Photo by Lux
When dark congeals itself
into forms
eager of young girls, sensual too
and I think of myself pretty and
also taken and owned till to
I can get living spasms of my flesh
and you sleep
on my skin I want you, skin to skin.
You on this my skin to be my spasm
and my comfort
March, 12th 2023
Elizabeth Fraser; pic from here
Some days ago, I was chatting with my friends River and Eucie about that poem by Patrizia Cavalli posted on Nemesys’ blog. It is interesting to note, in our chatting, the connection between Patrizia Cavalli poetry and my previous post theme.
Judy: This morning in a blog I read a poem by Patrizia Cavalli
Eucie: Oh?
Judy: She talks about her feeling to be alone, yet not free… alone. That poem ends so:
“This is what the body is for:
you touch me or you don’t touch me,
you hug me or walk away.
The rest is for the insane.”
Eucie: Yes
River: A truth.
Judy: I commented it in that blog (sorry: it’s in Italian language), saying I know it is true and I know that situation so much.
River: I always find such clarity and solidarity. When I read the words of another in poetry or prose and I relate I feel validated and not alone in my struggle and that is substantial.
Judy: That’s why we read
River: Yes.
Eucie: It is!
Judy: Well… to read is similar to make love; it is as to touch another skin, another soul. That’s what I need: to see another one to be myself
Eucie: You know you are not alone or crazy
Judy: Yes. And I in that way know I am my need. To be human is to be needy and that’s much more evident for a woman.
Then, River shared that song by Massive Attack, Black milk. I did not know it and, to be honest, I do not like its music, but the lyric is beautiful and moving in its paradox (nevertheless, the title itself of the song is clearly a paradox):
You’re not my eater
(…) Eat me
(…) Love you for God
As to say: do not bother me, do not get me only because we are together. Do it because there’s Another, because there’s a sense out from us in doing it.
Black Milk
Liz Fraser
You’re not my eater
I’m not your food
Love you for God
Love you for the Mother
Eat me
In the space
Within my heart
Love you for God
Love you for the Mother
Mother fountain
Or live or not at all
The most level
Sunken chapel
Love you for God
Love you for the Mother
All’s there to love
Only love
A Wind-Beaten Tree, by Vincent van Gogh (pic found here)
A fresh wind now arises from there,
far from me, far from my usual home
It tells me about days fully blue
far from these suffocating warm times
A cold breeze drags the leaves on those trees
reaching me on my tired sad face
while I seat on my stony terrace
watching at long gone days of young girls
A sweet breeze sweeps my mind and my soul
overcoming my thin older skin:
a pale box I fill with evil, sins.
They make me defile our plain love
A fresh wind comes from your other world
it says about our love, about God
I can see both us there, both us pure
I can see both us new, happy and free
September, 1st 2022
Sylvia Greenberg – ‘In Trutina’ and ‘Dulcissime’ from Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’. Israel Philarmonic Orchestra, Tel Aviv, 1994, Dir. Zubin Metha.
Last days are very weird ones for me; maybe it’s so cause I’m writing a weird short novel about first time Eve made love. The stuff I post here is something embarassing for me, but I wrote it in English, a language I do not understand very well.
;P
Oh! I’m back!
Thanks to my so cute friend River Moonstone for some of these words.
Thanks to my Love to bear me.
Dulcissime Totam tibi subdo me
(Sweetest Love, I submit all myself to you)
Hidden under my black secret hair
there’s a Pink Calla Lily:
it’s my flower for you, it’s my gift,
charming flower that no else can see
Sweetest Love, I submit all me to you
Be slow, gentle. Be slow, foremost
take your time to explore.
take your time…
poke around, fumble me everywhere
For a while, my breath shall be the only
sound and movement: that’s all
and you, Love, you shall be
just my breath, in my breath
Sweetest Love, I give my all to you
Touch each inch of my skin.
I’ll get crazy, I’ll be as a great spasm
all my body will be as a cry
Tingling and shivering
We will merge our souls as well as
our fleshes together, to one
and to universe too: to each thing.
Put your lips everywhere on my skin
Sweetest Love, I am slave of your wish
So I’ll be my own skin
soft and warm: you can gently
bite me where you want: even there
while my mind starts to spin
Thus, my room will explode and in it
you and me, body and soul
and souls through our skin.
See the night changing into sunlight
Sweetest Love, own me now
Hidden under my black secret hair
there’s a Pink Calla Lily:
get it now as my gift
free me into wild cry
SL, Elven Forest, August, 27th 2022
Pic by me, that place, that day
A short holiday makes little lighter
all the cares that give me many troubles
This old town gives itself to us and
owns us like it did when we got married
Crazy game all swifts play fast and freely
while I watch them black under the sky
over Siena.
As it’s usual I envy them when
my eyes and mind scroll across deep blue
Please, don’t let our memory wane
and our passion turn to old regret:
It’s my love odd and needs skin and flesh,
to be concrete and not abstract trend
Siena, July, 1st 2022
Paint by Stefania Nicolini
I feel softness and urge takes my chest,
need to see your skin and to touch you
without fabric in between; dismay
into your gloomy eyes could calm down
I still crave love from you and your flesh
even modest I want lead to tense
up to a powerful shiver; your hands
come onto me, to frisk me everywhere
I am yours. Without veils I await
you, your lips cover through all the body
I give you. You drive me to that spasm
I yearn for, so maybe anguish breaks
My breast gives itself to you as well
my mouth and my round navel and my
narrow hole that makes female your wife.
You fill sweetness with love
We came to our evening, yet I
want you as when I gave myself to
you first time and we were really one:
body, soul, eyes and I was twenty
My first embrace was clumsy because
inexpert, we discovered flesh.
Our life then mutated its course.
Bring me to God again: I love you
Give me peace, restore me again, more;
I’m more wrinkled respect at that time
but expert. Love gasp takes me indeed;
You give me only each thing and we
will be concert
May, 29th 2022
I got this photo here.
Well: this is Wish 2, (very!) less serious than the previous one. It’s only a play, a joke. Is it?. Please, refer to the pic to fully understand its title. LOL.
I wish to be wish
as a witch you can catch
in a wood, near that birch
which loves a hard, tall beech
while we can see a bitch
going fast to a beach
I’m emotions and skin, I’m an itch
and my body wants twitch
among your hands: bewitch
me.
My flesh is like a glitch
as an old broken kitsch.
Take me, fill my deep niche:
I want feel that sweet stitch.
You can make me to switch
so my joy grows so rich
Helpless, I’m part of us.
Don’t you let I unhitch
February, 18th 2022
Eucie, in a photo by Armadir Woodelf.
Gorgeous girl as a fresh spring pure breeze
near me dances and bounces so that
I’m upset, I am puzzled, aroused
as a morning ground waiting for rain
You are a sylph made with gentle sweet breath
nature’s strength, pure essence yet a woman
please embrace me, hug me as a cloud
so I’ll be less dark and sad, heavy, bad
Wrap your skin around me, feel my one
do protect my soul from nasty thoughts
see how much I need sweet honey things,
see how much I am only desire.
Then my reason gets control again
and I feel myself silly, dumb, poor
as if I hadn’t seen my soul safe.
Thank you sweet gorgeous girl, anyway
SL, Elven Forest, January, 27th 2022
JB, Elven Forest, today
When the night quickly comes like a ghost,
a dark velvet or silence, old veil
often bringing us pain memories …
I wish to be your wish and desire
When the moon rises so large and white
like a girl in love yet pure and chaste
and we feel to be such a poor thing …
I too wish to be wish and desire
When my purple spreads through all my neck
and my cheeks and elsewhere too
there where you want to touch my shy skin …
I must be your wish and your desire
When the fog deletes trees and each thing
in this world and we are like blind cats
without home, with no sense and no hope …
I want to be your wish and desire
When the death strikes so hard just near us
stealing from us what we need so much
and I shiver with fear and with cold …
I need to be your wish and desire
January, 1st 2022
My dear friend Terry made this beautiful photo after she read my words:
JB, 2021: one of those Great tits around my house
As a window of spring, some Great tits
came again near my home and now chirp
whilst my time runs to solstice, when dark
wins each day against light, more and more
As a window of spring your green eyes
came again near my face and my lips
met your mouth, in the dark, before that
sleep won against my mind and my hands
We need windows of spring in the life
where we run toward dark, pain and death.
Green grass, trees, Tits and you are refrains
in the song of my life made by God
My home, November, 13rd 2021
The skin of the angels 