I am proud of the youth of my generation.

I came from a past that only must be seen

in its black and white.

Current bright colors cannot even approach

warmth of singular and peculiar bygone era.

Just we who lived and loved in it are enough

and qualified witnesses to so amazing a past.

Time of the candid, simple and naive living,

with fewer choices, as only black telephones

and only white fridges.

Moreover, time to encounter enduring lovers,

that confront life’s disillusions, jointly reaching,

so many years ahead,

these colorful unsettled contemporaneous days.

Published in Whispers, April 29, 2016.

http://www.whispersinthewind333.blogspot.com

Published in The Basil O’Flaherty, July 2016 issue.

http://www.thebasiloflaherty.weebly.com

I am not afraid of tears, at least mines.

They washed my body and eased my soul,

having vanished for so long.

Perhaps they do not realize all strength

given to me by soothing past times.

At age, my mind is modeled to think that

it is not worth weeping, for life is trouble.

I want to turn to my early days,

to my youth, my infancy, and learn anew

to cry whenever I fall down; then weep

prettily enough to please longing.

No one ever need or must see such tears,

that will pour from my innermost being,

then work warming and pushing ahead

to final struggles compulsive a fighter.

Since I and this world were introduced,

many, many years ago,

we have nurtured unconditional a passion,

that has lasted all the time.

We have enjoyed every day living together,

although huge crowd gathered around us,

prompt to envy and end this endearment.

Never have I been afraid of,

for they don’t know, or even imagine,

what kind of power that enrobes

so true and tireless a lover’s heart.

When I fall asleep, far from the world,

I don’t let it on strange hands,

averse to my delight.

I leave it, in the fogs of night,

in the care of nothing less than

its Creator.

Published in the July 2016 issue of The Basil O’Flaherty.

http://www.thebasiloflaherty.weebly.com

Must I love so many times? It calls at my door.

May I go fast just be called for,

and prompt the singing of that chant rarely heard.

May people be surprised and overjoyed,

finding on the air some traces evincing

that, somewhere, someone still loves.

May this world not destroy the feelings

we are ready to afford to our lonely souls.

May we, also, learn to spread a low sound,

for people are accustomed to envy such rare

and sweet true lovers.

Published in the Anthology “The Children of Orpheus”, by Subterranean Blue Poetry, October 2016.