.

Life without movement, energy without motion,

Body made of colors, soul of linen and oil,

Each limb twirling about -can you see how they coil?-,

One hundred thousand strokes -as many emotion-,

In this infinitely finite space with no wall,

Trapped in an eternal prison -a single stance-

Where no footsteps echo, standing, graceful and tall,

There, under the sky, you can almost see her dance.

Only then, in that place, does she really exist,

Dark skin on white canvas, blurred in its moveless midst.

But suddenly a doubt as your eyes turn away,

Could that really be it? Did you not see her sway?

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Edit 24 sept 2017 : took out a comma in eleventh verse and changed ‘it’ to ‘that’ in last line.

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There. Did you notice?

In the place between places,

In this, oh so small, crevice,

Lie undiscovered spaces.

A world inside a world,

Hidden amidst layers burled

A door has been opened,

A passage nowbecome legend.

Through this strange invisible portal,

Carefully kept from your view

Lies a land unknown to you,

So what will you choose my dear mortal?

In a place away from time,

Where the bells of adventure chime,

What will you see, what will you say?

What will you do, my little prey?

Edit (29/07/2016): replaces “spaces between spaces” with “place between places” and “lies and undiscovered space” with ” lie undiscovered spaces” because I found it better that way.

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War

I

Can you hear them over the hill?

The drums of war loudly beating.

Can you feel it, oh this cold chill?

Make no mistake they are coming.

A thousand cries, raging thunder,

The earth itself trembles before

The might of this army of yore

Ready to tear it asunder…

.

.

Within fire and storm,

Against all possible odds

He rides towards the dark

Refusing to bend his form,

Revolting against the gods!

Never again will he only bark

Now he bites also, to save his love

From the clutches of those above;

None can hope to stop anymore

This man angry to the core,

Not his greatest, mightiest foe

Nor his most cherished old friend,

For every reason they may throw

At him he will take down as he would a fiend,

Rage boils red as it flows in his veins

Dissipating all of his present pains

The strength to keep moving,

The will to remain among the living,

One burns bright while the other is gone

Freeing him from the anchors of this life,

Giving him power to overcome his strife,

Until all is finally said and done…

.

.

Who goes there?

Who knows fair,

And despair?

Everywhere…

It’s a dare:

In his lair,

You shall bear

Darkness, bare.

You must fare

Without wear

But don’t stare

At the mare.

You are heir

To his chair.

In the air,

A strange flare,

From nowhere

To out there,

You must share

Light so rare.

.

.

Word after word, letter after letter,

Slowly but surely, each sentence growing,

Flesh and soul he gives to his characters,

In their veins, to get life and blood flowing,

With time and love, to his world he caters;

Through meandering streams of plots, rowing.

Thus is the noble life of the writer,

He perseveres despite odds harrowing.

.

.

A thousand beautiful sounds in the deep

Lively shouting, crying, whistling, singing

A thousand unique voices we can’t keep

From fading, disappearing, dying,

Now, as a haunting silence spreads

Over all the natural world,

Of the once rich cloth, only threads

Remain, waning away, fumes whirled.

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Not sure about the ending, I was hesitation with Remain, withering in fumes whirled but didn’t find it as poetic…

Really interesting article to read by the way, about natural soundscapes that have lost their rich background and still keep on disappearing today, little by little but always faster. Soundscapes that we might never recover, even a little.

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For it is not enough to simply know the way

You have to be willing, try your hardest to stay,

Nothing in this wide world can be simply given

It has to be worked for, whether earned or taken,

Oh but I see you come, contesting what’s above:

“And what make you of this little thing we call love?”

Well let me please explain, once a heart is captured

-Love isn’t just some game- one must have it nurtured.

.

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Is he a demon or is he a man?

Is he a genius or just a madman?

Otherworldly being, consensual,

Man of masquerading, so sensual,

Dancing, singing, he lives for partying,

Laughing, loving, through madness journeying.

Welcome dear, to his dark twisted mansion!

Palace of voluptuous, carnal passion!

If you let him take you, oh strange journey,

Devil, not so thorny, rather horny,

Might even go for a double feature!

But of no picture show, you poor creature…

.

Damn it, Janet!

.

As it stands in front of me,

Quiet and calm little sea

Trapped in a see-through armor,

I cannot help but wonder

If it still yearns for the wide,

Deep wild ocean and its tide.

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