Posts Tagged With: autumn

Autumn Crocus


each night I’m running
through a nightmare transgressing
into pink and purple
since springtime until fall

from my lost body
drifting in the labyrinth
between suns
my viscera are good enough
only for the sacrificial knife
predicting a future
like a nebulous placenta
from leaves skeletons

my chest is full of stars
empty of pain and blood
a moon plaster squeezes
my hardened heart
when I will fall in the dust
a crater will be left above
and not a single thistle below

my God please dress me up
in silvery voices of angels
I’ll be a capsized bell
with its brim towards the sky

Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Greenery IV


We arrived again at the crossroads. I asked my mother to go down on the other road, to see the scenery there. We climbed down but there I found that the church and other buildings were farther than I believed, so I renounced going on that way and I returned on the main path towards home. An old stone surrounded by dead leaves was showing its head on the ground. I stepped on it. Even that stone was partly green. A stump opened its eyes to the sun as if it were wearing glasses…almost remembering again the Emerald City of Oz. Autumn was on the way home.

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Close to our garden, on the secondary village road grow many weeds and wild flowers. Two white species captured my attention. One of them was sparkling yellowish white, like fireworks on a dark canvas. It was a nightshade bush as far as I know. The other one was a sort of wild morning glory, opening its goblets to the sun.

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The rose hips were so brilliant on my way, stretching their red berries as a kind of gift. A gift of color when autumn is at the gate. When memories, sad or happy,  are twisting again like that tree guarding the last gate towards the main road, right before reaching home. Memories come in, memories come out…

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Hey, it’s good to be back home…Home where marigolds are lining the garden fence, where wasps are visiting my pink slippers in the garden, where the same old wagon wheel made of wood, dated times when grandpa had his horse and his hay on the fields, the same wheel is spinning time in silence…Like that wandering pigeon that landed a few days later in our yard, I am home again.

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note: two of these pictures in these 4 stories were taken (also by me) with my small Olympus camera, because I had both cameras with me that day !

Categories: Memories | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Teardrops


sunlight twinkles through the window
on pink and white hyacinths
she reads a fairy tale
colors tremble in the book

are butterflies going asleep mom
the child repeats looking aside
it doesn’t matter she answers quickly
too spoiled she thinks
he will forget until tomorrow
I want to know if butterflies die mom
she keeps silent crumpling the question
in her apron pocket
smelling like cinnamon and lemon

wind thrown leaves fill the balcony
yellow rusty brown
the child opens his hazy eyes
why butterflies never cry mom

Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Golden


we were gathering on the narrow bench
near the plank table
a polenta wheel was steaming golden
under the forty watt bulb lamp
grandma was untying her headkerchief
grandpa was slicing the onions in the middle
their yellowish core was for me

now there’s only yellow in my eyes
the sun rolling over round haystacks
the home made panettone color
dandelions blooming and burning on Easter
my loved ones’ faces shivering on hot days
close to their last gate

my God why did You left so much gold in my hands
the osier leaves climb down yellow
on abandoned pathways
I’m exhausted like trees
I shall dream on these days
within a white butterfly sleep

Categories: My Poems in 2011 | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Seasons


„And mom, stones were changing
into butterflies, learning how to fly.”
The child was smiling,
tears gathering in beehives
became only dewdrops.

This time I was walking along
like a shadow,
counting leaves into rivers,
returning whispers to silence,
haunted by brown and dry colors,
with my eyes moist like tender stars rising
in the summer evenings,
with my heartbeat unleashing
the cold springs waterfalls
from bygone days.

Categories: My Poems in 2008 | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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