Wish

wish

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:

wish_terry

Windows of spring

DSCN1426-min

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

 

Black Lake

Terry's winter land 2021

A pic I took in the last Terry’s work

(Thank you to my friend Terrygold for the last beautiful landscape she built in Second Life. This winter land remembers me a trip I did many years ago to a place in my Alps, Lago Nero – Black Lake. Soon I’ll post the sources of these words on my Italian Blog; they are very symple words that you can easily understand simply using the Google translator)

 

Frozen landscape tells me ice and snow,
speaks to me of past times and old stories
about young girls and boys just grown up
where all my time was hereafter and further

White nice splendour of silence and peace
it remembers me that day, now far,
when I went to the black lake and its
ice surface began to break in spring

Like the blood of red poppies among
fields of wheat my days bloomed and brief
is their time. Cover, snow, my old stuff!
Because life is a so little thing

White cold peace in the countryside, here,
when time stood still as did in that day.
My mind is young again, even now
my skin withers yet expects still love

 

SL, Mystic Bay, November, 6th 2021

 

Nervous

Quel_pioppo

JB, many years ago, before I met my Love

(Thank you to Lizzie Gudkov who helped me with the English grammar)

 

This my body is getting so nervous
It wants you … yet you are away, busy

My skin now rises anxious and yearning
for your touches and cuddles… you’re far

My eyes look for your sweet green grey gaze
here’s a need for your face, lips and kisses

My mind is really upset and empty
I miss your closeness, your gentle love

My soul upsets itself if you’re far
I require you: please come, please come now

Your absence fills my days and my nights
it reminds me of my need for God

I can not get along without you
as I can’t get along without God
my hands grab only fog, smoke or mist
when I not lean myself against you

 

October, 30th 2021

 

Serious pink

serious pink (3)-min

JB, 2021

When I saw those flowers I had to think to my usual wishes, yet there is a new fact to consider: a very close person is risking to lose an eye …

Serious pink as live flesh on dark bark
maybe last flowers before that gold:
wintersweet will give us winter’s joy
yet it will be into another year

Crimson pink, bloody flesh on dark bark
Juda tree that’ gets wrong so thinks bad
and October is seen like new spring:
this late autumn becomes as were March

Crimson serious pink, flesh as desire,
it’s skin wishing your skin, it’s my need,
it’s my wait and my hope.
It’s my reality and my dream too

Now a pink flower springs up and comes
as unhoped-for life, as a gift
whilst new winter draws near these weird days
silent days when light loses its way

October, 23rd 2021

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.