Past Revisited

I have a past that it is only mine

and no one else’s.

They have no notion of my misdeeds,

even the many sins I have perpetrated in it.

Now I know that those grievous faults

surely have been forgotten and forgiven

exclusively and solely by God’s mercy.

My past failures have perfected my life,

helping to forge the man I am nowadays,

one who learned from his mistakes and,

like an ancient phoenix,

has been reborn from his ashes.

May I show all my gratitude to this world,

doing all the good I can to my fellow ones, yet

forgiving them, as I have been forgiven.

 

Published in Spirit Fire Review, issue 10, June 2017.

http://www.spiritfirereview.com

Languages

I don’t like soft-spoken people,

with unhurried speeches and

calculated talks and gestures,

conveying thoughts and doctrines

with professional and doctoral air, users

of attentive audiences and easy applauses.

I get bored and cannot hear them.

I’m aware that time is running out;

our life short, finite and imponderable,

and so inaccurate our common insight

that pompous speech becomes suspicious.

My words are little heard, in fact,

I was born a poet and talk on paper,

where they are written, to be read by people

with all the time and right to refuse them.

My family and friends look like me;

our eyes speak more than words.

But with some lovers I have had,

I spoke not only with looks.

I created a crazy language,

mad and infatued one;

not from mouth to ear,

but from mouth to mouth.

Published in Creative Talents Unleashed, Featured Writer, June 17, 2017.

http://www.creativetalentsunleashed.com

Published in the Sept-Oct.2017 issue of Indiana Voice Journal

http://www.indianavoicejournal.com

Published in Highland Park Poetry, January 2019 Winter Muses’ Gallery

http://www.highlandparkpoetry.org/themusesgalllery.html

Published in Tree House Arts, July 24, 2019

http://www.treehousearts.me

Prohibited For The World

When you cuddle and kiss me,

with an endearment only you can,

I feel guilty for unfolding so a happiness,

unknown and denied to those who pass by.

Maybe even some ghosts, survivors

from past bad lives, have been looking at us,

our love bothering them.

I also wonder if angels fled from Paradise,

flying over earth, have not seen us, and,

perplexed, could initiate a second wave of

the fallen angels.

We must live indoors so true our love,

hidden from suspicious and envious eyes,

inconvenient and undesirable witnesses.

No living being, people or bird,

nor all this park, these trees and mountains

can capture all the joy destiny has blessed us.

Fears, Feelings, and Wants

There are certain weekends and holidays

when I feel myself somewhat insecure.

I worry whether walking ghosts have occupied

the void of empty streets and closed doors,

looking at me as an intruder or suspicious

on their ways.

I miss hearing the sound of hammers and

hoes, the strident come and go of saw blades,

the brushing of pens on paper or keyboards

being typed, throwing feelings over the world.

I love the imprecations of painters and artists

when they can’t find the pure art they look for.

I love children screaming through the sidewalk,

running endless races only they are capable of.

I love the noise of people on streets and alleys,

corners and places,

jointly seeking to move the hard wheels of time.

I love hearing someone making something,

even if it could be the buzzing of bees.

Published in TreeHouse Arts, Sept. 6, 2017.

http://www.treehousearts.me

Published in Fevers of the Mind, Sep 18 2023

http://www.feversofthemind.com

Solitude

Silence of night sometimes brings peace to me

and courage to adventure to my past, a region

only known by me and anyone else.

I go a little timorous, for it is a dangerous trip

and by the way, I am greeted by friends, lovers,

enemies, grandfathers, cousins, even by myself.

Then, undoubtedly alive, they talk to me and ask

for news of the present, where now I live.

Soon we are laughing like old comrades,

absent for so long,

talking about everything and everyone.

On leaving, one or other intends to follow me,

but I go home alone.

I suspect that past is jealous of its deeds

and always hides how has woven them.

I think it must be visited as few times

one is capable of.

Published in Creative Talents Unleashed, Featured Writer, April 02, 2017

Sometimes It Happens

Some days I do not just wake up;

I get a renaissance.

I stare up and see a new sky,

a blue one I had never seen before;

a fresh air never felt in my lungs and

a music until then unknown for me.

I need to hold on not to become like

the novice of The Sound of Music

dancing in the Austrian Alps.

I don’t recognize yesterday’s colors

and see admirable amusing people.

It seems to me a brave new world,

the rediscovery of America, a sudden

and happy recurrence of hopes held.

It is my day and nobody else’s.

I hold and clasp it with all my strength

and, oftentimes, it lasts almost forever.

 

Published in Spirit Fire Review, April 2017.

http://www.spiritfirereview.com

Lost By The Way

“Deuteronomy 32-20 – Then He said,

I will hide My face from them,

I will see what their end will be;

For they are a perverse generation, Sons in whom is no faithfulness”

You have put us to the test,

leaving us alone,

missing your guidance

and the words of your prophets.

We go astray as lost sheep

and cannot even find the way back.

It is time You remind us,

putting an end to these gloomy days,

renewing some love and care,

which, we dare to believe and hope,

a Creator is indebted to his creature.

Sweet Heritage

I surely know they are lost in the brumes

of a magic almost surreal past time, but

we are always, mainly in longing nights,

pushing away the mists and remembering

such sterling old days, when we did not know

how happy we were.

Surrounded at home by family,

guests commonly stared at us

admiration and ecstasy glances,

yet envious and jealous ones.

People cannot ever dream all the joy we have

on remembering those glorious unique days,

for so little affordable.

Although sorrowful we feel,

doubtful of current and coming times,

the bliss of our past still shines, being

a proud pledge for the rest of our lives.

Published in Red Wolf Journal, March 24, 2017.

http://www.redwolfjournal.wordpress.com

Witness Of The Past

We were seven and went to sleep, every night,

always at the same time.

Father, mother, three sons and two daughters.

Then, from open doors of the rooms, beginning

by the eldest to the youngest and one at a time,

the full darkness always heard a familiar ballad

being sung – your blessing, dad; your blessing, mom.

So, permeating the corridors came in one by one:

God blesses.

Then, aloud and in bed, they joined in prayers,

what worked as singular lullaby to put us asleep.

At dawn, father awakened us from the backyard

with his axe, by cracking firewood for the stove.

He was a scholar, but fond of the old manners.

Indeed grave and serious a man, never failed

when we asked for a good companion.

He and mother formed so peculiar a couple,

father the youngest of a thirteen-brother clan

and mother the eldest of ten; a contrast that,

it seems, joined them forever.

Her jewels, so she called them, a delicate watch

and a wedding ring were quite enough to hold

blessed and blissful a union.

We lived by the simplest lifestyle, no refrigerator,

gas stove, or electric shower.

Mother ironed clothes by an old charcoal fired iron,

cooked tasty lunches in smoky a kitchen and made

the finest suits in a hand-crank sewing machine.

You must believe that there are saints.

By that time, two of them lived with us.

Published in Creative Talents Unleashed, Featured Writer, March 18, 2017.

http://www.creativetalentsunleashed.com

Published in Spirit Fire Review, October 2017 issue.

http://www.spiritfirereview.com

Unplanned Feelings

The world did not know, nor did we,

until today, of our kinship,

soul mates by birth, although unknown

to each other, so long separated by fate.

Our eyes betraying us, shining by an announced

and foreshadowed sin, our hearts beating loudly,

strange emotion reddening our faces.

We know it is presage of love,

Lord of all of us humans.

Presage also of unhappy days of sorrow,

for a man must not betray an old friend

and a woman must honor her husband.

Story that recalls old prohibited affairs

suddenly reborn in unsuspected parties

to incautious people like me and you,

quite unable to hide their feelings,

letting go so late lit a flame.

 

Published in Red Wolf Journal, March 11, 2017.

http://www.redwolfjournal.wordpress.com

Published in Fêlan, issue 11, May 19, 2017.

http://www.felanzine.wordpress.com.

Published in Tree House Arts, Jan 31, 2018

http://www.treehousearts.me