Castiglioncello, Tuscany, JB. July 2022. It’s that Athel tamarisk broken and reborn
Tamarisk grows back again; I turn
often off useless days trying to making
Now fatigue melts away and now peace
takes more space from the torment of maybe,
always shadow of “I do” and “I can’t”.
Nothing is enough when there’s no substance
July, 5th 2022
Homeless wave, by Solfrid
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
JB, that day
Red cliff falls so fast into deep blue
cobalt and it is as wasteland ruins
where past life died out ages ago
shredded due to each torture by time
Into salty cracks now there are roots
of tenacious and yellow trefoils
mixed with austere sea fennel, strong,
which new green spreads across these dry breccia
We disturb seagulls and they develop
agile flight toward to sky, against
wind and flooding the air with their calls.
Life is stronger than nothing. That’s all
Saint Raphael,
April, 27th 2019
You can find here more informations about this holiday.
JB, that day
A strong wind tears white foam off from water
that swells as an old giant’s loud scream.
All hangs into a dark leaden sky,
density of each spirit is free
A wild wind sweeps my face, so my anger
moves away compared with the immense
swirling of forces greater than those
of each minute whims which I can do
Wind. I stand up with effort and upright
turning my chest against booming sea.
I feel all this my body alive
then a smile looks for you and I’m safe
Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone,
April, 25th 2019
You can find here more informations about this holiday.
JB, 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,
April, 24th
You can find here more informations about this holiday.
Salicornia rounds up herself reddish
in the flat sweep expanse filled with
salt that denies greener bright hopes.
Far I see St.Marie and its church
Life is eaten by salt, wind and time
every year and for years, for a lot.
It sits tired in a flat backdrop
longing for something that could protrude
Then beyond Little Rhone, then forward
where more water this water receives,
earth is fading into a liquid nothing
wall or pass to so different worlds
At the seashore strong violence gives
reason to sky and sea to be roar
against rocks and the stones of the port
that protect boats and reflux and me
Wind and water run over impulses
to be still, to be calm and to stay
as if everything were just like no thing
and each place were the same everywhere
There was time when Saracens came here
from that water, now only a background.
The church was both for people and bones
of the saints a safe fortress with crenels
In the crypt Sara waits among hundreds
of lights and she is hope for the ones
that now own no more place or that keep
too much lands in their heart. Here I pray
St.Marie de la Mer, April, 3rd 2018
Photo by GB, 2016
This one is my true sea
it’s my plain with its jewels: the lakes
its waves are all the Brianza slow hills
leading me to my highlands, the Alps
Water sea is all equal to itself.
I need signs in the land to walk to
peace and joy: I need poplars and oaks
when my fog hides the sun and the truth
In my earth sea I need
you and your eyes, your glance
to see better myself and the way
where we go, go together, go ahead
November, 27th 2017
A beautiful photo by Anibrm Joung. Tank you Anibrm!
A long queue of poles enters the sea
as the wish to run toward the sky
where two landscapes quite different meet
each the other, where perhaps there’s true
Where do they go forward? To the sea?
They can not reach the line so far, there
the horizon is still farther, none
of those poles can go there to see God
I’m a beach, sandy place under waves
that come here then along always go.
My life swings like those cold and blue waves
my thoughts like those poles want to go there
All the lives are a wave: stop and go
start again, up and down, then be back.
After all, yet a gap then that line
which confuses my mind like my end
SL, Blue Curacao, January, 21st 2017
picture by Marcela Bolivar
(Dedicated to LedaEuropa)
(The girl) The girl lies on the fresh and soft grass
near the beach, where she feels all the life
of the sea as a swelling, and seagulls.
The warm sun soon will caress her skin
(Leda) There a sudden weird love, as a swan
enters her, as a flabby white cloud,
and rapes her slipping his long strong neck
everywhere, like a lustful long snake
The dawn brushes the girl body now
with its yellow and pale grazing light
and the sea breeze takes to her the waves
as some delicate, far, moving whispers
Leda is both a dream, promise and flesh;
she is betrayed by that pagan sky
like all: Danae, Europa, Io, many ...
like each woman who pays live the world
August, 21st 2016
Italian version
photo by JB 2016
The sky maybe builds link with the heavy
Earth
while down far it falls over there, farther
starting to link itself to the water
painting colours without any violence
A seagull screams both silly and foolish
paradigms with no sense or momentum
So desire becomes poor vain ambition:
everything is a fluid and fail supports
April, 30th 2016
Italian version
The skin of the angels 