Posts Tagged With: wood

The Wagon with Planks

the horse drawn wagon with a wooden heart
climbs slowly without border planks
the old man drives his horse at the walk
as if he were counting in his mind

each tree has a heart
young ones answer with a faint voice
the poll of the axe strikes to test them
sometimes a stronger echo from the other trees
it’s a sign the axe will strike deeper
right in the heart with scarce sap
and all wood poles will go down tied to the wagon
as long as dew shines in the fields

now there’s only one road left
slowly in the wagon with its planks raised up
the old man lies tied at his ankles
behind the wagon small spiders are jumping
tired of all that sunlight and dust
searching for shadows under planks
and red carnations will fall from children’s arms
as long as tears are in the eyes

from time to time the others’ echo
is answering stronger
like a single heart in a forest

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

sculpture in a living wood (experimental prose poem)

i still fear heavy furniture particularly that made of black polished rotten wood … i wouldn’t visit anymore museums or antiquity houses even if they had no mirrors a sad song for a blue heart grows between me and the round burnt clay … i don’t admire anymore clavichords with encrusted roses the two inherited paintings are blaming me for everything i couldn’t forget … one day the furniture started to crackle as if it were a mad crickets’ song in full sunshine … with my heart bumping from stop to stop i ran in the street but the clouds didn’t come to let me run barefooted in the rain to fall like a discharged lightning in the gutter’s mud …

so many ant hills and so many wild beehives were built in my marrow … i stay underneath sighing heavily and i see i feel through my fingertips their march from corner to corner … i never got along with insects it is my fault … except for the summertime butterflies and at most dragonflies weddings or autumn ladybugs … lately i found i can speak the language of mites i wake up at night when one of them climbs over my bed i can predict every newcomer regardless of its size … maybe my blood is like old wine now and my heart measures the time along with the insects until the earth takes a rest in winter … and in march even if it is on annunciation day the same cross will weigh on our backs the same chain of wild weaknesses ties us to the living forest where trees fall on their feet …

i understood late that between me and the moon there is only one acrobatic vault in a spider’s web … much too late …

Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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