Cold raindrops

This beautiful photo and some words by Catherine made me write this stuff

 

As cold raindrops
from sky to a puddle
we all run down so fast
while our sun is pale ghost
as in winter, and cries.
It’s a shadow of what it should be,
only a sign of what it could… must be

Like cold raindrop
my soul stands thin, frail,
in this world puzzled, mad,
only a shadow of what it should be
only a memo of what I could be

I’m cold raindrop
that pours weak and dull
over strong lava rock
old and black.
That’s how world treats now me,
without take care of none.
I can’t scratch its surface.

Each cold raindrop
falls from sky to ground
without sense.
I’m thus too when I trust
in my hands or my mind,
while heart dries up soon, fast.
Friday, now, my Christ dies.

There’s no raindrop
that falls without value.
Each thing goes towards place
God gave it before Time.
Three days after this pain,
after Petrus went out
and wept bitterly…
Three days after that rooster,
that sword,
sun will bright again, more
Easter comes, anyway.
Easter comes, despite me.

April, 10th 2020

As in autumn

JB

 

As in autumn now rain turns to gray
this unhappy world without a sense
that it doesn’t see, find or too want
lost in vain nonsense or importances

Pure white plum tree is looking for space
among meaningless jumble of buds
shrunk in uncertain passage to green.
I keep watch around looking for peace

 

March, 3rd 2020

 

Italian version

Fourth Advent week

JB, December 2019

Shadow cups pour oppression tonight
covering both sky and all the world
early and squeeze my heart: it’s request
yet worn out due to abstinence from sense and truth

Amber cup of an old rancid oil
is my mind because always distracted
by somewhere else that avoids true life
so I fish for confused souvenirs

Shadows cup pours itself on the world
that wants no my God, that digests us
as a black monster blob made of anger.
I’m still looking for You, Baby Child

 

December, 9th 2019

 

Italian version

Mist clouds lakes

This beautiful photo comes from Catherine’s blog

 

Mist clouds lakes and the neighbouring hills
of the High Brianza fade as grey figures
almost dissolved in distant landscapes
which include things and their background too

Indistinct horizon enters me
while more sun again warms my thin skin
and recalls me past summer just gone.
I’d so much like cleanness in the world

 

October, 9th 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!!!!!

Dead saint stones

JB, 2019

Dead saint stones. They were strong,
full of fervour and passionate faith,
now they stand again orderly and giant
witnesses of Church that lived before

Sleeping saint stones, now are as pale hearts
with no sense and distorted, reduced
simply to business chance or to a cue
for romantic dreams of old past artist

We are poor bad stones nightly when this
so rapacious world comes and grabs us
to confuse our mind turning it
into hip depraved conformism

We were Easter light stones in the past,
but as that rock stones we were sold to
the World Prince. Make us life again, Lord
that guide our way and the history

 

Abbaye de Fontfroide,

April, 23rd 2019

 

You can find here more informations about this holiday.

Italian version