Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C91ZWNT2?

And I’m still lonely like a stone

 

And I’m still lonely

Like a stone.

When you are alone at your birth

You will live alone

Forever.

Only God

Makes me feel good!

Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ488BSM?

All in the same time

 

And you, in Australia, 

or somewhere else in the east of my country,

have already had your diner

and you’re going to enjoy yourself

with your friends

in your free country

while someone else

in the west 

is still sleeping

may be dreaming of his best;

I can’t believe

 in this same time

that I feel free, if not happy,

people are starving down in Africa

people are banned off from web in China

widows are burned somewhere in India

women are hit everywhere in the world

All in this same time

while I’m sitting here

in front of my PC

All in one time.

Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JPK5MCD

There is love and love

 

There is sibling love

There is a father’s love

There is a mother’s love

That never deceives

There is  filial love

There are lovers

Burning on passion

There is love in a  marriage

That does not imply any trouble

There is the divine love

Higher and eternal

that never fails!

Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C97786DX

I do not want to write poems anymore

 

I do not want to write poetry

Made of lines that drip

Blood oozing from my heart!

 

I do not want to write poetry

wails of a denied love

Lamentations of my solitude!

 

And only the prayers

soothe

My thirst for love!

Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JL32VL5?

Your power won’t last forever

Come on great men of the world

who owe the power

You have already had much money

To move on soldiers

much gold to feel stronger

luxury palaces to live comfortably safe in!

And fields, ground, soil, trees,

Rivers, lakes and seas

As far as your own eyes can get

‘Till the horizons can show!

 

But do you really think

your power will last forever?

 

Don’t you remember Ramses the Third,

Cyrus of Persia, Nebuchadnezzar,

Alexander the Great, the emperor Augustus

and all the kings from the past up to Napoleon?

You’re now inventing new richness made of nothing

You’re exploiting the soil under its surface

And even you’re searching for more in the universe

Still cheating the poor!

But don’t never forget

Whom God created the world for!

Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ488BSM

Now I know what is love

 

Now I know what is love

Not the sudden passion

that turns off soon

and then rises again

Not even your eyes

May be sincere

But not eternal

Not your vain, fallacious promises

But the Word that never betrays

It’s true love!

Poems in free verses

 

The poet’s claim

 

The lambs lie down on Westminster

sacrificed by the shot dead priest

of the nothingness faith

pushed by madness

moved by hate

sent by  pretending prophets

who now are cheering up 

for more victims

in the pantheon web

of foolishness.

 

But two faults

never can make a why,

and violence can never be justified

even if you had a reason

to be spent

 somewhere.

 

Men of power,

for the sake of the True 

Merciful God

of the whole humanity,

please, put apart any selfishness

and hear the poor poet

claiming for justice.

 

In London the 22nd of March 2017

 

 

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

Chapter 3

My remembering was interrupted by a discreet touch at the door. Mr Winningoes entered holding a tray in a hand on which there was a stumpy teapot in porcelain and three handless cups, decorated with Chinese ideograms.

«I apologize for leaving you alone for such a long time »he said happily–«but to make tea is a very serious matter that requires time and skill. Help yourselves please».

I filled the three cups with a lot of attention. George, taking one on his hand, gazed at its outside and the inside for a long time. He seemed particularly interested in the small yellowish petals that floated on the surface.

«They are jasmine's flowers», said the old man. «I get this tea directly from China. It is delicious, isn't it?» he added, turning to me, while I was trying to sip it slowly, in order not to burn me.

«Yes, certain. It is very tasty. Do you also like Chinese cuisine?», I returned him on time.

«Oh, yes, for sure! I do it so much», he answered with a light flash on his face. «I remember when my son Adam was still alive…»

But suddenly we saw that flash of light illuminating his face transformed into a dark and sad countenance.

«My son Adam…» he echoed bitterly himself, with a smile of self-pity on the pale lips. We observed a respectful silence for the pain of that man who appeared at times a proud lion, full of projects for his future, to become instead afterward, a man tired of striving, bent by disgraces and by the time.

I wished I had mastered a better English to show him my solidarity and tell him that I didn't even know he had had some children, not even he had gotten married, forming a proper family; apart, of course, his father and mother, whom he had spoken of to us for long time throughout his story.

But who was really that strange man? Was it enough to know him well, what he had told us himself rightly on that same day? I made an effort to collect my ideas recalling the story in his own words.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.com/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 of 1979, in a little snack bar of the center, at 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 narrow 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 at 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. After all, we were in London: what kind of 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 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 me with a peaceful voice «but I have lived quite a lot of years in Italy. I know so your customs quite well, and also your accent», concluded laughing again. 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.com/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

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.

...to be continued...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stases of resonances

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ488BSM

Everyone has got a flag

And  I remind those songs

talking of peace

talking of love.

Today I remind them

listening to the radio.

I hear from the news

 that after decades

cannonballs keep flying

men searching  for command

and people keep dying.

But now I don't blame God anymore

for the man's thirst of power

for his greed of money.

Everyone has got a flag of glory

to cover the shame of death

and  make his murders as were a right.

Stases of resonances

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ488BSM

Amazed by Jesus

I was a shepherd

longtime ago

somewhere in Bethlehem

watching my sheep

Though I was waiting

for Someone to come

I could believe

only to my sight

Then I saw a light

sparkling 'n  the sky

I heard a voice

singing with joy

I joined the star

aimed to see

the Glory of God

the King of glee 

I'm still astonished

looking today

as Jesus wanted

choosing to stay

The least of poorness

neatness of magic

plenty with nothingness

the brilliance of love

Please leave me Jesus

the eyes of a boy

watching at the Holy Crib.

 

 

 

 

Where I’ll be going

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FQ488BSM

Where I’ll be going

This afternoon

After visiting my tired old father

And my mother,

searching on television

Her youngish lost dreams?

Where will I go?

Where will I go

If my fate

Coerces me here

Where struggle is harder

Against prejudice

Against habitude

Against the foresaid?

My body suffers

From constraint continence

‘cause I don’t Know the way

To astral projection

For escaping the world.

I so can’t get

any stuff

To keep me on

And got no place

To go to

This afternoon

And I might be writing somewhere:

“When I’ll be going?”

We’ll unfold our verses

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FQ488BSM

We’ll unfold our verses

 

If everything’s been written

And everything been said

We won’t speak anymore

We won’t write anymore

 

But if we are new prophets

Sent to remind manhood

The world belongs to God

 

And if the world drowns off

In the mud of inky well

And scribes and Pharisees

Roar in the vanities

Then we’ll still howl our dreams

Writing down all our visions

And against their arsenals

We will unfold our verses.

                          In Cagliari September 2008