A nickname

A photo of mine, 2019

 

In that chatroom, her nickname was Desert Rose.

 

A stone rose
scales herself
 

As crust plasters
hidden soul
 

With bronze thoughts
during days
 

Dried reflections
of calcite
 

Witness of
burnt dead seas
 

And of thoughts
buried deep
throughout the time
 

And of colours
in chalk frozen
 

A stone rose
scales myself

 

A mIRC chatroom, 2005

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Come with me

 

Come with me to the other side
of my soul. There are died
dreams made by sand and dried
thoughts and hopes from white brides

Come with me: I’ll be guide
to my heart and I’ll tie
my bad wishes together to cry
where dark sins fade at light

Come to see how much wide
is our love that we ride.
Like the sea rises tide
I’m with you and so pride …

SL, Galadriel’s Mirror, MiddleEarth
January, 13th 2019

Winter dream

(Photo by Melania)

Silly words born while I was chatting with a friend about a landscape built by Terrygold.
Maybe not silly at all.

What’s a winter dream? It’s as a scream
made by shadows that cover as cream
my frost skin; shivers’ stream
runs like hopeless bad sin
 

What’s a winter dream? It’s a flash, gleam
that moves me to be silly and write reams
clinging to thoughts rerunning same scheme.
Winter dream is too much my own theme
 
 
 
SL, Casvian Caye, January, 12th 2019

Bellavitaa

Photo by JB, 2014

 

In your lawn I lie down and I’m peaceful.
You catch me as I were simple life
without asking for anything, only
wearing your welcoming smile

 
There are silence and peace on your lap,
your skin is like a dress full of light:
only it’s a slight whisper of dream.
I’m calm seeking your glance to give me up

 

IRC Chat, 29.VII.2018

 

 

Italian version

A sphere

Judy is entering a sphere

My friend Terry built a new art expo based on ten spheres in which several artists made their works. Each sphere is as little world and it is possible enter them. The opening of this expo will be on next September, 14th 2018.

In my worse silly mode I wrote this stuff about it.

What’s a sphere? an austere
cry to show we are alive,
a small box, often block
trapping smiles in this rock

What’s your sphere? A mystère
you don’t know, when sincere
look at your bloody heart
waiting for a restart

In my sphere I’m asleep
sad and bad and I creep
toward black hole that eats
what I want in my deep

Into a sphere we all live
without sky, love and light
as poor things that deprive
themselves of any fire

SL, Casvian Caye, September, 8th 2018

Italian version

Rustinsects

Photo by Terrygold

 

I’m lost in wonder: my friend Terry continues to improve her building and artistic abilities; her last work is this wonderful Rusted Farm so filled with strange and worrying insects, made with a full original style.

Here are my poor words for her work.

 

Rustinsects dusty and reddish of earth
burnt and dirty with iron’s dry blood,
nightmares monsters and maybe ourselves
walking slowly across far lost paths

 

Skinny spectres and tainted with dumb
sensitivity, corroded image
of us, the soft ones, with our feet
on the ground squeaky into blue hopes

 

SL, Casvian Caye, August 25th, 2018

 

 
Italian version

I need silence

JB, 2013

 

Now
I need silence
and cold.

I need time
to sink watches
I need time
to stop time
I seek thoughts
to kill thoughts.
 

I find
only empty bad thoughts
I find evil
the evil I am.
 

I was selfish and cruel
I need silence and cold
to freeze fantasies
So the emotions
can turn themselves to ice.
 

I need glasses
to see better me
I need ice glasses to
freeze my heart
to survive
Bye for now
bye dear friend

 

January, 30th 2018