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

I remember

 

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

I remember when,

at the winter solstice,

 we danced under the stars

to propitiate the favor of the gods!

Then came a man,

the son of the Only true God!

I still look at the sky above me

when the stars come together in December!

 But now I know whom to pray

for the weaknesses of humanity,

and I know whom to thank

for the beauty of the world!

Best Regional Author for Sardinia Award 2026

 

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

The new day

(on death of my brother Mauritius)

 

Now the veils of Maya have fallen

And no longer covers your body

The armor of the Syrian Naaman;

I see on your face

Shining again the ancient light

Of our childhood games

When hopes

were all to come

And the misleading curtain

Which hardens the hearts

Had not yet come between us.

Run now

On your nimble legs

Wait for me in the sunny lands

Where the sun never sets down.

Norwegian Jon Fosse wins Nobel Prize in Literature

https://www.bbc.com/news/live/entertainment-arts-67015949

Born in 1959, his works span 40 plays, a wealth of novels, essays, children's books and translations.

He is also one of the most recognised and widely performed playwrights.

In the words of the Swedish Academy, he "blends the nature of his Norwegian background with artistic technique" and is commended for "exposing human anxiety and ambivalence at its core" in his works.

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?

Of course I know 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 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?"

This reminds me
The misterious 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
Enflourished on the top
With gothic and cirillic caracters!