I got this photo here.
Four Long-tailed Tits come here to rest
only a little on my Judas tree.
They are gentle and tiny, also fun
and like children are happy to live
Each Long-tailed Tit I see on my
Judas tree did survive to the cold
of the winter and now seeks for food.
They already feel spring on the air
As a Long-tailed Tit I wait for
better times hoping I could see them
after this winter where I now live.
I feel cold into my sad poor soul
Like a Long-tailed Tit I’m so frail
into my deep substance. I feel old.
I saw winters and springs many times
yet I’m waiting again for One. God.
February, 10th 2022
JB, 2009. No neat night, but that’s the same roof.
How the tin wind vane creaks
when the wind turns around
messy like without way
in this so neat dark night
It groans shrill and its face
turns the other way with
no point to look at, with
nothing that could be sense
I am like it when I
watch around without be
inside my gaze, so that
I long for useless lives
Following any changes
of the wind this clear night
makes my rusty heart creak,
useless life toward death
December, 27th 2021
JB our nativity scene
Give me reward again in the night
when it’s dark and I hug you and my skin
waits for you like a poor parched pool
to find peace at least for only an instant
Making love, tremors fill all my flesh
shaking it in my chest, belly and
everywhere. So, I burn, sacrifice
to that life really mattering, true
Give me you, all you and not just some:
give me your hands and mouth. Your mind
be with me only one, only substance
to show that I can truly exist
Take me quite as I am, take my evil
and the good which I can: it’s so little.
I am as a well, hole, a basin, pool
restless and edgy shorn of its fullness
Give me your eyes and thus let me see
where you look at the end of each thing,
there where all starts and all can begin,
there where lives God who made us alive
Let I can grow again and hold up
this my body and my spirit, tired
after years of great sloth and great pride.
On my knees, near the crib, each thing is
December, 13th 2021
JB, yesterday, after we made our nativity scene
I’m that one who now sleeps on the grass
near the heat of the fire freeing our
body and mind from cold thoughts
where so often each one can get lost
Both a shepherd or woman, doesn’t matter
we are the same deep down in our Mankind
strange and fickle and now very tired
fighting between emotions and reason
I’m that one and he sleeps near the warmth
of all common and usual safe things
I sleep while all the universe changes
while light and its true sense is being born
They say that the crib is from Benino’s (*)
dream and that he sees all our Earth
change its shape and substance and essence
up to be like a new paradise
Yet I’m that one who sleeps: I’m distracted
by my standard and permanent sloth
or by a sudden one that can reach
me just here while each thing resurrects
If You want, take me out from these weird
shadow days chasing gloomy solstices
while this cold rules all my queer odd world:
I’ll become what I am: only answer
December, 11th 2021
* Benino is a character of the Neapolitan nativity scene: he is the sleeper.
Pic found here, by Awentree
as an old worn white shirt
meeting thorns on its way
I am torn.
I’m bound, broken
and I’m naked and torn
Cold dry air hurts my skin
like ice breath from wastelands
Winter wins now my life.
I feel used up, worn.
I am torn
Thorns as bugs
bad black bugs
creep and crawl on my skin, tearing even
where I’m torn.
Thoughts are thorns
as a frisk in my soul
to find what?
Pain and thorns
Come on, please,
come here soon
don’t let this advent be
sadness, cold, ripped skin
and soul torn.
Came on, please
be my whole
My home, December, 4th 2021
To my mom
Now it’s cold, here is cold
while we walk toward winter
Each thing cold where you walk toward were
I don’t’ know, you don’t know,
Only hopes, holy thoughts, our faith
while you walk toward Him
I know that He loves you
so you will be together
with your husband: my dad
and your brothers, because
you are the latter
Now it’s cold, here is cold
while you walk toward winter
toward more light, maybe.
Toward more light: I’m sure
November, 20th 2021
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
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
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
Sorry for this bad photo, but it’s evening here
Blue primrose puzzled in climate trap
fought against frost and snow, still alive
in this rainy, gray and no cold day,
sharing colour as dark stifled smile
I’m like her in these so changing times
in this world I’m not able to know,
to understand as I did in the past.
In the winter sad garden I stay
Would you come again, frost of past days?
Would You come into me, to stay, God?
I’ve no bright colours, I’ve no green leaves.
In my winter sad garden I pray
February, 6th 2021