ice

rainbow colored thoughts

when silence builds a wall of ice
when distance grows between two souls
when time is an exscuse to grow
a little farther apart, then a little old
when winter comes and nights are long
we shall remember summer's heat
the desert sun, the empty beach
when silence covered everything
but the music that we had within
when silence was a kind of glue
bewteen two souls,
a way to help an empty hand
reach the other's hand, and thus be full
and on them both
a drop of salt.

spring love

She moved like a tornado across the sea
the wind was taking her slender silhouette
places and she was ravaging those
with waves of thundering voices and will

she bend but she never drew back
she breathed the salt of the sea
into her chest which grew stronger
although it never appeared as such

what could it be if not just a humid cloud
deformed to parallel the vertical line
along witch it run untired, unstoppable
between the sky - the sea, and back

it is a wonder how it did vanish
such strenght dissaperaing at once
the arch of the rainbow shone a victorious light
and peace set in her footprints to stay

her footprints, they're gone
like any other footprints
in the dunes of the sand
whose memory's shorter than a season

but footprints on water -
who can let himself forget
the image of a tornado
or the fear to get wet.

like the trip to the moon

rainbow colored thoughts

"Like the trip to the moon or that other star
since you are ready to go that far
you may as well go for nothing"
L. Cohen

old time shininng

Old time is seen shinning on the knee
and on the toe of the statue in the park
where a large number of hands
touched the metal piece of art
gave it soul or simply warmth
in return for it's mere presence.
and if one can warm a stone
or a bronze statue as here
does he add a bit of life
to the statuary art?
does he mean to send in time
or to the hand that's next in line
at least a tiny piece of him
or he's eating a small part
from the sculpture in the park.

Radio boy

His voice sounded clear and sweet
he was singing his love for a woman
which did not exist;
thus sending a message
to his real and imperfect girlfriend.
risking to fall down from the top
of a mountain of love.
or was it him who was about to fall
in solitude, indifference?
i could not see the face
of the man on the radio
but I knew behind the veil of his voice
his tears were those cried by my eyes
his longings like so many young dreams

cheap alarm clock with a red face

How is it: words are cheap and living deep
or words are deep and living cheap
and that is why we love to live
in the refuge that books do offer
from realty that waits or snaps your face
the moment when you close the covers
or how about we live more sweetly and learn
to (re)turn from dream at 6 am

slippery road

it was lying in front of my door
as a slippery mat
in front of a slippery road
that grew overnight from
my house of dreams
to the sea it seems
so i slid and fell
and my head filled
with the waves of
rhytms and rhymes.
(on which I sometimes swim
and sometimes dream)
somehow I got stuck
with a smile on my face
that says to everybody
what a simple soul I am;
as simple as the soul
of the trees, simpler than the asphalt
who some think has no stories to tell;
notmuch different than the soul children
and pets. I do not live the fear of wild animals
except soemtimes at night
when I cannot see
the road in front of me.
the flying mat of poetry takes me sometimes
to places where other have certainly been
but cannot remember
unless they took the pictures
of the metaphors they saw
during their unique, irrepetable trip.

the use of dark colors

after the flame is gone
gray is the color that stays,
in part pure as white and
in part sad as black,
with all the nuances in between.

brown is the earth that has been burned,
left bared and all exposed,
aching but ready to start anew
perhaps in frail green,
when life gets ready
to take over all the power;

it turns to red when fires burn
all that yesterday made sense.

and then again brown
is the mixture off all
has lived lived or it will
but if we are to look in face
the source of light
that feeds our life
we would get burned
and all the joy would
too soon turn
to ashes;

it may be better that
we all shall wear
from time to time
a pair of glasses -
gray like age
and lacking passion
(just like wisdom
in its essence)

mixture in brown

after the flame is gone
gray is the color that stays
pure like white and sad as black
and all the nuances in between
brown's the earth that has been burned
bare and clean and all exposed
ready to start a new
perhaps like green when life is ready
to take over all the power
turn to red when fire burns
nonchalantly all that yesterday made sense
brown is the mixture off all that lived
and that will live
but if we are to look in face
the source of light
that feeds our life
we would get burned
and all the joy would turn too soon
to ashes, so we all must wear
grom time to time
a pair of glasses
gray like age
and lacking passion,
like wisdom in essence

Moms dance

I see Moms
moving in circles
pirouetting on no toes
moms running
and balancing
cakes and toddlers
on their shoulder, on the hips
putting toys in boxes
faster than a normal man
can think
no time to rest
no time to breath
faster spinning
till the sink
where thousand dishes
are dirtying themselves
continously
there's but one danger
i would think
that too much running
will prevent them from
listening
to the tiny kid
which should stay
is in the center of the cicle
(even if dazzles by the speed)
and not anything
else one may think

burning light

There is light that burns for you
there is a light to keep you warm
And in the middle of the storm
you should know that
You have to keep your balance
you have to fight in any stance
cause there are hopes and love and friends
that wait for you
and even if nobody's stepping in
or if nobody lends a hand
the light that shines is still within you
but reach out, a little further than
where you place your hand or set your heart
at no more than an inch, or maybe a mile
will be a gate, an island
or a lighthouse
jus keep going
find a friend
the light will burn
there is no end

White

The day is white
their eyes are tired
how will they find
the way through this misty day?
what is is that when one can't see
will guide him to
where he needs to be
is it a gene, is it a God
is it one's faith or hope alone?
In misty days
they wash their eyes
they step forward
and hope the road
will take them there
where there is light.
They'll see tomorrow about that