Annunci
Category: Poesia
There was a ring I never took off when I was no more than a teen girl.
It wasn’t valuable, found it dirty and dusty at the end of a drawer in a long before abandoned house.
It missed a little tiny diamond on its cast and it was so tiny in size I could only wear it on my left ring finger.
The center stone was a smoothed out ruby with a square shape.
But the beauty in it was not the stones.
It was in the fine work on the silver.
The thin veneers running along the sides in fragile, intricate leaves that could only be made by hand and with skill.
I never seen since a work like that ever.
It fitted my finger to the point I thought it was made for me and me alone.
It was probably just a cheap trinket bought at a fair or something like that in the time when my grandmother was just a young girl.
She’s 96 now, I’m 30 and the ring is still with me.
Worthless and consumed, but the silver still shines and fits somewhat.
The leaves are still there and they mean a world never gone to me.
Afternoons and evenings, card games and teas, red roses and blue hydrangeas.
You have forgotten, Gran.
I did not.
You can’t remember.
I shall do it for you for all the time I’m still given on this Earth.
[coloured photo by Mike Savad]
[https://pixels.com/featured/tea-party-sharing-tea-with-grandma-1936-mike-savad.html]
Oh,
Those shades leaden with so near blinding sun heat.
Black asphalt to run on carefree.
Me double mirrored on his sunglasses.
No places to be.
Sand under my naked feet.
Sweet smelling jasmine and ice-mint whiskeys.
My big dark blue straw hat, yes just the one that gives me that 30s diva look and he always fingers up to watch my eyes.
And that road never-ending under a sky so blue.
I was just so happy in those 3 days, Ti.
The sea scent lingering, the torches still lit and the laughter ringing in my ears.
“Are you daydreaming, Fräulein?”
“What if I do?”
“Keep your dreams close.”
I just smile, tightening my hold on his hand.
“I think I shall.”
Ancient weary eyes looking at you from a youthful face.
As old as you feel, bones creaking and all.
A bed too small to lay on, midnight noon sweltering outside.
Heavy music from static-laden speakers, music so old no-one remembers it.
You don’t even remember when or where you met him, just the look in his eyes.
The too old holey t-shirt, the battered leather jacket and scuffed doctor martens.
Not uttering a word, laying there.
And every year past seems longer than ever watching those eyes dilating.
Future remains beyond, full of things you’ll never know until it’s their time.
The record’s playing, the air is still.
The wolf in your bed hums, as meek as a lamb.
As the sun scorches a thousand licking flames.
“Your eyes are blue, very odd.”
“Still blue? I thought not.”
“Very blue. How come?”
Lick your lips, no sweat over your upper lip, and smile.
“I was born with them.”
Somewhere a hammond is playing and the spirit soars.
Never will you learn how young is he in his old years.
Until you’ll be shown.
Ho ascoltato i Queen che non avevo ancora imparato a camminare.
Ho passato pomeriggi interi della mia infanzia a vederli sul palco sotto luci arcobaleno (altro che i LED!) dentro ad una televisione catodica.
Credo che le due casse alte mezzo metro del primo hi-fi di mio fratello si siano sfondate grazie al loro contributo 😅
Quindi sì.
Per me non ci sono mezze misure quel gruppo è nel mio sangue.
Oggi sono andata a vedere il film tanto per concludere in bellezza una settimana decisamente di merda.
I trailer sono stati montati alla perfezione ma ammetto che ero pronta alla delusione.
Freddie è inimitabile nella mia memoria.
Sbrillucicoso, vocale, saltellante e potente.
Vivo e vegeto.
Beh…il film è una pellicola e fa quello che deve fare con tutte le pecche che ne conseguono.
Hanno disordinato la cronologia, romanzato sulla vita privata di Freddie (ad un vero fan sinceramente la cosa interessa poco, perché la politica di Freddie era sempre stata chiara a riguardo -> faccio cosa c***o voglio!) ma mantenuto fedelmente la sensazione del palco/teatro.
Il botto secco delle sberle che Roger dava al suo set e la chitarra quasi umana di May capace di cantare come una voce lirica in riff che erano dei pezzi unici.
Il basso di Deacon che fa Another one bites the dust e la sua faccina! 😊
E Freddie…
Voglio solo dire che è un film da prendere in considerazione con una potenza e qualità sonora spaventosa.
A cinque minuti dalla fine mi scendevano le lacrime.
Alla fine in sala c’era solo più una massa di esaltati che a stento si tratteneva dall’alzarsi e cantare.
Ad inizio titoli di coda nessuno si è alzato perché c’era il ‘vero’ Freddie e nessuno li leggeva quei titoli di coda.
Ed finalmente, a luce accesa e schermo grigio se incrociavi lo sguardo con gli altri c’era solo il sorriso del ‘io so che tu sai’ e del ‘cavolo sì!’
Fatemi fare un altro giro…😎
Edit: Today is the day…💞🎉🎊
Today the old world shall be destroyed.
Tomorrow a new world will be born.
We should be ready, yes?
Every drop of rain that falls in Sahara desert says it all
It’s a miracle
All God’s creations great and small
The Golden Gate and the Taj Mahal
That’s a miracle
Test tube babies being born
Mothers, fathers dead and gone
It’s a miracle
“I want the moon.”
“You sure, Fräulein?”
“Yeah…”
And what happens next?
There She is…on my nightstand…
Ti, you’re the best…❤
And fly me to the moon…
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars
In other words hold my hand
In other words darling kiss me…
Sto per finire di scrivere UT.
Finalmente!
Ho organizzato gli ultimi punti con carta e penna stasera, sul tavolo di marmo verde di Ti mentre lui cucinava solo Dio sapeva cosa di buono.
Sono felice di essere alla fine e sapere finalmente dove Kurt, Linds e Michelle mi stanno portando.
Spero di trovare il tempo di concluderla come si deve.
E poi basta…almeno per un po’, se il topo me lo consente…😅
Shall I talk?
Or will you whisper it?
The dreadful thing we have squeezed between us.
The mixture of seasons, your old and my new.
The smell of spicy tobacco I call aroma.
My kind of freedom you loathe when you can’t reach me and I finished all your favourites.
The long nights I spend driving and working.
The late dinners you cook just for one to be heated in the oven ‘not the microwave, you infidel!!’
The early Sunday mornings, starting the day with a shower for two, tumble and dry.
You trimming your beard, whistling your favourite pavane.
Me and my Twinings Tea.
You and your enormous shirts, as gigantic as your wardrobe really, and my silk scarves.
The lightbulb in the bathroom mirror you are too lazy to tight properly and irks me to death (note to self: bring needed tools).
Do you know the words for this Ti?
I shan’t say them.
I knew crushes and silly affections and stupidity.
I used to know broken dreams, flat promises and often no’s.
All the wrong sidestreets of naiveté I walked.
I don’t look to you as an older figure – a father figure the most cinical say, they watch so much and they become so blind – I look at you as Ti.
Never old in my eyes, not with that hungry glint you have.
I have no words but I know there’s no turnin’ back now, not after all this time.
And if there will be an end to this someday it will be worth it, glorious and ours for it won’t be a surprise but a choice.
As you said
“Love is a journey best appreciated in the company of two or more. Sunrise to sunset. No time is wasted when it fills the desires in your soul. Be grateful if you have found it.”
“To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.” – Anna Louise Strong
Edit 13.43 pm: and my heart breaks at the news…oh we shall never hear your beatific voice again! Oh Montserrat! Sad is the day and darkest is this world! 😭
Cartoline.
Lettere d’amore rimaste nel cassetto.
Lettere d’amore spedite e mai ricevute.
Secretaires.
Brooches.
Cofanetti degni di una regina.
Spazzole e specchi istoriati in argento.
Stole di pelliccia e scialli da gran dama.
Specchi rococò e porcellane inglesi.
Fluté di vetro radioattivo.
Gioielli da lutto.
Bigiotteria da sera.
Statue di giada verde o quarzo.
Applique decò in alabastro e lampade Tiffany.
Carillon che tintinnano melanconia di tempi andati.
Danzatrici esotiche nere e oro.
Servizi da tè che suonano alla brezza e spighe di grano in vetro fine come un capello.
Proiettori di inizio secolo.
Sedie in genuino stile impero.
Calcolatrici a leva.
Grammofoni a matrice di cera.
Tappeti persiani e settee vittoriani.
Pantere a grandezza naturale con occhi che ti seguono e fauci spalancate.
Fotografie osè d’inizio ‘900 e pin-up queens che ammiccano.
Pleniluni in soffitti di nero velluto.
Tiare di diamanti falsi.
Dagherrotipi immusoniti.
Bambole di porcellana e vestiti di seta.
Giochi in latta e cavalli a dondolo.
Cammei di donna e medaglioni d’argento con dediche di persone che non ci sono più…
Raccolte di vecchi short films muti dai dieci ai trenta secondi.
Orologi da panciotto fermi e pendoli che rintoccano alla Winchester mentre Ti fischietta il motivetto con il sigaro fra le labbra.
E fra le mie mani l’ultimo foglio di una lettera…
È tardi, la strada sotto alla mia finestra si fa più silenziosa ancora.
Poso la penna ora ma prima di coricarmi il pensiero si alzerà in volo verso i pochi giorni che abbiamo passato insieme. Perduti nel sole, e nei frutti di un’estate nel quale ci siamo conosciuti ed uniti.
Ci ritroveremo, mia amata Claudia, di ciò non dubitare.
Il tuo più umile servo,
Stefano
All that you touch
And all that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
And all that you love
And all that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
And all that you give
And all that you deal
And all that you buy
Beg, borrow or steal
And all you create
And all you destroy
And all that you do
And all that you say
And all that you eat
And everyone you meet (everyone you meet)
And all that you slight
And everyone you fight
And all that is now
And all that is gone
And all that’s to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon
“Best things in life are the ones you do for yourself.”
∼ myself
Edit
Of course they are!
INTJ dal 2018.
