January, 2015
Snowfall in the Night for Fabrizio Frosini
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 21, 2015
Snowfall in the Night for Fabrizio FrosiniThe snow had just begun to fall,
thick snowflakes falling
past the restaurant window,
when you whispered, leaning forward,
oblivious to the crowd
around us, when you whispered those words,
and the feathery snow kept falling and falling,
when you whispered to me alone,
you whispered in a dream-voice,
‘I want you tonight, ‘ and the snow
was shining as it fell, and I nodded
as in a dream. Then I grabbed your hand,
saying, ‘Tonight I want you, ‘ as the snow
softly covered the earth, and the dark air
was shining with promises….
Poem hunter
Daniel Brick
Garden of War
POSTED IN Stories January 20, 2015
Garden of WarThe pain in their eyes,
still fresh, bleeding.
I know
their sleepless nights,
trying to put together
the missing pieces
of this puzzle called life.
A Poet who writes
in the garden
and then must write
in the war,
may loose the silence
of his soul,
fear and hope could melt
into same one feeling,
death becomes a word
to describe the every minute
he is still alive
not knowing what comes next,
pain becomes a scream,
a prayer to heavens
to make an end,
the horror becomes
the everyday image to feel.
A poet who writes
first in the war
and after,
he is blessed
to write in the garden
will contemplate
cheating death,
or death as a friend
who allowed him more time
to write.
He sees the trees
as his dead friends
without a coffin,
the sky is empty
without the bombing planes,
the silence is deafening,
the birds appear useless
compared to the song
of shooting guns.
Between ‘must’ and ‘blessed’
the mutilation of one’s soul,
has an increased sense
of seeing life and death.
Maria Magdalena Biela
This is She
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 18, 2015
This is SheThis is she, watching
Her portrait as she used to be,
In the moment between
Her gaze and the mirrorThis is she, knowing
Me across that distant night,
Upon those paths of light
That traverse she and IThis is she, Magda
Mastered fingers spinning spheres,
sending harmonies to ears
Inside, beneath these stonesThis is she, list’ning
To silent phonemes brimming sounds
Of loves and mysteries found
Between these hearts of oursThis is she, fash’ning,
With tempo, style and tone,
Matter, meaning in the tome
A life is in its livingThis is she, lena,
In the garden that we share
Our words ballet ‘pon the air,
And tests of time endureHappy Birthday, Magdalena
Garnet Robbie Shaw
I Am Woman
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 17, 2015
Rondeau: I Am WomanI am Woman with mindset of steel:
forging wheels on the line in a foundry;
breaking ceilings of glass with no boundaries
in the corporate world making deals.Treating patients so that they may heal;
teaching students with vigor and zeal;
gaining knowledge both complex and sundry;
I am Woman.Always humble at heart to reveal
to the ones that I love what I feel;
domesticity roles, doing laundry,
solving problems when we’re in a quandary,
giving thanks for each day that’s been sealed.
I am Woman.
Thank you, my Wonderful Shari!
Shari Jo LeKane-Yentumi
Birthdays
POSTED IN reading poetry, Stories January 17, 2015
BirthdaysI’ll bake tonight a rounded cake
to celebrate the wish I make
I’ll lit my candles with the Moon
and let them glow in nightly gloom.I wish myself a better year,
to feel and see what I can’t hear,
and as a snake sheds its own skin
I’d like to shed my old chagrin.In darkened room a mirror stays,
in candlelight I catch a gaze
from mirror staring straight at me.
One moment thought: who could that be?The candles shiver as I do,
She looks at me as if she knew
something I did not. Who is she?
From mirror comes another me.A girl with dark wide opened eyes,
she’s silent without any smiles.
She’s watching from another time,
she hears and sees a silenced chime.I look into the mirror’s will
another me its waves reveal.
All other me that through time strives
to help me learn my other lives.I make a wish and write it on
a piece of paper which anon
I fold in half and light in fire,
and let it burn my heart’s desire.Candles like not to be blown out.
Wet fingertips or with my clout
I kill their flame. I’m born again.
With all my stars I drink champagne.
17.01.2015
Lanzarote
Maria Magdalena Biela
Nevicata Notturna / Nocturnal Snowing
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 15, 2015
Nevicata Notturna«Lasciamo che questa neve leggera cada sui nostri
Sogni e li faccia risplendere! »Reso libero,
Il tuo respiro leviga cieli irremovibili;
La tua percezione gratta realtà ancora non aperte.È forse un passatempo per pensieri smarriti,
Per volti e peccati dimenticati?Guardando da un’altra parte per paura o
Imbarazzo, svegliandoti la mattina successiva,
Dovrai allora imparare
Come mantenere viva la mente assopita,
Nel tentativo di spinger via
Quella treccia di capelli
Inceppata negli occhi della memoria.Ah.. Quei ricordi assillanti!
Era reale il suo dolore
Quando esclamò «Quello è il mio vestito rovinato!
Il vestito della festa,
Quello che i tuoi occhi pieni di lussuria mi strapparono via»?Quasi uno scherzo del destino quella
Polivalente percezione che rese
Visionaria, chimerica la tua pleonastica attesa.Perché lei non ritornò.
Neppure all’alba. Neppure nelle tue aspettative..Ora il dolore urla soltanto col silenzio
Quando affondi le dita nell’intimo del tuo cuore
Che sanguina —Un dolore assoluto, rimasto
Senza voce
Perché giorno dopo giorno, anno dopo anno,
Tutto diventa abitudine.Finché,
Osservando quella lanugine bianca in volo,
La scorgesti —Insieme ad un
Soffio del suo profumo..Scrutando nel profondo del tuo sguardo
Lei pronunciò parole di speranza
E insieme -forse- una promessa:« Una nuova vita ti si prospetta al di là dei
Campi imbiancati della mente »Parole ovattate, pronunciate sottovoce
Per non scalfire la purezza della notte.Fu una profezia?
La celebrazione di un trionfo o un
Fallimento —Un incubo raccapricciante?Basta! Non voglio più saperne!
Con lo sguardo fisso sulle mie dita insanguinate
Stancamente sospiro.
Nocturnal Snowing
«Let this fluffy snow fall upon our
Dreams and make them shine! »Set free,
Your breath smoothens unshaken skies;
Your perception scratches unopened realities.Is it a diversion -maybe- for lost thoughts,
For lost faces and sins?Looking the other way out of fear or
Embarrassment, waking up next morning,
You should then learn
How to keep alive the drowsing mind,
While trying to shove away
Her plait of hair,
Jammed in the eyes of memory.Ah.. Those haunting memories!
Was her pain real
When she asserted «That one is my spoiled dress!
My dress party
Which your eyes, filled with lust, tore me off..»?Hardly a twist of fate that
Multivalent perception which made
Visionary —Fanciful
Your unnecessary waiting.Because she didn’t come back.
Even at dawn. Even in your expectation.Now your pain screams only through silence
When you sink your fingers deep
Into your bleeding heart —A sheer grief
With no voice anymore
Because day in day out, year after year
Everything becomes habit.Until,
Gazing at the fluffy snow falling, you
Caught a glimpse of her —Along with a
Whiff of her perfume..Peering deeply into your eyes
She spoke words of hope
Along with a promise -possibly-:« A new life is looming beyond the whitened
Fields of your mind »Hushed words, uttered under her breath,
Not to scrape the purity of the night.Was it a prophecy?
The celebration of a triumph or a
Failure —A bloodcurdling nightmare?Enough! I’m fed up!
I stare at my bloody fingers
And faintly sigh.(Florence,2014)
(Firenze,2014)
Copyright © Fabrizio Frosini – All rights reserved
Hypocrisy
POSTED IN contemporary poetry, reading poetry, Stories January 11, 2015
Hypocrisy
She’s dressed in black with white high heels,
A designed dress her ways reveals,
She fakes some tears with mini skills,
She hides her face and what she feels.
She wants to say: “I am a saint,
I can’t bear badness, I do faint,
I talk to angels while I paint,
I am suave, fragile and quaint”.
Her voice is calm, and kind, and deep,
Her head inclined in little weep.
She’s got style, poise and sex appeal,
One may think she’s the real deal.
She hides her face, her eyes, her truth,
She fears to be perceived in sooth.
She knows: in a photography
One can’t see the hypocrisy.Maria Magdalena Biela
Je suis Charlie!
POSTED IN Stories January 8, 2015
Je suis Charlie!As darkness fell across Europe, tens of thousands took to the streets to show their solidarity with those killed by gunmen at the offices of satirical French weekly Charlie Hebdo.
The scenes were replicated across France, in London and around the world with crowds holding placards bearing the slogan “Je suis Charlie”, which means ‘I am Charlie’ in French. Others were seen carrying enlarged versions of the some of the newspaper’s anti-Islamist cartoons.
Meanwhile the website of French newspaper Le Monde last night showed an interactive map of vigils being held across the world in Dublin, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Brussels, Madrid, Rome, Berlin, Vienna, Moscow, and as far afield as Tunis, Lima, Rio de Janeiro and Madagascar.
In London, hundreds of people filled Trafalgar Square at a silent vigil for those killed when masked gunmen stormed the newspaper’s headquarters. Many held pens, pencils and notebooks in the air to show their support for the journalists, cartoonists and police officers who lost their lives.
The gatherings were held as French President Francoise Hollande declared tomorrow a day of national mourning tomorrow in respect for the victims of this morning’s attack.
Nobody has the right to take a human life! In the name of Allah / God / Buddha / Jesus / Jehovah, it matters not how one calls it, nobody has the right TO KILL! Evil spirited humans do that, not the right ones!
Justice for all! Those who have blood on their hands should answer in front of humanity! Paris is bleeding and the whole world cries. God bless the soul of those killed people and rest them in peace!
Maria Magdalena Biela
