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

Like a shadow

 

Like a shadow I slip into nights
where I find dreams and nightmares and cats
lovely and wild, independent and black,
cute sweet girls making love and romance

I’m my shadow when slip into nights
without sense except feeling me good
without sobs, troubles and true life’s thoughts
yet I’m human, so my soul finds me

I’m not shadow, I wish sun and spring
no dream is better than my real life
when my Love hugs me thus God is here
and I pray “My Lord, please, save me now!

 

April, 19th 2020

See also this one, maybe the same, maybe not

The Hedge

Judy in a dreaming wood spring, sl, today

 

Beyond hedge is a garden and further
things I already know and don’t know.
World is changing out there, far away
and we’re caged, a long way from Time

That hedge forces my view here but I
know a lot about shadows of woods,
about hidden things, like two-leaf squill
and wind flowers, pure white just now there

Beyond hedge which is edge to my place
there’s a garden and farther some woods
that I don’t see yet I see and know
how they are when awake from their sleep

A hedge is border to all my world
but there is further gardens and woods
and beyond, towards east and its dawn
where sun rises there is Easter light

 

April, 4th 2020

Italian version

Now magnolia

JB, March 2020

 

Now magnolia goes too far with life
exhibiting unlikely pink glitz.
Ancient flowers unclose to the world
in the garden awakening from sleep

We do not, we’re contracted, we’re suspect
to each other, avoiding disease.
Grass and blackbirds do not become ill
while get drunk under warmth of young sun

 

March, 13th 2020

 

Italian version

They grow up

Toward London together with my sons, 2017

 

After these rainy and strange and cold months
everything is well usual, awake
in the world of green life,
                                        in this time
where already spring is warming up

You are peaceful too. I look at you
while you talk and have rest quietly.
What will do our sons to whom we
gave both life and sense to be in the world?

Now they go unsteady and shaky but
but they try as we too tried then.
Let’s give them all that field we could to have
when our time was so dense: a promise

 

May, 31st 2019

 

Italian version

Thorns again

JB

 

Thorns again dress in white
in the evening, spreading sweetness
and life’s hope from nectar glands.
Winter stasis is over

Thorns dress sadness and white
in this evening of a dying world.
Life is smoke now, without
barycenter in which there’s hope

Thorns are naked and white
in the evening, wasting sweetness
given to dark that is coming soon.
I’m like question in a desert land

 

March, 14th 2019

 

Italian version

Lie, fake leaves

I hope I’ll tomorrow can share here a photo of mines!
I Just did it, and today is March, 31st 2019. Lol.

 

Any elm dresses lie that’s fake leaves
under an early sun that warms up
changes which we still can’t understand
in their whole and enormous huge power

Lent is only like a vague trouble,
inconvenience to me, as a room
desolate in which I look for door.
I need You if I escape from You

 

March, 28th 2019

 

Italian version

Another birthday

Photo by JB, 2014

 

Here we are again: a year more
fell due silently amid empty memories
that don’t give substance to this my present.
What is left of all travelled time?

Plum trees and buds wake up again, now
while I see new green in fields and woods.
Dry and dusty ground supports my steps
I think Easter is a far mirage

 

March, 17th 2019

Italian version

Garrigue

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Grass and shrubs here devour all the light
and become lust for life and for colours
while distil fragrance into the air:
helichrysum and dreamy remembers

Buds swell fast among the sharp thorns
ripping each winter’s hard and brown scales
yellow colours spread right all around
and the heather’s flesh is purple blood
 

Oak trees show hard and prickly, strange leaves
dark and small; they are head bent so close
to the ground. Valerian lights up as it’s a red
flame and rough bindweed is slithering down
 

In the clear afternoon a strange calm
envelops me; I look at myself
into limestones corroded by years.
We were sounds and too colors. Thus once

 

St.Guilhem le Desert, April, 4th 2018

Italian version