These grey days. 2022th Christmas.

DSCN0810-min

My Christmas scene 2022, today. He will be there only in a few hours. Detail. JB.

A very strange Xmas, this one.

I pray above all for my daughter. Please, Jesus, come again!

Oh, I know you’ll be here again, as i know you’re still here.

Yet show us you. Show us the Beauty. Our beauty too. Please do it!

 

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint, change it
into a blue hope, please, do!
That’s no peace but sad silence

Her eyes show gloomy sadness,
those eyes,
that were merry and beautiful and
that are beautiful now.
I see dismay and grey in her eyes.
You can change them by showing a path

These black days, this my black
This black that permeates days
paint it, change.
This black that smells as death,
death of those missed, those
that are too many now,
You can lighten with bright green of leaves

You are the light of a world that lost its
meaning during so cold winter night,
groping in useless gestures, grey ones:
so it learnt violence, wars

Get in touch again, now
I await for You, You
come for me, for her and
for everyone too: we are ghosts
of what You would like we can be. We
miss You. Come and light up all, please.
We are waiting for dawn

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint it, change
otherwise useless passes,
winter of thrills and beauty.
Give us joy and bright colours

 

A very weird December, 24th 2022

 

Italian version

 

Demons

my demon

Me. JB.

Some days ago a friend showed me her new work, about which I think I’ll must say something later, because in my opinion it’s her best art installation. However, I cannot agree with the specific meaning of her work, that she comes up positive, outlining a freedom as absence of ties, that is a freedom that does not exist. I am exactly sure of the opposite: love is relationship, link and tie with another and, above all, with Another. Withouth love any freedom cannot exist.
So, t
hinking of me, thinking about why this current world is so strange and inhumane and confused, remembering the Dostoevskji Demons, I wrote this stuff.

(…) There’s no road in sight, so help me;
What to do?… We’ve lost our way.
It’s the demon that has got us
And is leading us astray. (…)

from Aleksandr Puskin’s poem Demons

I see Demons in this my old world,
looking for Beauty and Good to destroy,
hunting faiths to corrupt into schemes
useful to justify wars and rapes

I see Demons in people I meet
on the roads, in the parks, where I go
to find peace or to work or to be
alone to free my mind toward skies

I see Demons into my odd mind.
My thoughts fly as black bats in the night
hidden, dark and they twist my weak soul
leading me where I don’t want to be

I’m a Demon when watch at myself
without memory of what really I’m:
need of each thing, unable to love,
bad and sinful. Oh God take me soon

October, 23th 2022

locandina Demoni

Using other words, other images and another language, here i shared samething really similar.

Osmanthus

 

osmanto (2)-min

That one. JB.

 

I enjoy
both the lake and the scent that osmanthus
spreads around in the old garden’s evening
I enjoy gentle reds near the sunset
or when sky burns entirely in autumn

I enjoy
you at night, lying awake
when I feel lips and hands and your hair
touching me, shivering me, when I long
for you satisfy that love I feel

I enjoy.
There is beauty and good too in this world
that hides them between ugliness, profit
freezing them with so cold egotism

May Your lordship, my God, wake up us

 

October, 6th 2022

 

Italian version

 

My crow cries

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Pic found here

My crow cries like did Poe one once shouting
nevermore
even if everything always happens:
life and death, love and pain, hate and joy
run together

A gull flies printing its shadow fast
on this Earth where we stand up like dreaming
while I confuse to do, to be, sleeping,
to find shivers of love on my skin

Save me, oh!
Free me now, again, free me now Lord
watch at my ill poor weak troubled mind
see the flesh You gave me as weird gift…
Please consider how much I’m poor thing

Give me each thing I need, that is love,
that is knowledge to be safe, that’s peace

Castiglioncello, July, 6th 2022

Pentecost strong wind

vento-in-montagna_cosc3a8-800x532-1

Pic from here

This strong wind now is ruffling
each leaf of any tree and sweeps up
my hair too. There’s a wave
made by freshness that strikes all my world

You are strong wind perturbing
every day my life and you sweep up
my sad being. You’re a wave
made by sweetness, comforting my world

Like a strong wind you’re ruffling
every leaf, every day and replace
my thoughts too. Your sweet wave
moves to love: you’re my world

But your strong wind is thinning
days and things to themselves and trips up
my conscience. Be a wave
again, go toward God and his world

You, my strong wind, don’t take
each aspect of my life, so please break
this my evil and be you the wave
that directs my old keel the world

June, 4th 2022

Italian version

Blood waves

Lanora 1aLanora 1b

Stuff written watching last Solfrid paint, the one here above in a sequence of two, named 1a and 1b. Blood waves is only the title of my stuff.

Anyway, I’m happy she restarted to paint!

Blood waves grow and branch out till the canvas
shows no more than a crimson large space.
Like a nightmarish time we do live
here and now during such odd bad days

Without thinking we go ahead. We
manage sadness with dreams and love hopes
Yet emotion is only instincts’ slave
so denies space to reason and knowledge

I felt never myself silly as
in the present time when evils swell
up again showing terrible faces
to an old feeble mankind that falls

Blood waves arise like warped image
and fill a second canvas with pain
that increases and enters my mind.
Absurd war and apostasy. Death

SL – Peaceful Land, April, 9th 2022

Dry earth

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Pic found here

Dry earth, tired of dust moans at my
footsteps so that a weird and odd creaking
cries chords of a life that’s something missing.
“Water!” begs the desert of each meaning

Dry earth is now as dust where I walk
tired, listening to silence of
no one rising from flat dark nowhere:
empty meaningless space of these days

I’m dry earth. I need fresh dew that could
flow and be both allusion and notice
to spring turgors, now, nowadays lost.
My skin is filling with lines and pains.

Here the earth dries up and wears out more
the day that folds itself to the night
senseless of one who is slave of instinct.
Give us You, water and light that’s missing

March, 28th 2022

Italian version

2nd – East

russiaimpa

Flag of the Czar Peter the Great, found here

This is the second part of a thought titled West – East. See West for its first part.

In a world turned to its first age
made of bright past distinction and strength,
of lost lands and revenges and grudge,
through that world, through such world now I pass

I see strange odd landscapes there, outside,
and molasses that dulls each weak mind,
showed off richness and depravation
of those who have all things yet no sense

Without rules, Mankind sinks:
you are just perverse thrills
with no reason that hold and govern,
you are a feeble meeting of ghosts

I give meaning to history. I claim
and demand both my role and each thing
that the corrupt West took off from us.
Freedom to be as slaves I propose

March, 12th 2022

1st – West

europe flag deform

JB, March 2020

When I wrote this stuff I did not know that a war would have been in Ukraine.

This is the first part of a thought titled West – East.

There’s a world made by dreams and splendours
which grasp all moments stacking them useless,
where there is no more value nor meaning.
Through that world, through such world now I pass

I see strange landscapes and a thick mist
floating over each thing, fading it,
sticking itself to any place, forcing
each poor mind to gestures with no use

Without rules, Mankind sinks
in its ancient beast ‘s cravings
and love is right and rape,
like each thing, instinct’s wage

Without sense to run to, Mankind rules
have no value. Each soul
becomes weird; everything soon dries up.
Freedom turns to be slaves

December, 13th 2021

Italian version

Windshield

 

dsc04495

I wrote today stuff after I saw Catherine pic and words on her blog, here. This pic is by her.

Our eyes often cannot see how
the real world is, as when falling rain
flows across window’s glasses so that
all things change into hazy pale forms

And so often my eyes don’t see how
real things, people and thoughts truly are
as when rain falls on my windshield and
changes roads to perverted bad dreams

Human eyes seem built to do not see
the world that is beyond their small glasses
rough and imprecise shapes of each thing
become dream, nightmare, not real facts

Please, cut off cataracts from my eyes,
from my mind so that I will can see
iuxta propria principia Your world,
finding in it my true sense, my way

 

on the WEB, visiting Catherine blog, October, 15th 2021