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Tag Archives: afternoon poetry

me  at time

floating floating elsewhere

trying to arrive at the surface

even I take by hand a simple cause

even I beloved by stories

just stories

so funny so damned and

affections, supplies,

yellow roses pulled each others.

no ordinary place.

no ordinary ground.

so the world

is missing

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this train cradles, honey,

like a nest like a music

and the equinox is greating

to the head of a new way

a new mood since when

I’ve been waiting one step over

I’ve been meandering

I’ve been so long

stranger than a garnet in the sand

time, honey, is just an occupation

a further agreement

some following clinks on the table

in hight contrast in low contrast

in special sweet rooms, houses.

 

red, ten

red, ten

a short while ago

belly belly missing

roll me on roll me on

wipped cream oh long

let me a smash

let me stay

let me pray

we are earthworlls

we are little snips

pink and chocolate pillows

flame on us

fine smocked grass

 

so many years so amazing dreams

no spoon so close collecting streams

those juices inside

         just respectable seas

where time to time I was swallowed

almost fine as I am

crazy trip as I am

odd as I feel these days

these days are the time when

all my angels are

in the dancing room

                                                  outside

we talked about lives and other accidents

truly consequences of some leap year

moon as scrabbled eggs

escaping sky mute as fire

we could fly

we made an all-out effort

meanwhile bittersweet is mad

almond jelly on cranberries jam

solaces as molten rock

we were lost in puddles

truly yours

She walks in beauty like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry sky;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow’d to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair’d the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

friday evening clearance

oh man

light bulbs just white

cross the row in single file

fizzy oleanders and scent of laurel

I should go all over or

I should seat next the shore

so slow water

so untitled thinking

Portofino’s laughing

with cactus on walls

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

213_laundry

213_laundry


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


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( 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

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( photo courtesy of Mauro Migoni)