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
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
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
…………………………..AND NOW…. HOLIDAY!!!!!
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.
Thorns again dress in white
in the evening, spreading sweetness
and life’s hope from nectar glands.
Winter stasis is over
Thorns dress sadness and white
in this evening of a dying world.
Life is smoke now, without
barycenter in which there’s hope
Thorns are naked and white
in the evening, wasting sweetness
given to dark that is coming soon.
I’m like question in a desert land
March, 14th 2019
I hope I’ll tomorrow can share here a photo of mines!
I Just did it, and today is March, 31st 2019. Lol.
Any elm dresses lie that’s fake leaves
under an early sun that warms up
changes which we still can’t understand
in their whole and enormous huge power
Lent is only like a vague trouble,
inconvenience to me, as a room
desolate in which I look for door.
I need You if I escape from You
March, 28th 2019
JB, that evening
I look at you so far from this loggia
while lights and colours turn on from windows
beyond the well of night that’s that lake.
A nightfall grips by fear now my world
You are there, in your houses, as usual
common business, and duties and laughs;
someone now prepares dinner or goes back
from his work and he’s welcome again
Yet now there are so powerful shadows
spread all over the world to bring terror
dark like black breath of worse ancient demons.
Make me one of your servants, God, Lord
January, 28th 2019
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.
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
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