A love triangle: genethliacon in London

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTJZ26CL?

Scene III

(Max’s house living room; Francesco is reading a book sitting in an armchair; Brenda comes from the central door who leads upstairs; from the open door they can ear sounds of feasting voices and rock music from late seventies;)

 

Brenda (entering)

-Here you are Francesco! I’m sorry you are not enjoying the party!!

 

Francesco (closing the book on his left hand)

-Don’t be sorry, Brenda! The party is all right. It’s me to be wrong!

 

Brenda (laughing)

-That’s exactly what Max says when he wants to leave a party! Do you know where has he  gone, by the way? You left together upstairs, didn’t you?

 

Francesco

-Well, I simply followed him downstairs! And he just told me here I would be in a quiet reading place, ‘you know? But after receiving  a phone call… he went out to make his own phone call…. I suppose that telephone must be broken for calling out I mean(shows a telephone apparatus on a table)…..

 

Brenda (pulling the telephone up with confidence)

-It could be….but I ‘m not so sure  …..

 

Francesco (with embarrassed voice)

-I see….May be he had to make a sort of private call…. I would have left him alone …..

Brenda (with  a reassuring tone of voice, sitting on the opposite armchair)

-Don’t be upset, please, Francesco! Max is such a claustrophobic subject from time to time...he wanted to go out.. that’s all! May I stay with you for a while?

 

Francesco

-Of course you can! I’ll be pleased!

 

Brenda

-Will you really?

 

Francesco (Putting the book down on the table and sitting with crossing legs and folded arms)

-Sure ! Why should I not?

 

Brenda (sitting on the edge of the armchair and lowing her voice)

-May be you can be my confessor….

 

Francesco (laughing)

-I’m sorry but I’m not enable to confess you! Not yet, at least….

 

Brenda (as above)

-But you could however  advice me…would you?

 

Francesco

-Well, it depends from the matter, ‘ you know?

 

Brenda (with sensual voice)

-It’s a matter of love!”

 

Francesco (showing indifference)

-What kind of love does it deal with?

 

Brenda (surprised)

-Love is just love, isn’t it?

 

Francesco

-Sure it is! But it also takes so many forms….

 

Brenda

-Let’s talk about sex and love!

 

Francesco

-Not always sex and love march together, do they?

 

Brenda (sinking into the armchair)

-Don’t be such a sophisticate prayer please! I’m just a mere student from art’s school!

 

Francesco

-I know you are! Max has shown me some paints of yours…

 

Brenda

-Has he? How have you liked them?

 

Francesco

-They show a sort of….How would I say?  I mean a sort of universal  desire of love...But I’m  only a student from theological ‘s  school, ‘ you know?

 

Brenda (laughing)

-‘You mean desire to get love or just to give it?

 

Francesco

-I don’t really know...may be both of them…

 

Brenda (closing back)

-Do you think a woman can love two men at the same time?

 

Francesco (showing a little embarrassed)

-What do you exactly mean by that?

 

Brenda

-That   I make sex with Max and George… I mean, all three together, at the same time, in the same bed, playing the same erotic performance,  do you understand me now?

 

Francesco

-Yes, yes, I do!  You don’t need to say more….

 

Brenda (closing weakly her eyes)

-We take pleasure each other: I love them and they love me…

 

Francesco

-And you would like to know my personal point of view or you prefer the theological rule for such a matter?

 

Brenda

-I’m just interested on your own personal point of view!

 

Francesco

-May be you might be thinking of loving them but they, for sure, are in love one each other!

 

Brenda (with surprise)

-What are you trying to say to me?

 

Francesco

-I say that Max and George pretend to love you but actually  they realize their reciprocal love through your body…

 

Brenda (feeling upset)

            ….in other words you’re telling me that  they hide themselves behind my body?

 

Francesco

-That’s right!

 

Brenda

-Though difficult to believe it sounds quiet unpleasant to me!

 

Francesco

-I’m sorry, Brenda! I didn’t really want to hurt you! That’s just what I have seen inside your words!!

 

Brenda (sinking again in the armchair with a sigh, firstly like in trance )

            - There are so many stale and unprofitable uses in this world...Nevertheless when they lie with me   I feel  that my body is  granting their desires, ‘you     know? And afterwards they keep satisfied…

 

Francesco

-But my question is: are you satisfied yourself?

 

Brenda (like above, after a short pause )

            - Sometimes I feel there is something unfinished in all that… as if I searched for something              else….may be a son to be mine above all… above conventions… above his own father…whoever he might be…

 

 

Francesco

            - ‘You mean like in a sort of matriarchal society?

 

Brenda

            -  It might be so…

 

Francesco

-But human  kind have already passed through that stadium. I think the world must go    ahead…

 

Brenda (like following her intimate thoughts)

 

            -  Sometimes  I feel so astonished.. so confused…so ungratified…

 

Francesco (standing up)

-When I told you  before, that there are so many kinds of love, I meant that sexual love is an ever rising need: the more you make it, the more you need it…As a matter of fact there is a superior level of love which is able to extinguish for ever our thirst of love…

 

Brenda (standing up and embracing him)

-Please, Francesco, show me that kind of love! Please, I really want it!

to be continued...

Memories from the past

 

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

In death of my father

 

I do not remember now

In the name of what kind of freedom

Your agendas I wanted to fight

Although today I know

The law we faced against

But later I knew

That not of iron

was made your heart!

And how many fairy tales,

I still had to tell you

But you seemed to be eternal!

Play in the heavens

Trumpet of silence

In honor

Of that sergeant

Who is not anymore!

Memories from the past

 

The sleeping  souls

 

The souls kept sleeping

In the shadow of reason

As we ran away

From the golden prisons

Of our unfair society

Meeting the horror

Of illusory freedom

Of unattainable equalities

of fallacious brotherhoods.

And there was no poetry

In the violence

And in the silence

Of death.

Memories from the past

 

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

The Word Mason

 

I 've never believed a poet could be

compared to a mason,

unable to see words similar

to stone-bricks!

I said to myself: how can a man see

a poem like a home?

Where are the walls to touch?

Where presences to smell?

And familiar noises to be heard?

I know of course that anyone

Is able to see by his mind’s eyes;

but what if I were a King Midas

from ancient Greece

making verses of all my touching words?

Then I’d be able to construct

Golden, glittering poems?

As a matter of fact a poet can build his poems

like a craftsman does his own handicrafts!

So many voices I can hearing around:

some, may be coming from Gehenna’s souls,

sound like star’s waves;

some others, come echoing,

from a confused dream of my past:

-" Watch out, boy! Lord Winningoes

will let the cat out of the bag, ‘you know?"

 

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D83Z5MGZ

Just let them do it

I

Let them pass

Come on! Laissez faire, laissez passer!

Today is not time

To shoot people anymore!

Don’t you know is November the 9th 1989?

Today there is not time

To stop goods anymore!

Come on! Only one thousand dollars

Will cost you a plenty full track!

At 9 past 21 p.m.

The wall is falling down!

Laissez faire, laissez passer!

There are bound to be changes

For our lives further on!

It’s crashing down

Together with our illusions

Their false promises

The wrong secular hope!

Come on!

The wall is not hiding anymore

The totems of progress!

Let’s go worshipping

The glittering gods

Bounding ahead!!

II

Let them celebrate

Let them celebrate

the end of your world,

they want to celebrate:

the American dream is over;

they are celebrating

money growing over nothing;

let them celebrate

discovering your rootless brushes;

they need to celebrate

the burial ceremony

of criminal capitalism;

they 'got celebrate

the funeral

of greed octopus

which scrounges their people!

Let them celebrate

the dawn of new distribution

of richness of earth!

Let them celebrate

the end of your world.

III

Let them walk

Let them walk! They are marching for freedom.

Let them walk! They are not hiding anymore!

When people go out their homes,

it means they need to go

and show they are alive!

We need to be poor together

or to be rich together!

You, one per cent, you can't stop them anymore!

Richness is to be shared

while you keep the other ninety nine per cent

out of goods.

You priests of the profit,

criminals of finance,

embezzler of money,

cheaters of ever,

trappers of men!

Stop your police

and let them walk!

IV

Let them sing

Let them sing, all over the Country, let them sing!

Let them sing, they are the real voice of the Country!

Let them sing, in the name of liberty,

let them sing in the name of dignity!

Let them sing against speculation,

Let them sing against criminal finance!

Let them sing for the world is their world,

Let them sing for their sons, for their daughters!

Let them with the voice of the sixties!

Let them sing remembering flowers!

Let them sing for a new world to come!

V

Let them in

 

Let them in, Mr President;

they are the silent majority

who is tired to see a greed,

financial minority

exploiting the world.

Let them in, Mr President;

sit down and listen to them;

they have a lot of things to say;

they are the future of Mother Earth.

Let them in, Mr President;

By occupying Wall Street

they want to show how

a bunch of criminals

have occupied the power

and not by means of democracy

but with illegal tricks.

Let them, in Mr President;

they are fed up

to endure the 10% of people

 owning the 90% richness

against the 90% of people.

Let them in, Mr President;

 they want a new world of justice

 and USA must show justice.

Let them in, Mr President:

you can choose to be with them

or against them;

with justice or against justice;

with the New World

or against the New World!

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!