
dream and that he sees all our Earth
change its shape and substance and essence
up to be like a new paradise

Yet I’m that one who sleeps: I’m distracted
by my standard and permanent sloth
or by a sudden one that can reach
me just here while each thing resurrects

If You want, take me out from these weird
shadow days chasing gloomy solstices
while this cold rules all my queer odd world:
I’ll become what I am: only answer

 

December, 11th 2021

 

* Benino is a character of the Neapolitan nativity scene: he is the sleeper.

Italian version

Torn and thorns

 

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Pic found here, by Awentree

 

Torn
as an old worn white shirt
meeting thorns on its way
I am torn.
I’m bound, broken
and I’m naked and torn

Cold dry air hurts my skin
like ice breath from wastelands
Winter wins now my life.
I feel used up, worn.
I am torn

Thorns as bugs
bad black bugs
creep and crawl on my skin, tearing even
inside
where I’m torn.

Thoughts are thorns
scampering everywhere
as a frisk in my soul
to find what?
Pain and thorns

Come on, please,
come here soon
don’t let this advent be
sadness, cold, ripped skin
and soul torn.
Came on, please
be my whole

 

My home, December, 4th 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

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

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

 

Now

 

This is from my 2020 nativity scene

 

Now He comes. He will come. He is coming.

Oh! He is here.

He is everything I need, everything each of us needs.

He wants  to be everything for everybody.

He is so, really so, really now, yet we are blind.

I ask him that my heart could know what my reason already knows, so that I culd live in peace.

I ask that also for my friends.

Merry Holy Christmas.

 

Italian version

 

 

Fog erases

I’m sorry… I was not able to post this stuff last week end, as usual …

JB, 2009

 

Fog erases each thing with its nothing
made by silence and moisture and grey
along a way that leads to new Christmas
to new facts, to new hopes, to new life

I drive my car and I look for trees,
for signs or something that have a sense
anything I can see, recognize
to solve troubles and doubts, to go on

I miss white and pure snow in this cold
of an alien, strange winter, unknown.
Out some virus is spreading pain, death
Come soon my Lord with your holy kingdom


December, 14th 2020

I’m my demon

 

I’m my demon

I am evil, I spread
my day following wish that can’t give
me light or to turn to happy my time.
Thus my time runs away… toward what?

When I entered the water of life
there was beauty of black hairs and strength,
there were soft lips and eyes so clean, bright
grey and green. There was hope

Now I’m leaving this sea where we swim.
No more soft, this my body dries up
yet lust and will to make love grows up.
I’m my demon, that horrible bitch

Yesterday is no more, with no sense
except sin: I awaited that skin
cuddled my face and chest and down there…
Don’t’ let me alone with my bad thoughts

Don’t let me alone or I’ll be sin

 

Sunday, November, 8th 2020

Jesus, I need You

Well … it’s Christmas.

Some days ago, my dear friend Kristine shared me a strange song. I thought that I’ll used my frienship for Kristine, what I think about her deepest emotions and wishes, and some words of that song to write my 2019 Christmas wishes. I did so. Thank you Kristine. Be happy like I am. God is born. God came and comes in our so poor flesh!

These are my best wishes for next Holy Christmas.

Now I’ve into my mind and into my ears a sweet and peaceful music: John Sebastian Bach’s Cantata BWV 147 “Jesus meine Freude” (Jesu, joy of man’s desiring).
I’ve into my deep all my darkness and all the night where i was on this Advent.
I wish Jesus be born. I know Jesus is born. I wish His light, His peace, His joy.
I wish all these good things also for all you.

Jesus, I need You
by Judy Barton on Christmas, 2019

When fog hides
any idea of each way
I’m alone into grey, where I stay
There no answer responds to my why

I’m my need, I don’t feed
my pale soul nor my mind.
I’m as hole
where I can’t see my joy.
I’m a homeless old bitch
I’m grass frost under birches

When each Sunday
stops to be the Lord’s day
I’m alone in a night without rest
there’s no one that responds to my why

You are my need, feed
my pale soul and my mind.
You fill my hole
bringing me peace and joy.
Be born and be my home: then I’ll switch
to green grass under birches

 

December, 20th-24th 2019

 

 

Italian version