Poems by Gabriella Garofalo

0
39
Pic by Nikita Igonkin

 

 

-1-

Not now, not in this room,
Too many clouds, waves, rowdies and easy nights,
So they’re giving up the whole shebang,
Those desecrated skies where she would fall apart
At last free of maps, and magnets,
While her unbridled days were lying
Among fruits, brambles, blazing waves,
The bystanders to light stalking
Clouds, dust, God,
While her words were stumbling,
And her soul kept wondering
About naked vibes in high-risk places-
Sure, at first sight it feels like a gift
This impervious waiting
When you try to carve some light
Onto rebel minds, but downtown they wonder
If the last fires stay silent, or trees chat to each other-
But you, barren light, you simply can’t stand them,
So, you let them fall among the hunger’s bites,
In this darn evening where the goddess runs
Among teens looking for flowers-
Are you scared of breaks, and caves,
My light who dismantles her, and those days
So like cliffs you slowly abrade?
Look, they are done now, forget the missing,
Their fault as they chose to stay blind,
But you’ve got a daughter, you can’t get involved,
And no, earth, my earth, don’t cut her too much slack,
She’s getting here to tear your limbs
Away from a dyslexic light
Only too keen to get rid of you, and her.


 

-2-

Okay, now ask yourself where your fever’s voice ended up,
As she wouldn’t leave with the days you asked in-
Oh, and why you didn’t hand her over to sistrum,
Or frantic maenads who only speak the body,
That foreign language only the sky can grasp,
A nice trick to shame blue into white,
And sure, you dabble a bit in that idiom,
But as heaven is just a teen, he’s got no clue
About your whims of lost crops, blind stares
When nestled among ancient stones
Your places keep drowsing, impervious
To skies, gales, water-
Now look, he’s yielding to wrath
While all lost words leap on food,
On barren limbs hard like mothers-
So, your last hint to her goes like this,
Stop sowing light, if heaven doesn’t care,
And dreams of a different job,
‘Cause shapes will draw near in a wink,
Good, evil, whatever, at least they’re not
Still stones from towers, arcades, or your first wish-
And may your words never sound clipped,
As if scared of the unrelenting sun, of insects going berserk,
While young suburban matrons keep musing
Over ontology issues, think being and nothingness,
And the moon is coldly staring, impatient for her night shift
To be over at last.


 

-3-

The scabs at work, you can’t stop them-
Stalking blue shadows, where’s the light?
Wandering sounds, the eve of a smile,
Blue or full, who cares?
The outcome of her shiny nonchalance
Is she always getting the last word,
As demise happens whenever you sell yourself
Short to light, your dear friend sitting
Next to you, swearing she helps you out with problems, and worries,
Only if you look closely you can almost see her sticking
A blade in your throat, all the while grinning-
A white heat at full blast, the kilns of your fear,
And the only answer is the moon,
So reword your questions, open the windows to fresh air,
The unwelcome truth, the hunger you feel all over creation-
And you, Father, be careful next time you sort out the souls:
Don’t you know they dodge light as if it were an abrupt bullet,
Look at her, she’s feeling dazed by a rave of homeless moments,
Moon, sky, soul, womb, the lost bastard voice left behind,
Soon to become poetry to you-
Oh, and count your blessings, as she’ll never touch
Your blue house in a place where the illegal migrants you’re hiding
Chance shame, and banishment-
Yet she keeps hearing her late mother’s voice
While staring at days, months so like smiling soldiers-
Only, they’re going to shoot point blank-
And she can’t realise flowers and plants aren’t too keen
On being locked into a vase,
As they’d better stay in open spaces,
Grass, meadows, any soul, and the like.


 

-4-

Listen, if you keep going in all hell blazing
She might get mad, our moon slowly ambling
Through the sky, so, my soul, hide fast in the attic,
Safe from stares and lust,
Pretend you are colour-blind, don’t look
At the light hitting trees,
Even if white, and cold are goading
Words, pencils, markers to hazard light,
Even if no one looks at the lonely white
On the branches, everything else gone lost,
Even snow, our winter relentless lender,
When the night was pleading for more light
Sick and tired as she was of her time-
And you, Nature, get lost,
Stop throwing limbs to souls who grab them
As they have been starving for so long,
Sure, don’t I know it’s such a tricky matter,
What roads to walk along, maybe a climax,
Born from a slant vertical light that strikes your eyes,
And ties up thoughts, creatures in the dead of night-
More power to her, as she warps crippled first wombs,
Where water or stone beds are never enough,
But please don’t give ammo
To a moon already armed with words,
Who moves from fear to fear
All the while hounding you with questions, doubts,
The foes going to crumble you, my light,
‘Cause they are too craven to fight life, or grass-
And no, no woods for you where to throw
To the wolves your words,
Just books, and a green sour smell
That stays with you all night long-
Is that all? Yes, and her wish of icy blue sideways,
Just for a starter.


 

-5-

Her mother, of course in a white petticoat,
And all of them, those tall, bearded men running on skates
While you are playing with fire, blissfully blind to his greed,
And wondering why they flare up,
Those cobalt blue lighters looking so harmless-
Look, can’t you see the sky’s ablaze,
And they’ve got the same blue as the sky?
The last sparks dispersing all over there
Sneaked up on her, but no blame to them,
As she’s always been so hot for the glows,
Mainly because they hide their game-
See, that’s what happens when you ask him in,
Sometimes he dances fast while you welcome
A bright flash and a blackout, maybe a rejection?
And it’s so funny when winter days hide your light
If you dream of creatures and friends,
And your dream shows quivering shots,
If a wild light is coming, see, she’s here,
Yet you can’t see her, nor can you see
Old ladies who chose to mourn the dead
While burying those winter days,
And yes, they keep smiling
If teens ambushed by surprise end up there,
So much easier for small creatures,
As they dissolve in your gaze and no fuss,
Just hunt down those smiles, your meadow
Will rise up into the sky-
But careful, only if you don’t discard God’s silence,
Those faraway meadows at the mercy of your hands,
Maybe your soul.


 

About the Author

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of these books “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Casa di erba”; “Blue Branches”; “ A Blue Soul”.