I used to look closer,
to pierce the surface.
Glittering stardust I held,
in the palms of my hands.
The pencil was more than that,
it was a magic wand.
And then it all slipped away
with adulthood’s demands.
Are you still there,
curled in the dark,
comatose, sleeping,
in an unlit corner?
I’d send an army of fairies
wings fluttering,
light scattering,
just to wake you up,
my wild,
awe-struck,
fearless,
inner child.
Categoria: anthropoetry
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Don’t Go To Sleep
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The Floor And Its Meaning
The good girl,
the 9-to-5 girl,
the one who has more skills
than she’ll ever admit,
the one who could take more responsibilities
if she’d only wish,
is on the floor,
lying half-naked,
Joy Division in the air,
writing poems that are bad
but that matter to her.
An Istrian liquor,
wild pear,
keeps the juices flowing,
nothing more to bear.
Scented candles are burning,
flickering little fires,
blinding lights
in this obscurity.
A refuge
from the scorching sun.
The floor has meaning.
The floor is freedom
to do
what you’re not supposed to,
what you shouldn’t,
but you want to. -
Daily Misery
Beep, Beep
The alarm clock rings,
I must leave my bed.
Ding, Dong
Then the church bells toll,
I must leave my home.
Clomp, Clomp
I rush to the bus stop
in old trash and new sun,
Zzz, Zzz
only to realize
I just sleepwalked to work.
Pew, Pew
Outside is so hectic,
but I am protected
Bzz, Bzz
in my fortress of screens,
past digits and queries.
Yuck, Ew
The car fumes are awful
waiting at the bus stand.
Creeeeak
I open my dear door,
I am finally home.
Whiifffff
I light a candle
and shut my brain off.
Click -
Komorebi
The forest calls my name
by winds stirring the leaves,
the light filters to tame
ecstatic evil fiends.
A dance macabre of shadows
occurs in front of me,
my mental voice is verbose,
a sense of familiarity.
When creatures are sunkissed,
I join their frantic spins,
my sins I should not fight,
they all belong to me. -
Pausa Pranzo / Lunch Break
Italiano (English below):
Mentre spreco il tempo,
in un grigio lavoro,
obliterando il mio
spirito deluso
in cambio del denaro,
le muse annoiate
mi aspettano sempre
a casa, sul divano.
Strimpellano il piano,
scarabocchiano forse,
dipingono i muri
coi miei pennarelli,
mi svuotano il frigo,
si spruzzano i profumi,
chiedono il motivo
del perché non arrivo.
Il tempo che tolgo
all’arte lo pago.
Di certo un impiego
assicura salario,
però erode le ore
di ispirati svaghi,
riducendole solo
a preziosi momenti
d’infinito valore.English:
While I waste my time,
in a grayish job,
obliterating my
disheartened soul
for monetary reward,
the restless muses
always wait for me
on the couch, at home.
They play the piano,
they maybe scribble,
paint on the walls
with my crayons.
They empty the fridge,
spray on my perfumes
and ask the reason
why I don’t return.
The time I take
from art, I pay.
Surely, a steady job
secures a wage,
but erodes the hours
of inspired play,
reducing them to
precious moments
of worth boundless. -
Watching People At Oodi
People pass by,
live,
hurt,
thrive.
Different features,
same beating heart.
All gathered
under this ceiling,
sinuous
as everybody’s destiny.
Cosmic & Uneasy 