running time
it’s not a joke
I don’t exist for a day
and today is perfect
so perfect I thought
rainy tuesday ruby tuesday
an honest day I thought
if
I don’t exist for a day
look for my eyes
sunshine is coming so I’ll disappear
shine the shadow
shine the shortage
shine the shape
the shape we are in
and stop
stop falling
stop dropping
voice,eyes
OCTOBER ELIZABETHANS (1956)
*
O were I one in Three!Just like the Holy Ghost,
the Father and the Son,I’de reunite my scattered soul
and string them in from all the seas abroad;
no longer climb upon perdition’s mast
and wave a banner crying God,at last!
arco – photo courtesy of Mauro Migoni
we are almost here
with a short luggage
everyday is a possible journey
I was born close enough
I grew up far enough
my story is a face
a promenade and different light
daydream daydream
melancholy is a snake since
when I was four and usually
I drew all my skies in black
a duckling as I am since then
in order to become and pay some rent
once I am a shining glass
once I am a prayer lost
so now I left the radio station
missing all the music I was in commotion with
and the microphone,ferryboat for ideas
may I ever loose this world
the beauty inside
dripping circumstances
the musical response
connected with poetry
I put all these raw materials
in the suitcase together with
the mood and its variations
and now I’m writing my novel
the last chapter is going to be over
lungs and eyelids and lies
flashing variations mood
I should keep the beat
if I stay or if I go
staring through the window
I woke up oh mine
when you called me sweety
my rebirth was coming
may I bite you again may I feed you
some good reason for breakfast
me,barefoot in front of the door
kissing a smile sharing a toffee
morning lost,unusual old weather
a naked dress and daily blossoms:
two of us,a certain love
( Angoli,photo courtesy of Mauro Migoni )
this is the road,you see
all over the open field
all over the merry sky
actually a playground where
everyone is searching for a trip
a good good one,you know
remember the spiced sorrows
and the little delights
and the ghost cities you have been in
and the ghost cities you’re going to
so scratch the lines
when you blow away the blue
plenty of things fall apart
no longer exist
and whatever happens
this kind of days
they are magicians and travellers
they are pretty cool at all
( photo courtesy of Mauro Migoni)
We have overcome.
Except those of us now in Gaza. Except those of us whom police kill. Except those of us who are suspects. Except those of us whom the church hate. Except those of us damned to taste good. Except those of us held by fate. We are meeting in the capitol. Word is, freedom will not wait.
All that once was never shall be.
All they could do won’t be done.
All we sang of is now happening.
[note to self:]
Must write
new songs
to become…
…And so it was. Through the collective imagination of the people, the force of will and human potential, and an unflinching ability to hold himself to task, Niggy Tardust was liberated. His ability to see beyond the boundaries and obstacles of ‘genre’, ‘race’, and suppression, allowed him to encompass a grace and sound that embodied the all. All that had stood against him, now stood with him. All that had claimed a lesser harmony, now craved voice and resonance. He stood with poets, painters, dancers, students, children of the night who had transformed themselves into a million bright ambassadors of morning, and proclaimed,
“We declare declaratives and deny the official. Based in the landmark of the G-spot, we have overtaken ourselves and overthrown our forefathers. Let there be light within the light and let it answer to the name of Darkness. We are forever risen from the deadly: the anti-virus and the All Stars. Granted power by forces unbeknownst to us. Made in the likeness of kindness. We offer anger to the angry and fear to the fearful. We dance at our own funerals to forsake the mourners…
…This is no time to cry! This is no time at all! Here is the moment of the overlooked and the unforeseeable. We are the elected officials of the people: poets and artists. We are the declarative statement of the inarticulate, the irreparably damaged goods of the bad meaning good. We are the government! We are the government! We are the government!”
(courtesy of Mauro Migoni)
E.E.CUMMINGS
(73 POEMS)
your homecoming will be my homecoming-
my selves go with you,only i remain;
a shadow phantom effigy of seeming
(an almost someone always who’s noone)
a noone who,till their and your returning,
spends the forever of his loneliness
dreaming their eyes have opened to your morning
feeling their stars have risen through your skies:
so,in how merciful love’s own name,linger
no more than selfless i can quite endure
the absence of that momente when a stranger
takes in his arms my very life who’s your
-when all fears hopes belief doubts disappear.
Everywhere and joy’s perfect wholeness we’re
let me catch your glance and write
what we did in our holidays
so pleasant so cool so basic
eating and cooking and cuddling
strolling about,done it
and the mouse’s cute eyes for the picture
and bittersweet wind off the bridge 7am
we are crumbs we are movies too
we are spending another season,you see
this red rose travelled with you
this rose is the pretty greetings around me now
happy new year happy year
where the worlds are sliding for you
where the worlds light up for you
they touch my fingers’ tip
(photo courtesy of mauro migoni)
dark is grey
beneath purple on green
even beautiful
at 4.30 p.m. along the tracks
this exausted november
is going to be over
I’m just waiting
just simple words
just a story in verse
november poisoned
everything around me
as the script said
the dancing room is empty now
and I seat down with my bag
looking at the dirt beetwen the tiles
listening to the misty voices
waiting
