Rag doll

 

It’s a machinima by Kristine.

My friend Aola showed me a poetry she wrote about Second Life Rag dolls; it was really impressive for me, so that I asked her permission to stole and corrupt her nice work; after it, Kristine remembered me her short video… Then I wrote this post.

As a rag doll I go
across my second life,
a soft puppet made with threadbare rags
an old stuff built with pieces of cloth

If I’m here
that’s because life broke me like it did
to you too

I’ve my Love and my faith
I am blessed and lucky and I …
I was lucky till now … and thus why
do I need something else?

As rag dolls all we go
across each life we have,
like soft weak, fragile puppet that are
really unable to stand up alone

We are here
because we look for what
each of us cannot gain without help…
What is it? Our way, our peace.
Our sense

 

SL, Elven Forest, April, 1st 2021

 

Trusting border

Another Lanora painting! You can find her visiting her new blog, Atélie Kemi.

Well, that picture together with another post of a friend, Catherine, make me write this stuff… Sorry, I changed something in these words after my first version published…

 

It’s a dream perhaps,
or else maybe
it’s a nightmare and no one can know
because evil and good can be close
so their difference
now and again
seems light and slight too and
little thing

Maybe it’s
something like a small glade
among dark forest trees in the North
magic space amongst old tough dim firs
there,
where maidens go to sigh
while
they think about their love
as I did.

There’s a shape near to the border,
yes there
it’s a woman maybe, I can think.
She’s a woman, there, and I am sure
because that shape is not but myself.
She walks just near to the limit of
the glade placed into that odd dream
she treads carefully since dreams and both
nightmares can be so close
anyway

Trusting border of truth
where we see
this weird world,
where we know each right step,
easily walking there, into a safe line
yet where borders so often make us
curious creatures and wish
to see and know what is further beyond

It’s a dream perhaps,
or else maybe
it’s a nightmare and no one can know.
It’s confused
however it’s clear
as my life is and like my path too.
Bloody red like warm thoughts are still
there

Trusting border of both them:
light and
night and always twilight.
Good and evil, such as
black and white,
so close self-mix and tangled knot and
close, so close as not solvable knot
and exactly we are just that knot

February, 20th 2021

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions.

Passage of opportunity

Passage of opportunity, by Atélie Kemi

My friend Lanora let me find her paintings. I am really not into not figurative art, yet some of her works are really moving and full of colours. This is one of them. Thank you, Lanora.

 

There’s a bridge, somewhere, there in the sky.
When I’m happy and life is my friend
I can see it, bright red. It’s my way:
it’s a clear path and leads to your eyes

Someone says it’s a nonsense, weird bridge
that connects no land to nowhere place
because it seems to fly in the air
with no ground where it rises alone

There’s a bridge. It’s somewhere in the sky.
When I’m sad in a foggy grey world
I can imagine it, even when
I close my eyes I know it’s just there

Someone says it’s a coloured dream
and no more: silly, senseless and without purpose …
I know it exists so that my heart
may come to your one and to your God

So you painted that bridge, in the sky.
It’s my own and it’s there, as warm sign
into cold light blue tones. Yellow splash
like sun forces us to watch up, up to Heaven

February, 11th 2021

Today (May, 7th 2021) I updated my stuff above according to my dear friend Leda suggestions

This world is wearing thin

Well, a friend shared me some songs by these two women. Some of their texts are interesting and intriguing, as this one is.

There is no matter between this song an my silly stuff, except for my anaphora.

 

Snow came, went and Shakespears
Sister sings of insane
people laying, as dud

Is this world wearing thin?
Do you think of escape?

Snow has gone far from here
white now turns into rain
as earth alters to mud

Is this world wearing thin?
Do I think to escape?

This mad mud without blood
grows high, faster and sad
in dark winters so bad

This world is wearing thin
and I cannot escape

Each sound stops in my ear
silence turns into pain
Earth seems empty of buds

I see world wearing thin
with no place to escape

It’s a joke this my tier
made by words about drains
in which life disappears

I see world and I’m thin
yet it has not my scrape

 

December, 5th 2020

Broken promise

JB 2020: Summer end in my holiday

Like a broken promise time fast goes
often into nonsense, nowhere, night.
Summertime now is like a far dream
a strange tale without concrete, as mist

Summer suddenly falls in past days
painted by dark grey skies and by rain
like a mad or ill artist could paint
without happy hopes about her life

Sadness suddenly comes in my mind
like this virus that enters the life.
Autumn comes so and full of died days.
Where is just gone mankind strong control?

Without a clear cut path we are like
little ants running casually around.
Our buildings and works have no sense:
I need Someone’s else truth to be alive

October, 5th-10th 2020

Mother Goose

Better to go there to see this pic. Judy (Mitla) is the cat girl on the right.

This my puppet in a dream
behaves as a silly cat.
Are you sure am I just so?
My words freshen what we are

I’m a puppet of the fate
when I trek alone and think
that I can own my true lot.
My words twist so what we are

I’m a puppet into a stream,
a fast flow that swamps each thing
without sense or reason so
my words try to show my aims

Also a puppet becomes free
from her ropes when knees before
Who created her with love.
My words look for what we are

SL, Milk Wood, September, 12nd-October, 3rd 2020

George Gray, by E.L.Masters

pic from here

 

 

Spoon River Anthology, 64.

George Gray

 

I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me —
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire —
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

 

Edgar Lee Masters

 

These words torture me from the first time I read them, during a long bus trip to my holidays.

I attended high school

Winter variations

JB, 2009

 

Frozen countryside looks at me now
while I go and see background fog where
trees and houses drown down near the ground,
where a church and a tower float up

Frozen countryside waits for me so
that I go today too; background clumps
itself between ice fields under fog:
There I see tower, church and belfry

Frozen countryside stretches now here
pale footsteps between ditches and background
weakened by soft fog breaths in the wind.
I see churches and silence; a tower

Countryside now is frozen. I stretch
usual path and is background your face
beyond pale grey mist streams.
My flesh misses your sweet and warm love

Countryside is my frost field which, tired,
into each day path today is limping.
This fog enters me and it’s as background
a far Church. And I struggle

 

February, 3rd 2020

 

Italian version

A Fritillary

JB, 2018

 

A Fritillary like dying leaf
trembles in sun light piercing dark shadow
there, in that clearing among high firs.
Later she flies up back like a thought

From a distance she’s gold dillydallying
that descends and too random vault, twirl
as a life without way, with no path,
almost gust of faint air in main wind

 

Genova Valley, La Todesca

August, 17th 2019

 

Italian version

All that heat

I look at all that heat from cool shade,
from a cave among green and old ivy.
Outside hot spell insists with cicada
in the merciless, summer day light

In your shadow I live, you are a fresh
shelter from anxiety that takes me
when I work or I go on black roads,
when I see people’s empty pale faces

Last solstice skimmed short time ago
and it’s victory of living on darkness.
I almost forget the time end
even if it comes down: I feel peace

We are in the shadow of a so strong Hand
which governs everything in best way
We are shipwrecked spread in this world
yet we are not alone. We are there
                                                      and there is here a Sense

 

June, 28th 2019

 

Italian version

 

…………………………..AND NOW…. HOLIDAY!!!!!