Truckwooden Side Rails

PARTISANS

Fear and anguish of the night locked
weeping of the women on the white snow
beside the bodies of their men killed
the cry of wolves in the wind of darkness
surrounded the hollow sound of the lust for slaughter
hope slept within the horror Only their mouths shut
mute
shouting "our blood is not empty, flourished
death in our bodies wrapped in sheets of our country by

rise and shine race
bestow honor your dead

beloved children of the earth

your heart beat in my chest "
With shining eyes and gasp, wolves crossed the
swollen river
howling wildly shrill cries
of hope over the horror, torn
And the heart suddenly began again to beat

honor all the partisans, SURVIVORS AND THOSE WITH who shed their blood for us to live in a free country.

Antifascism ALWAYS!

This text I have already posted in this blog, shortly after the opening of this space
him propose again because it seems appropriate to celebrate April 25. Also
"Partisans", along with another text "Misty" always already published in this blog was published in the unpublished section of a literary magazine "Nettle" in Forlì in 2009.
I have to thank for this great event a dear friend, John Spagnoli, you read my poems in the direction of the magazine has reported.
John Spagnoli, Forlì of birth, is a writer of great experience, both novels and short stories that theater. His writing is lively and bubbly and capture the reader involving them in the essence of his characters alive. At this link found his latest book
I met John Spagnoli on the web to the same political passion that toghether. Thanks John!

poetry in the magazine "The Nettles"

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Cloud of April

slow, slow flowing hours
Time is elusive in this
day of April
soul groans
In essence bold
dates
On the night the silence that reveals sweet songs

Among the intimate passages

Of my breath I feel the sweet cloud of April

Driven by wind storm At the majestic peak

That tears and whip, circling in the cyclone

I let myself fall into the lap
secret
Cozy and secure perimeter without

M 'quiet adagio
Crumble bones
I become drowsy
feather In the absence of better days

Alot Of Pressure In Stomach And Peeing Alot

Disenchantment

The dim light is turned on in the mind

scratched by your love compartment
The parched throat pain
ingurgita

harrowing memories of days in crowded
of icy diamonds and so appears

The disenchantment
drawn on your face
marble
the rain
A life does not wet

A path
many roads you can see the open window

penetrate
That leaves The smell of dawn

Burlington Coat Factory For Kathy Bags

Clouds

in the sky
undone
Pausing
clouds
A spring

Above the earth reborn
In the gardens of primroses


verdant hills
waiting

to go beyond the silence of heaven tired



clouds passing
Prompted

wind blowing in a gentle

Latin
should
in all directions

change color change forms
mitigate the gray does not have rules


are free to dream thoughts are

Messages In Christening

infinite Love

And the kids were sovereign
most eminent in your thoughts.
populated the core of your heart.
game pretty foggy in the tunnel in the shores
celestial meeting
on one end of the Earth
wide open your big heart
the multitudes of souls waiting
and scattered
huge crowds in the eyes of children trying
transparent eyes of the Pope
Vigorous love and tender warmth
immeasurably to their sight bestowed
your father's hands on their little heads
your soft kisses on their cheeks
lemmas reassuring that they understood the gesture of infinite love

afterwards indelible in the hearts and eyes of babies
carved remained.
And the kids in your shining charm
always reached a protected harbor
in your little hand was still clinging
gently. Now
from your eternal home
your assiduous them look almost endless greenhouse
them smile in your protective embrace
divine immortal

warning to the men you left

to seek the infinite love

in the eyes and smile

a child

This text I written in 2005 sull'onta of emotion for the death of John Paul II, almost the only figure of the Church to which I have watched with interest.
Lately, even the recent facts come out, my disagreement with the Catholic Church has increased.
But I still want to delude myself that at least he, Karol Wojtyla, was a very different figure, on top of so many prelates who only make me "cringe".
the public on the fifth anniversary of his death and hope that children can really be on top of everyone's thoughts for their protection.
It 's always bad when you do bad things to men, but when you touch the children I become worse than the "beasts".

HAPPY EASTER TO ALL!