POEMS
Wasn’t the sky a brothel in shambles
Great for quick lunches,
The kind Pardonia natives love like crazy-
On that night, you mean?
C’mon, you all know he’s always bursting
With gales and ravens,
Not to mention the anxious wait for noobs
While rocks burst with seeds, worms,
Or so they hope-
But mothers, you wonder,
What do they bristle with,
Think hopes, dreams, moonshine, ennui,
Sure, they welcome a virus,
So, let it drain clear waters, rip the limbs,
You know I was there cranked out
In a flurry of smiles, mother geese, sizzling falls,
The bloody end of my free ride, you bet,
No playing with glitz or sequins
If Etruscan smiles won’t stay put:
For they gleam so cheap on pins and charms
They just can’t shine-
And you, Abraxas, please stop freaking
If my deviant eyes don’t give up on shaken souls
Who slept in a stifling bond with the sky-
How long, by the by?
Don’t worry, sisters, the stubble fields ice out,
When harvest is over, we’ll welcome in love,
We’re getting home, yes,
Our stubble back to the soil
And those charcoal shades of grey, wait,
Who’s babbling now of rainbows, what’s up,
Why, anyone for a go, not me, sorry,
I’d better brush off the tips from that Welsh bard,
Keep clear from woods, hide behind fixed stars,
Fast like roots or binned lovers-
They’re mine, beware-
Midway in my mind smart red bodies, towns,
Where she went bust up, who?
The moon in the wellspring or so they say-
Look, if angels forget to grab shaky children
And skies make your heart a gnarly pecan
VIP isn’t an option, yet against all odds
They say ‘words are turning into
Flesh, blood and spring blossoms’-
Hope never that far with you,
My dear bloody-minded souls-
But I’m afraid they’re mine too.
///
The salesgirl who dabbles in metaphysics Claims life is a river in full flood We must wade through- Never mind if the bridge looks bit shaky Just smile and promise yourself to make do and mend With Aisa, beggars, sins and missing men- And you, blue, stop showing off, You’re not the warmest colour, Look at her- Barren at first glance, Yet a closer look reveals She’s rife with dreams and wombs- The moon speaks hard and fast, She’s in the know: The father seeds then sneaks away, A branch the wind hunts, A branch who dares not Give birth to flowers Nor give you shelter in the leaves- ‘Course your mind is the father- And ‘nope’ your first word when hearing The askance light warring with symptoms and sickness- Is someone writing? In that blue house?- It’s just a birth, never mind, she stumbles, Falls down, clings on you and you fall down, Look, she’s got no spare time, The moon’s about to rise while you keep asking Who’s the father, who’s the mother- Boulders, they say, but these are only gossips
And innuendos, right?
Much hotter stuff now: Will she cave into a murder of crows, An unkindness of ravens? Great, wintry souls can’t migrate, Yet friends are nicking handbags-
The moribund wailing for milk, Some life.
///
Soul in exile, you stalking a daughter: Stop hunting, stop your bloody quest,
She knows, Father, she gets them Harder than her lovers’ limbs, Nearer and dearer than skin or blood, Her words that save cats, crows and then some- Besides she’s got ammo, Dead kids if light says no to frills 'n' fuss- Well, she can afford being bare, She’s the light- Hey soul, got time for a light blue sky? Trouble is they cut 'n' run, nope, no trails, Just as bodies rage or thwart- But why he throws them against my soul? Bad habit or nuisance, why? Unstoppable, wasted, they flash The weird rhythm of nights To scatty girls always on the run- Anyway, thank God she showed up, Doesn’t she always dodge dirty jobs, You know, when soul stares at briars Light hides away to dismember, You hidden in the blue your soul lusts after- See those blokes all smiles and greetings To the old man starving in a shack? No need to feel death, honest, The house, the town don’t live you, Just hearts in a dark gospel: No further discussions please, The moon vetoed them, Let’s stay all in our limbo- And you Father, our darling killjoy,
C’mon, just say once again we shall die.
///
No such animals exist-
Well, artists are strange animals
Or so they say-
Don’t you think so, darling?
Anyway, you can’t go wrong with blue,
It’s April, for God’s sake, don’t look that sad!
April? Look, we can’t bother with trees, blooms, grass
And you wonder why?
‘Cause they hold too many skies and their cohorts,
That’s what our branches do
Snapped back the trees,
Even when cobalt skies and dead toddlers
Lie all over the very same room-
Darn, how come if we sat next to hope
While turning trees and grass into light?
Wasn’t she the soul and life of the parties you threw?
But why do they look so sad, why?
Who under the cold rays of the moon
Can judge Astarte?
Astarte, Ishtar, whatever, let’s chip,
C’mon, God, give me your hand,
Stop faffing around, give me your hand, I say,
Let’s share that golden coin, let’s wildly share-
You ask what? Well, hurt ‘n’ injustice, God-
You bet your life.
///
Born in Italy some decades ago, GABRIELLA GAROFALO fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Casa di erba”,“Blue branches”, “A Blue Soul”.