Sparks of faith

 

 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!

Echoes from a sad soul

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0C8YY6R71

I don’t know why people are strange

‘cause   never want to make a change

  I might look  the same at their own eyes

My  poetry no new ways tries

I always search reasons of life

And I dislike all human strife

I‘ve been long time singing of love

Something like more a mourning dove

 

I claim for peace and brotherhood

I fear to be misunderstood

I cry the times have gone away

I should depart but still I stay

 

Never will change a poet’s heart

Always will live the world apart

That’s our fate I might believe

Can’t never get  what we conceive!

Echoes from a sad soul

 

Four men in search of the truth

 

There were four men

searching for truth.

They all knew

that sixteen hundred years before

Someone was asked

by a washing hands' man

to say its meaning.

 

One of them

is on the Tower of Pisa

which is still bending

since then

'cause he refused

to declare the earth is flat

to the clergy men

to the rappers of truth

 

Several miles away

another one is convicted

by other false truth holders

he has lost his wife

he's lost his goods

he's lost his freedom

and he's Lost Paradise

 

And Torquato

has been serving

for seven years through

in a madhouse

for his poetry was  full of truth.

 

The fourth man lies

straight and tall

in the middle of a square

where his unfortunate harsh

took the place of the flowers

He seems to warn the passing-bys:

"Please, mind the truth!"

 

 

Echoes from a sad soul

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0C8YY6R71

Please keep on singing

 

Tie me like Ulysses,

I don’t want

 run to death

hearing those songs!

Bind me Lord!

But you keep on singing!

The sins are not yours

for the shores I crave

or the eyes I seek

or the thrills of my restless soul!

I beg you to keep on singing.

Echoes from a sad soul

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07JL32VL5

Listen to the voice of the poet

 

Come on big men of the world

You that owe the power

You have already had much money

To move on soldiers

You have already had much gold

To feel stronger

You have already had luxury palaces

To live comfortably safer in

And fields, ground, soil, trees,

Rivers, lakes and seas.

 

You have taken in everything your eyes can see to the horizon.

 

But do you really believe that your power will last forever?

 

Don’t you remember Ramses the Third,

Cyrus of Persia,

Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar

Alexander the Great,

the emperor Augustus

and all the kings of 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!

 

Listen to the voice of the poet men of power:

don’t never forget

for whom God created all the things of the world!

 

Memories from the past

 

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

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!

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?

Sparks of Faith- Volume 3

 

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

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!

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/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 1979, in a little snack bar of the centre, in 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 narrower 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 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. Also because, after all we were in London. What other 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 sad, 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 to me with peaceful voice «but I have lived quite a lot of years in Italy. So I know your customs quite well, and also your accent» -, concluded laughing again tastefully.

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.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

First Part

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.

 

 

The Major thirteen

 

 

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

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.