Photo by Milena Carbone: thank you
My skin is so deep, you
can feel it when you touch me and my
mind sinks down in this night that is just
wish for light, dismay, loss, absence. It
is a pursuit
Your skin is so deep too, I can feel
it when my fleshes moan and groan
and awaits satisfaction to my
drive that pulls tight each muscle and fiber
toward that summit where I want be
We are skin and thus our minds sink
while at night we feel by ourselves
and miss each thing and all what’s above,
overwhelming thirst that is a plea
September, 19th 2019
My Precious love can only come from above
In unity is born a kiss of dignity
My Precious love will only come from above
And there you wish away
And with the least they met
You love better
by Lisa Gerrard
My friend Kristine Blackadder told me about a strange song: Space weaver, by Lisa Gerrard. I listened to that song and saw its video. A woman dances, alone in an empty space; she wears a very large black dress. She keeps her hands near her hips and her arms are bent, so I can imagine two eyes, two gaps of light in the black of a mask. Her body is also bent, as to simulate a nose protruding from a mask.
A black mask.
The song flows and the woman dances until that mask seems to vanish and the woman becomes what she really is: a woman.
She becomes herself, without any mask and far from any dream.
An expression recurs obsessively, maybe as a prayer invocation, surely as expression of ineffable desire: Precious love. It is repeated twelve times.
Well… that’s my true love story.
Because my precious love came me from above.
Because when I met my precious love I found myself as unity.
Because my precious love gave and gives me dignity.
Because dignity and love grew and grow again as unity.
Because I saw and see what to love means.
Because I became me, taking off any mask.
I breathe words in the fresh wind that strikes
my face and messes up all my hairs
in the spring mornings when winter runs
far away and you are my desire
Words choose me and they give strength and form
to my wandering roaming strewn thoughts.
I don’t look for them: I find and see
them, they chase me at their whim
I collect from somewhere words in summer
going through mountains, into your eyes
full of peace, in the steps that so much
bring us toward the high sky we need
We have not to hunt words; just wait for
them that reach us across lives and time flow
and watch them changing into nice prayer
like clots filled and charged with meaning
I chase words and autumn rain turns
itself lighter becoming soft smile
as when evening mist poses on green grass
while I run to you asking for you
October, 14th 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,
You can find here more informations about this holiday.
Photo by me: it was an almost rainy day; in the web we can see beautiful pic of this Abbey; the ones with lavender flowers are very spectacular, like this one:
(pic found there)
There! In this quiet valley a blossom
appears, sudden volute of stone
almost shy indeed strong and discreet,
so impressive, clean substance
It’s inside time and world, but outside,
severe dress of austere fullness and
limestone filled with faith and with quiet
silence marked with hardworking joy
Saints and martyrs and so troubled stories
that did no wipe out from this poor land
either flesh or its beautiful work.
Outside lavender waits for warm sun
Will we last? Maybe we will be alone
as short beating of wings, before instinct
of possession and claim takes all us?
God not make us as blasphemy or hitch
Abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque
April, 22nd 2019
You can find here more informations about this holiday.
JB, that evening
I look at you so far from this loggia
while lights and colours turn on from windows
beyond the well of night that’s that lake.
A nightfall grips by fear now my world
You are there, in your houses, as usual
common business, and duties and laughs;
someone now prepares dinner or goes back
from his work and he’s welcome again
Yet now there are so powerful shadows
spread all over the world to bring terror
dark like black breath of worse ancient demons.
Make me one of your servants, God, Lord
January, 28th 2019
JB, that night
I see us on that sofa, it’s night
we’ve a rest looking at our future
that awaits us and is full of sense.
Next September we’ll get married, so
You are on that sofa: it’s a moment
overlaid both to time and to space:
your background is the same yet it’s different.
Next September you’ll get married, so
Our link was young but sure and certain,
more than only beginning, prelude,
it was real and eternal fact
we so thought and so lived our love
So you are today, you, my son and
her, that’s new but real part of the whole
which we live and not only unclear hope.
God can hold your hand. You go on!
Bernina Hospice, February, 16th 2019
Where does lead my road this so grey morning?
Into fog that wraps heavily all things
frosty grass, rimy stubbles and dark
trees that seem only scattered skeletons
Where does lead my road also today?
Towards gates of a new confused day
that together throws deadlines and blackmails
some small things to do before night come
Where do lead again roads anyway?
Into a world I no more understand
where perhaps hope goes bad ...
I know that there is sun above here
give me it
December, 18th 2018
This scirocco breaks forests, breaks trees:
it is wrong and my world is wrong too,
black and soaked with so mad bad feelings
everywhere saturated by evil
After storm, after days that were storm
now I write. Sense of fulness and peace
covers me. I dissolve my fatigue
while light breeze dispels smoke
A far woman sang that “Todo cambia“:
each thing changes and me and my world
and the wind and the clouds … yes: all changes
Stay with me, do not leave me, God come!
October, 31st 2018
Thank you Kristine: now I know this beautiful song and enjoy it.
Sorry… I could not take a my photography, so I used this one, found here
You put gold in a so deep blue sky
tonight and bright red copper reflections
in the clean crystal of this new air
after a whole day of strong fast wind
Sweep me like mountain breeze on my face,
enter my twisted mind, hold up my
heart: it’s already tired and it sways.
Make me burn again as a new spark
October, 24th 2018