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

without stumbling

Once arrived at the gates
Never meant to stop
But to show
There is a passage
Into the know
There is a step
One needs to take
And a thought
To be thought
And then one’s changed
As he passes in a blink
Through these gates

Will you know
Can you tell and show?
When you find
The gates
Do not miss the chance
Pass and grow
Into the know
Into the light
Without a fight
In blink

Old poems: part 1 in the color of dust

The dust of memories

Come sit here on this bench with me
The wind of time has erased all memories
Of people who have been sitting on it
Tell me your story and I will write it
On the leaves of this tree, with the ink
Of my voice and your tears and it shall dry.
Till autumn all sins will have been forgotten
Most leaves will have taken their good bye
From the tree. Some will have become dust on the
Very same bench where we sit here today
our souls feeding the flame of a summer day.
If fire and wind are not enough let the rain come
And wash away all traces of dust till it’s gone.

The red kisses' effect

Red kisses can ripen the apples
Rise the sun on a sky of colors
Make the sea roar heard
Till the top of the mountains.

As for me, I fell forever in love
With an orange tree that we once found
In the church’s garden in front of which
At least in my memory kids will always play ball.

Children of the rainbow

if children would come
in all colors of the rainbow
would you dare to think
that blue is better than pink?
that red is better than purple
that green cannot be seen
in a certain place exclusively red?
that just because one is orange
should not come to class and sit
next to the ones colored like beet?

do you think they could share
themselves with their parents better
or just differently?
would they not ask
to know their past?
would we be ashamed
or try not to tell them
that a grand-grandfather was green?
would the start be different
in their race through live

if we would look at children
with the admiration we look
at multicolored butterflies in the sky
we would accept and not fear
their multitudes of why.
we could approach the real problems
after we've decided that color is not
what makes them real different
but what is in their heart
and their voices raised in a rainbow colored art.

Two thoughts in white

There is no beggining yet to the white story, it starts in the middle and it's supposed to continue

The wedding -or a dance for life

The heat of the summer had softened its pressure, and autumn was giving a rest to the people in the county. The works of the summer had been done and people had some time to have fun and to have weddings. The river that passed through the city was giggling with fresh sounds and promise of coolness.
The second day after the wedding the bride and a couple of the maidens went down to the river to bath. They were happy and somehow rushed in the water to cool down. The one that went first had been caught into a vortex that sucked her in, towards the bottom. She gave a sharp cry and the second maiden gave her hand but did not have enough strength to pull her out. She was to be sucked in as well. She waved her hand she looked in desperation at the other girls and they all made a chain with their arms, the bride the last in the chain and the river danced away with them pulling them down. The groom had come running by then to join the girls and it was only because of him and the strength of his love that he managed to pull out his bride from the monster mouth of the river. Other people had come and they pulled the girls out, one by one. They came back to live, all but the last one who had been down underwater for too long. She had been dancing with death for too long and they could not bring her back to life.
The bride and the groom were reborn again, in each other's arms; they were as much in love with each other as they were in love with life at this age.

The holiday

I do not call summer a real summer if I do not get to go to the sea, since childhood it has been like this.
She needed the sea for relaxing and for warming up the bones, for easing the rheumatic pain.
She would go to the beach, get some jar with mud from Techirgiol and wrap herself into this mud and let it dry in the sun. I do not know how much good it does for eh ailment, people say it does but it seems to make people feel good as the y stretch in the sun.
She could not afford to spend much on a holiday but she was very calculated, she could find the room with the cheapest rent and save money. One year she rented a room in an old man house. She was clean and hardworking so when she saw the kitchen of the old man in disarray she did not think she was a guest but washed the dishes and cleaned the space and made it look bright.
She cooked a soup for herself, one of the least expensive dishes...and she shared it with the old man. He found it delicious and asked her to cook for him instead of paying the rent. She saved money and at the end of the week returned home with arms full of presents, a sailor shirt for her beloved nephew, a few toy cars, a blouse for her daughter and cigarettes from the polish illegal traders on the nudist beach - for her son in law.
She got home with a night train and her son in law was waiting for her. It was one o clock in the night and she could not see him on the "peron" but he did. She looked around and spotted her train companions. They had a car and were headed towards a different part of the city but she was going to ask their help. She headed towards them when somebody seized her by her shoulders and would not let go and would not let her turn. She started talking with the presumed thief...I am an old woman; let me alone in peace... when he started laughing. After the scare a big laugh came from her back it was her son in law who o came to help her on her way home. They walked together since they had no car and for the 20-30 minutes they walked they had a good time-sharing each other's news.

A thought in three colored stripes

Hop in! Good morning Mam', good morning Sir! Mhm! The early morning ride from the parking to work is often quiet in the beginning, except for the salutation with the bus driver. The afternoon ride is more interactive. People talk to each other. It seems to have a positive psychological effect since people's faces relax in a smile, sometimes they smile because it's a social rule - I smile when I meet somebody. Or do I smile because I am glad I meet somebody. We are social animals, I vote for the second scenario. I look forward for the bus with three stripes: one blue, one yellow, one white. I will perhaps ride with Kathy and learn about her niece ballet skills, or with Jada and learn about how kids used to grow in the past and what parents thought was important for them; or who know maybe I will find out about an interesting project, or a new method to analyze my results. Perhaps I will find somebody to share my doubts and thoughts with. I decided I will not be lonely in this vehicle with three colored stripes. Time for me to get off. Good bye! Have a good evening.
PS: The driver starts singing to himself cause he was left alone in the bus. Hopefully not for long. He knows some fine Irish tunes, you should listen to him.

First colored thought: pink

It's April in Durham, NC and the color of the day is hard to choose. It has to be one of the colors of the azaleas but which color. Deep pink, fiery pink, light pink, orange pink or white? I think the color of the day should be definitely pink.
The place to be is the Duke Gardens. The azaleas can steel your soul. Wisteria covers the pergola in the center of the stairs garden, and its sweet smell runs through the blood vessels of the garden. Peony like tulips seem to be in fashion across the Duke campus. They look as if they smell like sorbet. A look like a fragrance. A color like an odor. This is a spring like no other reviving the soul for once more.