Todo cambia

 

This scirocco breaks forests, breaks trees:
it is wrong and my world is wrong too,
black and soaked with so mad bad feelings
everywhere saturated by evil
 

After storm, after days that were storm
now I write. Sense of fulness and peace
covers me. I dissolve my fatigue
while light breeze dispels smoke
 

A far woman sang that “Todo cambia“:
each thing changes and me and my world
and the wind and the clouds … yes: all changes
Stay with me, do not leave me, God come!

October, 31st 2018

 

Thank you Kristine: now I know this beautiful song and enjoy it.

 

Italian version

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Pigeons

Milan, JB, that day

 

Also we spin around as these foolish
pigeons turning each dry thin twig
among waste baskets and passers-by,
pastime for every dog on its leash
 

Under me, under ground subway runs
it’s a tremor that riddles all things
as strange, obvious and widespread upset,
as neglected disorder that’s nothing
 

The alpha city is around everywhere
lost in so futile cares and distracted
of life left on vacation by people.
Pace is not this small bench in this park

 

Milan, Gregor Mendel Park, October, 30th 2018

Italian version

A sphere

Judy is entering a sphere

My friend Terry built a new art expo based on ten spheres in which several artists made their works. Each sphere is as little world and it is possible enter them. The opening of this expo will be on next September, 14th 2018.

In my worse silly mode I wrote this stuff about it.

What’s a sphere? an austere
cry to show we are alive,
a small box, often block
trapping smiles in this rock

What’s your sphere? A mystère
you don’t know, when sincere
look at your bloody heart
waiting for a restart

In my sphere I’m asleep
sad and bad and I creep
toward black hole that eats
what I want in my deep

Into a sphere we all live
without sky, love and light
as poor things that deprive
themselves of any fire

SL, Casvian Caye, September, 8th 2018

Italian version

The storm

Oh, I’m so sorry: yesterday I cannot post this stuff, so I do it now.

 

Photo by JB, 2017

 

I experience the silence of mountain
lonely as balcony over the plain
where each river flows, where each old land
is now fighting against roads and buildings

 

A big storm is preparing in the west side,
it will be here soon, symbol and fact.
I stare at its black night, at its feature
that completely hides sun and blue sky

 

July, 11th  2018

 

Italian version

Reed flute

Pic from here

 

Rumi (1207-1273), Persian poet and mystic

 

Any reed will regret her old swamp
where she was born among sister reeds.
Now she is moaning with sweet music and
whoever hear her remembers that pain
 

We are stagnant in this stifling air
while we are going through these tired sedges.
Any color today is a pale viola
secular sobriety without hope

 

March, 8th 2018

 

 

Italian version

 

 

Ballerina

Pic from here

 

Discreet dancer, you rely upon many
long and thin glass pale wires
and vibrating reflect any breath,
even whispers of black dying flies
 

Growing old while days pass,
your soft silk becomes dusty and grey
as opaque cut out of so lost space,
glue of past times, disuses
 

Ballerina (*). From your corner you look
at my world while it hurriedly passes
towards where it doesn’t know. You don’t think
and your eyes reflect alien black frost

 

June, 3rd 2018

(*) Longbodied cellar spider is named “Ragno ballerino” (Dancer spider) in Italian

 

Italian version

Arles

Photo by JB, 2018

 

That’s the Rhone bend, entire universe
made by control and impressive power
On the bridge broken by the last war
lions lost stand on column as guards

Creeping culture degrades itself as
evening does at night when always fades.
It’s dusk, setting of the western sun
after drunks of so selfish Lumières

Dirty and urine smell welcome us
in the beautiful town of the past
Now they sell to each visitor views
of their Roman remains and lost pasts

In the square vague chatter of tourists
mix themselves with the sad rituals
of the fast passing life. Coffins, crowd,
ice creams, photos and laughs

The church gate shines with its carved stone
that vibrates at the sun towards Christ,
majesty, centre, pin, sense and meaning
of each thing and of this sculpture too

The cathedral: a relict inside
something else that’s the world,
passing flesh. Not a symbol alone:
beauty going to high sky, real presence

 

Arles, April, 3rd 2018

 

Italian version