Subimago

 

DSCN1597-min

JB 2021, Val Nambrone

 

I don’t care if each step is a pain,
maybe due to a sore leg sinew.
Each peak of Brenta Dolomites smiles
while white clouds gentle mantle its rock

Here and there icy, clear water cuts
somewhere, sometimes my path, breaking off
fords and bridges, so -forcing delays.
Wealth of splashes is wonder

Last days rain filled streams, filled floods
and they vent showing powerful joy.
In the crystal clear ponds I can see
mayflies, pearls, and white Geridae

They will rise – it is time – from the water
sub-images and images fully made:
they’ll be light, a new fluid to enjoy,
tiny ascending as dance in the air

Fleeting sub-image, I dance like them.
I too would like to cast off my skin
old and tired and beautiful rise
truly how You made me: it’s my song

 

Milegna, August, 5th 2021

 

Italian version

 

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

Nightwish

 

When I feel myself as a black witch
your warm skin is my usual night wish
making my body crazy and your lips
warm and sweet eat my flesh so I twitch

I’m full often of dirty night wish
when dark cloud ends so fast every day
covering hopes and too dreams and I’m selfish
like a baby child that needs to play

Black and angry like that so bad bitch
that scared Dante and tried to him slay,
my lust grows as alone and weird birch
to whip my weak soul dreams while I liey

Without hide every worry and grief
I lie down on my bed, I’m a wait.
You are what I need on this poor Earth,
you are my only beautiful
                                           night wish


SL, Galadriel Mirror,
January, 20th 2019-October,10th 2020

Harpsichord

Chatting with my friend Aola and her autoharps…

I’ve some buttons, you know
how touch them to vibrate
my deep chords and my senses:
thus I feel
                 joy and peace

I’ve some buttons, I know
most of them and my chords.
I can feel them vibrating
thus I gaze
                 me to live

I don’t know all my chords
and my buttons. Someone lies
on my skin, someone hides
deeply into
                 my nights

I know I’ve locked chords,
buttons too: that’s my soul.
My skin needs other touch,
my heart too.
                  It’s to live

SL, Elven Forest, October, 20th 2020

On Being Human, by C.S.Lewis

Pic from here

 

On Being Human

Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.

The tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth’s salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves’ fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.

They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang –can angels measure it?
-An angel has no nose.

The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf’s billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
-An angel has no nerves.

Far richer they! I know the senses’ witchery
Guard us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb’d sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.

 

Clive Staples Lewis

 

First time I read this words, they seems very close to that moving and beautiful movie by Wim Wenders with a so interesting title: Wings of Desire.

You can easily see a clear connection between this poetry and my blog.

Without these words this blog couldn’t exists.

I breathe peace

JB, 2020

 

I breathe peace in this sunset
among ivies, periwinkles and shadows.
I’m my smoke and I melt in the air …
who knows where evening’s breeze will take me

Instinct wind often overwhelmed my
heart and limbs and skin and reason too
toward far, dark and stranger landscapes.
I need order; in the evening
                                            it comes

 

April, 5th 2020

 

 

Italian version

When I regret

Ruins into spring, JB  2016

 

To all my dearest SL friends

 

When I am what I was
I remember cold days
     I’m my regret.

When I see what I saw
into your so bright eyes
     I’m my regret.

When my sin like a claw
got myself on the raw
    I’m my regret.

When this dream turns to farce
falling down as stones, sparse
     I’m my regret.

When my life sudden sadness becomes
for no reason, indeed
     I’m my regret.

When my thoughts across screen
touch your skin
     I’m my regret.

When I get keepsake of
some young girls I met here
     I’m my regret.

Souvenir of weird puppet,
insane mind, silly words:
I’m that bitch, I bring them.
    Yes I’m regret and pain.

 

SL, March, 20th 2020

Jess

 

You lay down on a carpet on grass
lovely girl, young pale girl, while I’m dark
and black weird sinful soul
I look at your chest breathe and feel weak

My legs cannot bear more all the pounds
of so many years gone with no gain
I look at the peace of your pure breast
moving up and down, slow… I’ve a sigh

As a water ghost, pure and light, clean
innocent-looking girl, I’m here, near
to you looking at my dirty skin
after my birthday in this strange time

SL, Elven Forest,
March, 15th 2020

My deep skin

Shadow edge

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

Italian version

Tiny

 

There’s impossible love, sometimes, here
there’s impossible touch and kiss: you’re
so thin, soft, little, frail
and I can kill you using a nail

I long for you and your lovely skin
breakable as is weak each young fresh girl
I wish kiss you and hug you so tightly
and sigh for that’s no way to do it really

It’s impossible love, this one, here
as so often I see around me
I am too thin, soft, little and frail
anyone can wound me with a nail

 

 

SL, Silks, August, 20,2019