detail from: KRK Art dizajn

       THE ENCHANTED GARDEN

to Guido Chiarelli, pioneer of Public Lighting (1902-1982)

And then there were the lights

that lit slowly

in the garden of a thousand colours.

They lit

warm, vibrant

on the stones of  paths

on the petals of tulips

on the water of fountains

caressed by a gentle breeze.

The lights

switched  on for me

as I walked

on the flowered avenues

and subtle fragrances

wrapped me up

in the silence of the night

then the flags,

moved by the wind, became

the variegated forms

of an incomplete painting.

Cluster of old memories

that today are recomposing

while I hold tight in my fingers

the last, dried rose of May.

in  memory of my father, Guido Chiarelli

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guido_Chiarelli

POLYGLOT SEA

“The polyglot sea

ah the polyglot sea…

sybils’ syllables  fellaheen  dialects all run together

everywhere re-echonig…”

( from: Baja Beatitudes)

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

New dreams

emerge from a shadowy sky today.

The salty breeze

permeates the morning air

and the sun light silently

erases our loneliness.

Myriads of polyphonic voices

relentlessly

re-echoing

are sweet music

fed by ancient rhythms.

Now we can pause and rejoice

in the gentle breath

of the ocean while

words

from different languages

slowly take form and fill

one by one

every empty page. 

LIGHT ON THE WALLS OF LIFE

to Lawrence Ferlinghetti (1919-2021)

Teach me to paint

the light on the walls of life.

Teach me

to look at the world

as you see it

to become a tear of the sun,

a word in a tree.

Lead me

to see the sun hitting the sheer cliffs

the  tides that restlessly ebb and flow

the water birds challenging the wind.

Let’s listen together

the perfect hush of a starry night

the sound of summer in the raindrops.

Here and now

help me reach the very shores of light

waiting for

the renaissance of wonder

with you - again and forever

NOVEMBER SKY

I love that sky of steel

Charlotte Brontë

Flocks of black  crows

re-write the winter sky

with ancient signs.

As an impalpable veil

the cold haze

wraps the barren moor

and your eyes

gradually get lost

into that

magic metallic light

Under a Mexican Sky

to Frida Kahlo

(I paint flowers so they will not die

Frida Kahlo)

San Ángel, Mexico City 1938

It was perhaps the trace of a future

already marked
your eyes were looking for
among  the frayed clouds
of a Mexican sky.

It was a swirl of colors and golden threads
of your tahuana skirt
while you

-hurt and never won -

challenged the world.

They were lipstick kisses
with which you signed your letters
in the torpor of an unusual quiet

that surfaced slowly

from a limbo of pain.

It was perhaps an elusive dream
a regret for the lost days

for the life

stolen from you
on a distant morning
on a bus suddenly gone mad.

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