Pentecost strong wind

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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

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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

 

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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

 

Gaslight

 

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JB 2021. Horror Museum: the last SL Terry work

Kristine suggested me this intriguing word: gaslight.

She also sent me this link, because I did not undersand what she meant. This is my silly joke (?) about it.

 

Gaslight might
be as an evil sight
burning air
old trace of
something live
no more fight
Death who bites

Gaslight is
something old,
aged word with weird taste
in the night

A pale lamp, steampunk stuff
something yellow
in the dark heavy fog
at the docks
pain and blight

Maybe ill brightness as
a thin cloud
like a bad fairy light
lost and creepy landscapes
maybe green, maybe yellow
as a ghost
maybe like fireflys cloud
otherwise
will-o’-wisp
bluish flame on wild field
a fire that does not burn
greenish grass or dead shrubs
dried plants
fruit of hidden decay
underground, rubbish rot
corpses trace

Gaslights change colours, things
make reality weird
so we fail, full of doubts.
Someone acts like gaslight

Psychological crime
that ruins our minds
in this new bad pale world
making me be unsure
about me
falsifying real life
and reality too

Puzzling fire, scary fire
sign of death
with no smoke
a ghost that has no face
without shape

Gaslight might
be as an evil sight
burning air
old trace of
something live
no more fight
Death who bites

 

my home, October, 7th 2021

 

A naughty dream

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Pic from the web … sorry I lost its link!

 

 

Show me now your pink crimson, your beauty
without silks or skin veils, without frills.
Your mouth know every inch of my body
firing up each thrill, shiver and spasm

Our chests grow as wishes, together
like wild needly young flesh waiting for
sister’s breath to confuse with, to mesh,
to mix close to be one and same feeling

Is this crazy dream evil, is sin?
When I’m sleeping I cannot control
my emotions and sweet senses that
upset a poor mind sometimes so empty

Our need is a violent passion
I’m a basin that asks to be filled,
that is seeking for a sister basin
where love could enter to solve desires

Is this just a bad dream? Is it worse?
Am I wearing wrong mind mask or else?
Maybe years ago was a mistaken
identity to cage me so I’m

So I play, heroin into novels,
and I think myself wrong and each night
I’m stuck into my novel I write:
that’s a new trap, a cage, that’s a lie

Is this weird and perverted world to
puzzle me like each people here, now.
It’s the realm of The Prince of the world
it’s a lie, it’s a dream, it’s a fake.

 

July, 11th 2021

Italian version

The calla

JB: the new calla

 

In my garden the calla was yellow,
yet now purple it came back this year
and it’s larger, a bloom of tall leaves
with those spathes of violent flowers

Only few things are strictly coherent
with themselves and their substance
so that a lot goes changing so often.
Thus, the essence of facts can be fickle

I would like the world stable and pretty,
fitting to what I carry inside,
to the instances of meaning and peace,
to myself, poor collection of moments

I know that You are and rule everything
even the much I don’t understand.
Let me be where you call and want me
make me useful, not vain silly instinct

June, 27th 2021

Italian version

Miracle of reality

 

Miracle of reality

Miracle of reality, by Solfrid

 

Who can say
what will be after dark
when the light will come, if
it will be?

Night is realm of dreams and black shadows
where eyes are not allowed to help
us to see the world, people and things
as they are, not supposed to be

You splash some colour on the blank sheet
here so that now I can see somewhat,
something, someone, a body, yourself
to rise when world begins to exist

Light is a true miracle when sun
once more raises and reality explodes
forcing us to wake up, to be alive
to be what we are born to become

Something red, maybe skin, blood… a face
comes out from fable, feeble, flat blue
texture, maybe ocean of dreams
and green spots maybe grass or tree leaves

That’s a shock, each time when our eyes
open asking us this: What the hell happens now?
Why God wants us alive, still alive
after each night of darkness and dreams?

A soul grows, raises up, that’s a face
and it expands itself to take place
in the world, to find and fill each field
with its knowledge to be fully alive

That’s miracle of reality, yes!
when real world, with all its solid things
comes to us, again, and that’s new dawn:
shoddy things become beauty, life, warmth

And you rise and you grow and I too
to explore each space there, to be close
to each friend we’ll meet here in this day
to each thing shaped by light once more

We now say
what will be after dark
because light will come here:
It will be!

 

SL, Amazing Love, May, 4th 2021