https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07JPK5MCD
Then came a Man
I remember when
at winter solstice,
we danced under
the stars
to propitiate favors by gods!
Then came a Man,
Son of the Only true God!
I still look at skies
when stars assemble in December!
But now I know
who to pray
for humanity's weaknesses
and for the beauty of the world
I have someone to thank!
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 four walls
Sentenced like a Shadow,
to live a life
already lived!
II
But I go ahead
striving to forget my past
my errors, my
mocking ghosts
trying to leave them behind.
And in my solitude
Their game is easy!
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!
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.
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?"
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!
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!
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!
The enigma of the
secret message
This secret reminds me
The mysterious 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
Flourished on the top
With gothic and Cyrillic characters!
Loneliness ‘ game
How fast run,
As a raining March,
The white sheets of my life
Each chapter like a missed opportunity
Always the last
The best
Every beginning, a program never respected,
And in the end I find myself
Prisoner among four walls
Sentenced, like a Shadow,
to live a life
already lived!
II
I try again to go ahead
striving to forget my past
Full of errors and ghosts
reminding and mocking my soul
Almost tormenting and rebuking
to leave them
behind.
And in my solitude
Their game is easy!
The Major thirteen
The first time
I dreamed the Major Thirteen
I was just over sixty.
I was dreaming of falling down to sea
With no parachute.
Before to splat the water
I asked the wind
To appease my drop:
So did the wind.
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.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW
