Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

My call to poetry’s unity

I call for Eraton’s and Polimnia’s help

To build some sapphic stanzas

verse after verse

Similar, at least, in their external structure,

To great poems

Built up in Lesbo by Sappho

And by Alcaeos

In the ancient times.

Poets are so sensitive to hear for those

Above said Muses

But please feel free

To build your one poem

As you like best.

Regarding the content I might be happy

To fill  my poem with love and peace for manhood

Gathered under a unique big family:

the poetry’s one!

 

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

Until I’m called by God at final rest

 

In my life I’ve been wondering, day by day,
As I walk through, not understanding why,
And I think sometimes I would like to stay
Instead to have to pass it by and by
And I ask to myself: where do we go?
As I can see around all people run
And read the Book to find what are we for
and whom will have to face when time is gone!
Don’t really know myself what life is for
Though I might think is right someone who says
It’s only a journey to get something more
Where to the eternal light for ever stays
While travelling I’ll try to do my best
Until I’m called by God at final rest!

Memories from the post

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

The enigma of the secret message

 

This secret reminds me

The mysterious message of my remembrance!

But memories can be empty,

waterless fountains sometimes!

-"I’m going to resolve the enigma

of the secret message!"-

Albix thought, while still dreaming.

-"When you wake up

will be solving correctly

the whole matter!"-

seemed to reply a dead voice.

Now I feel like my dream

Will start being shown on the wall.

A dejà vu or may be a dejà entendu

Where a voice from the roof

Will show me building

A magic house made with all the letter

Of the Latin alphabet

Flourished on the top

With gothic and Cyrillic characters!

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

Loneliness ‘ game

How fast run,

As a raining March,

The white sheets of my life

Each chapter like a missed opportunity

Always the last

The best

Every beginning, a program never respected,

And in the end I find myself

Prisoner among four walls

Sentenced, like a Shadow,

to live a life

already lived!

II

I try again to go ahead

striving to forget my past

Full of errors and ghosts

reminding and mocking my soul

Almost tormenting and rebuking

 to leave them behind.

And in my solitude

Their game is easy!

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

The Major thirteen

 

The first time

I dreamed the Major Thirteen

I was just over sixty.

I was dreaming of falling down to sea

With no parachute.

Before to splat the water

I asked the wind

To appease my drop:

So did the wind.

And I started singing.

Say the fishermen

along the Cornwall coast,

if they hear a song

at windy full moon nights:

That’s might be my song.

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

Chapter 2

In order to relax I recalled the preceding events, starting from the moment I had firstly met my friend George.

I had known him early in the summer 1979, in a little snack bar of the centre, in the beginning of my London stay. A snack-cafe not so far from Piccadilly Circus, where they made a slightly drinkable coffee. I used to go there, because it was the only place where the coffee was served in the small, classical, Italian cups, and even if it was served with no cream, was still better than that watered black soap that almost all barmen sell off for coffee in England.

The bar was housed in a large rectangular room. On the right of the entry there was the counter with the coffee-machine, while both on the left and the opposite wall, in front of the entry-door, there was a wood bench, lined in plastics of brown color, and, straight above, lined in the identical way, a same long but narrower shelf, plenty of sugar-bowls and ashtrays.

The left wall, for the whole length of the bench, beginning from the shelf and finishing to the originally white-painted ceiling, was made of a thick transparent glass that, giving brightness to the place, allowed the visitors to enjoy a wide outside sight where, just in front, it was well visible the entrance of a theatre with an ample and luxurious atrium.

It was there that George seemed to stare up his look, over the round glasses (like John Lennon’s, I had thought). His olive complexion, the chestnut hair and the black moustaches didn't make him certainly look like a probable Queen’s subject, but I questioned him, this not less, in English. Also because, after all we were in London. What other idiom was I supposed to speak?

He burst into laughter, hearing my question. Not immediately, but after turning his head to look at me, with a funny expression on his face, while with my hands I repeated my request for fire, rubbing, at the same time, my right forefinger on the palm of the left hand.

Lighting his own cigarette, as I stood close and steady, much more interdict than angry, because of his crazy laughing, he told me in a strongly stressed, though smooth, Italian language:

- «Sorry for laughing, but Italian people do make notice of them, when they speak English. You come from Rome, don’t you?» -, he suddenly added, smiling with satisfaction to my sad, affirmative answer.

The place, beside the two of us and a girl sitting on the other side of the bench, was empty. The barkeeper, behind the counter, was preparing a great copy of sandwiches, with cheese and tomatoes, lettuce and meats and a few others with all four ingredients together, according to the best English taste.

- «And you, where do you come from?» - I asked him in some annoyed tone for that reference to the Italian’s accent and particularly to that of the Romans, whose noble descendants I am still proud to belong.

-« I am not Italian» - he answered to me with peaceful voice «but I have lived quite a lot of years in Italy. So I know your customs quite well, and also your accent» -, concluded laughing again tastefully.

This time his laughing, however, didn't upset me at all. Those few words had been enough to make my anger fade away; or maybe I was just only glad to talk to someone without squeezing my brain to translate my thoughts from Italian into English language.

to be continued...

 

 

 

 

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

First Part

Chapter 1

 

«I will soon be back, make yourselves at home, please» said the man going out. We looked at each other, George and I. It had only been from the morning that we didn’t have a chance to stay on our own.

«That’s a real story of madness! » he burst out taking a seat in one of the four wood armchairs that were around a circular table in the center of the small room. «This man must be crazy! Let's put him off as soon as is back and let's escape from here, until we are in time», he added while I was taking a seat in front of him.

«Just a moment, George, maybe it will seem strange to you, but I don't feel afraid of this man! He inspires a sort of trust in me, despite his strangeness».

«But do you realize what you are talking about? Have you gone out of sense too? This man must have some extraordinary powers: hasn't he hypnotized us just slightly before? Have you also heard him talk of super-races and brain's experiments or have I dreamed of it?», George attacked me nervously.

«Be quiet, please, George», I told him in a calm voice. «First of all, I don't believe he has hypnotized us, just before. Secondly, if he is really so powerful as you say, what could be his reaction, when we try to immobilize him? Make a point on it:  when we arrived here, we were both sleepy. If he wanted therefore to use us as guinea-pigs, two punctures were enough for him to knock us down!  I have not seen yet neither cats resembling mice, nor men with a square brain!

 

 Who can be sure that the old man is not inventing everything? It would not surprise me if this story derived from the imagination of some fantastical writer. I want to go to the end of all these circumstances. Don’t you also want to know what kind of job's proposal Mr Winningoes is going to make for us?»

George gazed for a long time into my eyes, thoughtfully. Then, without answering, he relaxed on the back of the chair, releasing the muscles and breathing deeply.

He stood with half open eyes crossing at once the feet and the hands softly on the womb, with the right hand covering the palm of the left one. He seemed to me almost slept, while only the breath animated his body.

Won by all those unexpected and subsequent emotions, I also imitated him doing my best on sitting comfortably on the wood ancient chair.

 

 

A love triangle in London

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BTJZ26CL

Scene V

After they hear knocking at the door, Brenda goes to open it

(Enter  Inspector Green and his two policemen)

 

 

Insp. Green (while entering, showing his badge)

-Everybody keep steady, please! That’s a legal search! (to Jonathan) And you Norman or Vincent or  whatever   you have been named in your Jamaica,  give us that bag!  

 

Jonathan ( still with his hand in the bag)

-I don’t think there is nothing interesting a legal search in my bag!

 

Insp. Green ( with sarcastic smile)

-Don’t worry about that, maroon! It’s up to us  the valuation, isn’t it boys?

 

First PM

-Come on , young boy! Don’t make the Inspector been upset…

 

Second PM

            - And I’m also very nervous indeed!!!

 

Jonathan

-I’m telling you that there is only a present for my friend’s Max birthday!!!!

 

Insp. Green(still sarcastic)

-Well! Why not? A very good present from Jamaica…

 

First PM (getting closer and grabbing Jon’s bag)

-Let’s see your present…

 

Second PM (drawing the pack out )

-I’ll try a guess! It weighs  a pound…more and less

 

Insp. Green (tearing off the paper)

-Bloody Hell! Someone is kidding up!!! What does this book here mean  ?

 

Jonathan (catching the paper from the floor in a very nervous voice)

-I believe I’ve told you a few times before, haven’t I? I hope you have some good paper to wrap it up again!!!!

 

First PM (grabbing the book)

-The Trilogy of Don Juan!!

 

Second PM (sneering)

-Who is going to read such a boring thing?!

 

Jonathan (grabbing violently the book from his hands)

-I doubt you would be  able to understand a only word of it!

 

Insp. Green (emptying the bag’s content on the floor)

-Well ! OK! Let’s stop messing around! You give us the stuff and we all be all right? Where is that pound of grass from Jamaica?

 

Jonathan (always  angrier collecting his things from the floor)

-Listen to me now! My name is Jonathan Close! J, o, n, ‘you know? Without any h! My father is Jew ‘ you know? Though I can reasonably suppose that my ancestor’s bones rest in the English ground much  before than yours’s! When in life they were famous for other pounds of different stuff….now  if you’re looking for any grass either you go in to my house’s lawn or you catch a plane right to your beloved Jamaica, all right?

 

Insp. Green

            - All right! You have well played your role, young boy! Just collect your things and let’s work out our business!! Who is the landlord here?

 to be continued...

A love triangle in London

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BTJZ26CL

Scene IV

(Soon after a clock has beaten up five hits, someone beats the entrance door)

 

Francesco (detaching himself)

            - Someone has knocked at the door! May be Max is back.

 

Brenda (going  to open the door)

-  He often forgets his own  keys when I’m at home though I’m  waiting for someone at five o’clock!

 

Jonathan(Enters with a bag on his shoulder)

-Hello Brenda! Where’s old Max! I got a present for him in this bag!!!

 

Brenda (with surprise)

-It’s you, Jon?!? Welcome!! Max is coming back soon! Leave your present in your bag, please!  I want to introduce to you a good italian friend of ours…

to be continued...