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 the great poems
Built up in Lesbo of Ancient Greece by Sappho
And by Alcaeos and everywhere in the world
Poets are so sensitive to hear for those
Above said Muses.
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!
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 somewhere 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!
The
enigma of the secret message
-"I’m going to resolve the enigma
of the secret message!"-
I thought, while still dreaming.
-"When you wake up
will be solving correctly
the whole matter!"-
seemed to reply a dead voice.
Memories of dreams can be empty,
Like waterless fountains!
But this time 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!
The
game of loneliness
As a raining March
Run fast
The white sheets of my life
Each chapter a missed opportunity
Always the last
The best
Every beginning, a program never respected,
And every time I find myself
Prisoner among f walls
Sentenced like a Shadow,
to live a life
already lived!
II
But I go ahead
striving to forget my past
Escape my errors and ghosts
Which mocking
torment my soul
for leaving them behind.
And in my solitude
Their game is easy!
1.
The Major thirteen
The first time
I saw the Major Thirteen
was I dreaming of falling down to sea
With no parachute.
Before to splat the water
I asked the wind
To appease my drop:
So it did.
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.
But I still write poems
I saw my brother
tired
Under the scorching sun
And I passed straight away
Without a gesture
Without a word
Just with a thought
To share his pain.
But I still write poems!
