Cold Seasons 07-08

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Selected "poems" written during Fall and Winter 2007-2008.
That's when I started writing them often.

Submitted: August 21, 2008

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Submitted: August 21, 2008

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Distance
There you stand
keeping aside,
safe in the bondaries
of this very time
you don't join me
you can't neither
trust nor feel me
you know
any moment
I could turn around

and leap

from this very ground
laugthing and crying

like a madman I could

throw away every
piece of pride
I know you'll

turn you head

to the other side
while I'm on this ride
you can't stand my sight
since thick water
and raging fire
reign in my eyes
I could seem quiet
but just for a while,
to the other side
I was destined to climb.

Gates

So I walk again, along them

my steps leading to
the known holy holes
I like to crawl
Do you maybe know
of what do I talk?
Of Him who hangs and bleed

from the cross asking our Lord

his very hangmen to forbid
Of him who screams,

awakes from the very death,

which for knowledge he gave himself

Those majestic gates
carved in to stone
legends and heroes,
stories and pictures
They're my ways
outside, to the
place, I have a
meaning inside
They're my ways
and my guides,
eternal images
of man's impressive high.

Growing by

How fool I feel
when I do listen
to a known, famous
song, realizing
what is capable
of carrying on
How fool I feel
when I remember
sentences and mottos
of popular lore, realizing
they're not meaningless
no, not anymore
my gaze now penetrates
trhough the surface
of once meaningless
waterpools, realizing
how deep they were,
even before
and it's time
I leave this known
shore to my next
wander somewhere
nearer and nearer
to the core.

A step backwards

To still sit in tears
when all the reasons
have been made clear
the situation's explained,

doesn't make sense anymore,

in its borders to be contained

why do I laugh now

when so called importand things,

are falling down
we just have to realise

our trail of though in this

temporal prison binded lies

what do we know of
what our heart pool,
is capable of ?
comes this visceral pain
from the mystic kwoledge,
of a missed unknown gain
and this wonferfull warm
from the counsciuosness,
of a sweet future home?

our reason needed to be freed

from our wild legacy,

now please stop this greed

her auto critic senses
were kept sleeping

by necessary lullabys' verses

she has taken the place
of the tirants that once
kept her aside from grace
wisdom shall now return
the tiranny must now cess,
be equilibrium reborn
and our divine senses
shall dance toghether
to fate shaping universes.

Safety

There you stand
stream defined,
main or not the
streams deline you.
enjoy your safe

inside, enjoy

known joy and
known fears

enjoy

the "different"
but not the strange
you can play
all the parts
you want
at the very end
I somehow know
you won't join this,

enrapturing though disturbing

quest for divinity.

Tuning

There's a wave

out there,
like a sound
waiting for us
I fear to follow.
this'to wonderful
to break
with a try of mine

it's like

I feel I would

ruin this
wave of life
I want to tune
to this complex
and simple
wave of sound
I want to tune,

to find a place

in the orchestra in which
we all must play
I want to tune
and sing along,
give myself
to the never ending
song of God.

Nights

A Long straight corridor,
cold neon lights relfect
on the shiny tiles
passing under my feet
walk and stare at those
closed silent doors
gates to world of sublime
hosting sleeping guests
then I drive among
huge gray city blocks
thickly windows filled,
filled with sleepers too
sleep while I wander
sleep while I roam
sleep and I ll love
you all.

A green, dark corner

Staring trough
whitewindow's glass
to a close garden corner
the hedge and the lawn

dark shadowy green they are

some of the feathers,

exhibit streetlamp donated

white stripes by
their gloomy borders

white cat jumps in from above

fixes his eyes in to mine
the cat and the man
staring each other
in the shadowy green
of a fall's night

Dirty ground

I used to dance in this place

under this three atop of the hill

The dance was so sweet and

in that place I was risking to stay

suddendly and not the grass

under my feet grew vain and pale

and I had to jump away
sadly looking at the place
I walked back to old hils
where once I used to dwell
I'm starting to move again

aided by the knowledge of new steps

I sometimes wander near the three

with your name carved in

the grass is still dead and gray

like the quagmire beneath
and so it will be
until green shiny young
wet fresh smooth musk
will cover your name.

Chiara's blessing

Autumn’s yellow wet

leaves weight on

the tired branches,

pulled downwards

like arms of a

melanconic man

who turns his

relaxed features to

the watergiving sky,

he opens his palms

closing his eyes,

needle wide torrents

flow frantically

without attrite upon

his naked young skin

then he lowers

his face opening

the peacefull eyes,

turning his

sweet fear in to

the universal love

Jesus talked upon.

Stands up, keeps on…

The Cell

In the very dark core of a woman's body I lie,

a small cell just trampled by a white wave of life.

Just a Cell you say

You certainly know

what I am capable of
I will divide
again and again;
I 'll multiply
and somehow
a being from me
will be born
in me lie the
uneneding chances,
miriads form of life
Just a Cell am I
but you can't forsee
what I will be
I will divide

again and again;

we will multiply
before, during
and after life
Just a Cell am I,
soon a being I'll become
shaping psyche and form
in me lies all
the wonderful chances
of human life.
Not perfect might I look
but how can you know

I will not write the last book

sickness in me you suppose
but you can't know if

the sweetest symphony I will compose

“just a cell” you could say

but I shall be shaped
in body and psyche
by life and fate alike

doesn't matter if of the former

you know a bit
cause by the latter

winter could be turned in summer

so you should just
watch and wait
for this being to be paint

by universe's perfect trait.

Hammer

He is inside my breast now, His manly naked powerful body is walking in the cathedral of my being; the light filtering the windows is made of a dark red colour born from the dusk of a once promising day, the beams are thick as if they were made of silk; he casts them around like a blow of wind, his body solid to them. His eyes burn, His long black hair explodes at every unstoppable step.

Step by step he gets nearer and nearer while I fearfully lay myself on the altar of my D.N.A., my back on the ruvid stone from which I cannot abstract and my arms, stretched outside its borders, are pulled down by their own weight.

I close my eyes as He picks up the hammer of Pain. I inspire and I prepare, He grunts and pull the huge hammer high with both hands, then slams it down with full streght, straight on my chest.

I cry and scream while He strikes my body again and again, pieces of flesh fly high from the altar like a fountain of red comets, their trails made of my blood.

Not many pieces of mine are still on the stone when He turns away, what remains of me have to find a new way, to the breath and to life.

After a while I stand up, I realize I am reborn and the Artist gone.


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