Poems in free verses

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C8YY6R71?

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!

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

 

 

Songs for Elem

 https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B016FL9MVA

Ain’t that love?

 

My love was desperation

Because around me

It was all emptiness,

And I just needed 

A  heart beating for me

To fill my longing to love!

 

But  is it love?

 

If our  fate

has brought us here together

Oh Elem

And I have seen on you

The end of  loneliness

When  counting down

the minutes between us

And if  I pained   leaving

rejoiced coinciding

staring at any people

  

Searching of you

And if I  winced up 

At any resembling  shadow

And you were become a master

of my any single dream

 devoured by anxiety  

and I didn’t feel  hunger nor thirst

 

And every single thought, 

Every single word,

Every single thing

Every single person

were you

 

Isn’t that love?

Now I know what’s love

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7

Now I know what is love

Not the sudden passion

that turns off soon

and then rises again 

Not even your eyes

some sincere

But not eternal

Not your vain, fallacious promises

But the Word that never betrays

It's true love!

Alone thinking of Elem

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7

Alone thinking of Elem

 

 

Don’t pass by on my street

‘cause I could think

She’s coming to me

 

Don’t knock at my door

‘cause I might think

She comes for asking love

 

Don’t call for me anytime

don’t look for me anywhere

don’t ask for me to anyone

 

Just leave me alone

thinking of her.

Recuerdos de un Italiano en Londres -17

 

https://www.amazon.fr/Solo-como-una-piedra-Recuerdos-ebook/dp/B09Z6C5LKC/

Bob y los otros comerciantes, incluidos sus dos hermanos y una hermana, habían abandonado la escuela poco después de haber resuelto sus obligaciones escolasticas; de hecho, muchos incluso antes de ese término.

Rebelde y refractarios con las duras reglas de los profesores de la escuela inglésa, preferían la vida libre de la calle; sin supervisores jerárquicos invadiendo o reprendiendo y sin ningún tipo de obligación (no era raro que cambiaran las malas palabras con algún cliente demasiado exigente o desafortunado). Y con un gran sueldo sobre las ganancias promedio de los trabajadores y empleados de las oficinas encerradas.

Otros vendedores ambulantes eran los vendedores de periódicos. También ellos procedìan casi exclusivamente del este de Londres, pero era muy raro encontrar jóvenes entre ellos. Trabajaban al aire libre durante todo el año, ocupando las esquinas a la salida de las estaciones metropolitanas más importantes, usando una simple caja metálica dentro de la cual estaban los periódicos, y una mesa con silla de metal, y de allí emitieban algunos sonidos incomprensibles que se fusionaban con las corrientes que salìan de las entrañas de la tierra, a través de los infinitos meandros del metro; y en esos sonidos ya no se podían reconocer los nombres de los diarios Evening Standard y Evening News, que pronunciaban en una forma corta y deformada por el hábito, similar al traqueteo de una bestia herida, para atraer la atención de los pasajeros distraídos y apurados en tránsito hacia las entradas de los túneles subterráneos. 

The real story of Patrick Winningoes-5

 

https://www.amazon.it/real-story-Patrick-Winningoes-Salvatore-ebook/dp/B0B244SFNQ/

While I was trying to go further in what the man had told of his personal story he took back with sad voice to tell his tale.

 

«I apologize for talking in a such confused mess. Before continuing telling you of my son it would be better to resume what happened first. At the age of twenty one, after a long journey and appropriate studies, I started some peculiar experiments on the human brain. I felt that I had to create a super brain in order to be reproduced and form a race of super-men able to drive on the right direction this dreg of humanity that inhabits the world. After all I had to consider that the brain of every living being contains, even though modified by the evolution, the original matrix of our existence.

After some rough attempts of surgical engineering, that occupied me for different years, whose initial success and following disappointed bitterness, almost led me to abandon the whole project, it was the fate to intervene and to point out the right way to me.

Which kind of proof would I more need to wait for? The same celestial stars directly showed me the way!

A beautiful day, in fact, while I was observing under the microscope a cat’s brain, ulterior, fortunate guinea-pig, subtracted to the deprivations of its life for the glory of the Science, an amazing account happened to me.

I had set the small feline’s organ in a cylindrical open neck test-tube and I was continuously thinking about it, looking as usual for a sprout of understanding on its complex and mysterious composition. At a certain point, needing something to eat, I went upstairs. I left unwillingly open the microscope’s focus. I was going to have a cup of tea, with my daily survival meal.

 

As I returned downstairs I immediately noticed that something strange had happened during my brief absence.  In the test-tube the brain of the cat had dried, acquiring a grey and pale color.

I extracted it with the pliers: it seemed a dry sponge without neither weight nor smell. What devil had it happened?  It was a gust of wind which answered to me.

In that underground where I secretly developed my experiments, I had not left but a small window, that I wanted surfaced to the level of the ground.  It had slightly disclosed, quiet enough to allow the passage of a provident ray of sun which, intruding the optic circuit of the microscope, had poured in with all its mighty energy, dehydrating completely the object of my experiments.

 

But my light, initial disappointment had soon to be transformed in high exultation, when I closer observed the test-tube that had served like furnace to that unforeseen experiment. On its fund rested some drops of a dense and glimmering liquid! I had a lightning, an intuition that afterwards had to be exactly revealed.

Admirably exact, my friends! I had found the way to extract from the muscle that includes our life, from the brain that contains all the knowledge of a human being, its own essence. An extract, a summary, that is the same, but free from the physical brain’s encumbrance, from the grey mash that comprises it. Free from the flesh as a soul is free from his body as an idea from his thinker as a thought from his action!

 

As you certainly know all our mental energy springs by a simple chemical reaction that is continuously produced in our brain. Such reaction, that the physicians define with the name of “synapse”, is originated by the reaction between the liquid whose any  brain is imbued and the cells it copiously contains. In practice this liquid, that has equal molecular structure in every man, works as a tracing detector of the cerebral process, whose action is, instead, what countersigns a man from another.

 

The intimate reasons for such different action of the cerebral processing, have seen divided for a long time the humanity. Manhood has however been until now incapable to intend the true reason for the difference of the beings of its species.  A human being, from the scientific point of view, it is only a product of a casual connection of the basically chemical mixtures that are contained in the cells. And all its activity is coordinated by the cerebral cells.

To succeed on obtaining a distillate of those cells, meant therefore to dispose of a substance of inestimable value.

 

At the beginning I thought to try his reproduction, but actually this would have been only an interesting and suggestive detour from my principal aim.

In order to reach it I had to gather all my efforts, and the results of that first experiments constituted the base of my following job.

First of all it was clear that the cerebral muscle, under particular conditions of temperature and environment, like those which took accidentally place that prophetic day in my laboratory, released a particular, liquid and dense substance, containing the fundamental geniuses, that I call primaries; those which are responsible of the most intimate and proper characters of the race.

 

It was also evident that such substance appeared able to be moved into another brain, creating there a new habitat in which to regenerate its cells and with them repurchase its functions and its aboriginal characters.

I verified more times the exactness of these hypotheses, but only in a direction, that I define evolutionary. The experiment only succeeded if the essence of a superior animal, in the steps of the evolutionary chain, was introduced in the brain of an inferior animal, while in the other way down, the phenomenon took place in a lesser and very attenuated tone deprived of significant consequence.

 

I baptized the liquid essence ‘nouchefalon ', and I prepared hence myself to develop in the foreseen direction my experiments.  What would it happen if I transfused some ‘human nouchefalon ' in to the brain of another man?”

 

 

 

 

Londres para siempre

Mi primera vez en Londres fue en el  1977. 

Hace mucho tiempo. Aún recuerdo el día en que aterricé en el aeropuerto de Heathrow.

 Fue quando  murió Elvis Presley. Recuerdo desde mi autobús, en el interminable camino de una sola dirección que me conduciría a la estación Victoria (según el  boleto de mi autobús), la marcha de los seguidores en honor del cantante  de Memphis. 

Tenían en sus manos signos de su ídolo: "Elvis nunca morirá" o "Elvis para siempre", "Todavía vives en nuestros corazones" y cosas por el estilo.

Yo era un joven lleno de esperanza y pena, en ese momento. Iba a Londres a olvidar un amor no correspondido; o tal vez solo estaba buscando algo que aún no había encontrado.

En ese momento, había abandonado los estudios de mi universidad, sin dinero, sin trabajo, sin amor. Solo como una piedra sola puede ser.

No había sido realmente muy aficionado a Elvis; seguramente mucho más a  Jimmy Hendrix; Elvis era un mito demasiado controvertido a mis ojos; un gran cantante, por supuesto, no diría que no; pero a veces me sentía como si hubiera sido explotado por la industria exitosa estadounidense; ese tipo de negocio capaz de crear (y también destruir, si ellos quisieran) cualquier tipo de mito, cualquier tipo de estrella; '¿ya sabes? Esa clase de víctima del star system americano  como Marilyn Monroe o James Dean. Yo era bastante crítico del capitalismo en ese momento.

Pero, de hecho, ya tenía demasiados problemas por mi cuenta para criticar cualquiera cosa.

Yo solo tenía una dirección en mi bolsillo, de un amigo que había ido previamente a Londres y con quien estaba en contacto. A través de este amigo, me presentaron en un supermercado italiano, en King's Cross Road. Recientemente he estado allí. Donde estaba la tienda, ahora solo queda una insignia, cubierta de polvo.

Encontré buena ayuda allí. Un amigo del dueño, un buen tipo Marchegiani que vendía jamones italianos, queso y otra comida italiana especial, me encontró un trabajo en una fábrica de pizzas, en algún lugar de Farringdon Rd. Y George mismo, me refiero todavìa al tìo Marchegiani, me encontró un lugar para dormir: una habitación en Keystone Crescent, a la vuelta de la esquina de su tienda, donde me cobraron 5 libras por semana, mientras que en la fábrica mi primer salario eran buenas 40 libras semanales.

No estába nada  mal para un principiante.

1. continùa...

London for ever - 23

I then asked him for news of their repertoire. It consisted of many pieces of its own composition, whose lyrics were inspired by the original and authentic roots of the  rock movement, dealing  with his proletarian origins, class struggle, rebellion against adult society and his most conservative institutions, also singing on sexual freedom. Other songs were better suited to the arpeggios and blues sounds and talked of disappointments, youthful nostalgia, and ideal worlds.

 He told me had composed all those songs  several years earlier when he was still attending the Art School in London (where he had met David Bowie, Jimmy Page, Keith Richard, Pete Townshend and other illustrious names who had established themselves in the world Golden rock music).

But he refused to sell his art and his songs to the star system, convinced that the rock-based unit could only be kept by playing live and sharing in the concert the same emotions; while recording discs meant the opposite, breaking the unity of movement by relegating the divas to a golden loneliness, releasing them emotionally and definitively from their own supporters.

He had chosen to earn his living, at the beginning playing the guitar in squares, streets or subway stations; he had later created his group, gaining with it important spaces in the pubs and clubs of London that allowed him to continue to live the unmistakable emotions that only the concerts can give the artist when the music is flowing well and the audience is relaxed and happy and all, artists and spectators, in those magical moments, forget themselves and their problems.

And you do not care to be none  any more, but you just try to flow forever in that feeling of sweet despair.

Then we  talked of our  lives, as if we had been friends forever. That confidential tone seemed to make him slide to a verge of melancholy.

«In the end, he said, every man has his own life, his fate carved in the brain or perhaps written for him somewhere in the Cosmos! If you believe it, of course! » He added, trying to slit and return to the conversation in that compassed, almost suspended tone we had maintained so far!

- «You mean, God, don’t you?» I interjected, seriously.

- « I do not know. Maybe …»he replied without giving too much emphasis to the words, standing up.

- «Shall we go?» He said then to his  friends who had spent time smoking quietly.

  

I followed them in good spirits, though I would have preferred that nice chat did not end there.

Outside, in the street, the insignia  of cinemas, shops, theaters and nightclubs began to shine. London night moved its first steps towards another interlude of triumph and madness against the gray routine of the day.

- «At the next concert in the square I get a glass from you!» - Ruben told me while approaching  with his friends a small street that would bring them home in the Soho district.

- «Be cool!»Phil told me, packing on my shoulder.

- «And also fresh!» echoed Jon lifting two fingers of his right hand in greeting.

«And do not do as Jim did, always putting much water on it!» Ruben said jokingly, turning to his left shoulder and greeting again with a gesture of his hand.

I watched them a little further, with their slouching walk, almost looking to dance with their long hair in the wind and their colorful and eccentric clothing, crossing with a guy in gray dress and black tie, carrying a 24-hour briefcase who  was coming  in the opposite direction.

It was a moment. It almost seemed to me like the man was walk without his head,  carrying it into that square suitcase.