Blance, where were you...?

Blance, where were you when I was still alive?
come just to think of it, life was a game;
Recall we were racing on Storrow Drive.

Black vanishing plummet, Oettinger strive
race on marginal speed is not to blame
Blance where were you when I was still alive?

Wolf-colder bite November frost to skive;
Vain was this agon for, distance to tame;
Recall we were racing on Storrow Drive.

Breathless our life was at twenty-five,
live dangerous, on road, afore to aim,
Blance where were you when I was still alive?

Selected Nymph, one promise to derive;
She was a softer misty form, my dame;
Recall we were racing on Storrow Drive.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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You wore this crown of thorns

Form of this night, approaches in narrow aisles
My impiety upon your valor, my tuning falsity
of a brass bugle, a sound coarse, for miles
A foolishness! I welcome my solitude's asperity.

Do I have some time? Maybe of this, or of another
bright celebration, of a four dimensional space
a costume any customer of odds will wear in order,
my insight on any defined routes to only trace.

Do I have some varnish? To use upon my buttons
of nautilus blue jacket as to exit, a visitor of bars
or soul betrayal; A parallelism to faded blossoms
my old friends wear, an emblem of internal scars.

Can I forget my crimson? My wound, my odd incision
of my swaying abolished soul, a thorn maybe to blunt
as if my quill instates an idol on foolish mission?
As if you wore this crown of thorns, of my stand?

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Obstructive red wine spill

Upon this faraway of a Sunday's Shine
we left our apostasy on the altar's line,
a small perfection of old adoration still,
a memory's obstructive red wine spill.

Beacon ghost flashes of dusk will enjoin
an offer of surmises, a tossed-up coin,
images we have left, airy ghostly twine,
for a second principle, you were mine..

I shall depart far oceans of our Holiday,
cast of remembrances never dismay,
my adorned garland time will surpass,
my image and your kind remembrance.

Beguiled will be Charon's aimless gain,
dimensions' adoration of worlds vain,
esteem a honeycomb sweet beehive,
never end this dream's allegory strive.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Auster Blows

Above the pilot cutter I hoe, to strike amain
of her I think - sea gulls aloft
our ship is land-locked enters the port again
th' Auster blows ever soft.

my lady in memory, a perty thing to chase
I board her up, on soul's edge
her kind smile cuns the pilot, aptly to trace
in sea-waters known to allege.

Christmas 's close, bells, boat keeps 'er luff,
she goes steady on same point
I recall a tear and a scarf, and then a laugh,
winter 't was, with the anoint.

Ship sails steady, bears up, and quartening,
fore course, she goes lasking in fog
my peppermint's on the moors, ship's driving
be end to end, for that egg-nog.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Pursued I am

Pursued I am

Pursued I am by a form, one that I am pursuing,
on top of it and even more from my own self,
Not searching a tangential perspective to assign,
Not searching of your entity to ghost my life dim,
not searching in my drum pulse, your war edging.

Deep fog surrounding your face, in an immersion
fills up my soul's expended needs, accounting of still
an exhalation of colored feast, of your waxened drift
an exhalation of a symbolism of older season's gift
an exhalation of this month's weaves, sovereign lists.

Little, many drops nomadic-rain, reflects me, on road,
autumnal fog and cloudiness hold-company's deficit,
when you totally forgot our laws - imperiously nonfit,
when of some Angels became and of my internal space,
when you felt some altered dreams of an eternal grace.
.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Adder Stings

Adroit snake in serpents sweet curves
dances, my alluring senses to attain,
fizzes the victim's mind to nonsense
defenses of betrayed life in eyes domain.

Befitting of a danger's reversed count,
a mortal coil hypnotically becoming,
in an abyss, later, your lone shout,
your grave mistake in excess, crying.

Away, the wind dryly your land sweeps
and leaves, leaves like in dim, dreams
bind tight to add you up, in deathly bliss
a gild in Beatific wings, or dark esteems.

Venomous tongue, whips the air, fast,
cold eyes so infinitely look in your soul,
to traumatize eternally, a life past,
rainbow coloring of sky becomes of coal.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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I Love You

I remember you, a gentle immaculate airy form
a dispersed eulogy of a kind bliss souls excursion
you are my Naiad of expanding a sustaining force
of my souls' acquired lengths, my minds' illusion.

I stare on the safe walk, your imprints to trace
your crimson royal standards aboard to wave
my idioms spell of the same attuned lyrics' lace
you are tangent to soul, which oddly behaves.

I love you, I spell in asynchronous drops of this rain
I love you, the rain will sing to return my enthrall
I feel all this echo, no reason of dreamers' disdain
Do clouds my gloomy scene obstinately extol?

I love you, this rain will sing in a freezing decision
I stare at the clouds that cover as a greyish whole
I absently follow the ocean wave of tide on shore
I love you, the rain will sing, on a celestial call.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Forty Two Lost Seagulls

I cud coffee beans bitter,
atop the cutter steersman,
pale dusk, sets to skitter,
our trip to far began.

Our engines thrum sadden,
Africa's coastal to alargo,
round is the moon on Aden,
upon coffee sacks of cargo.

A dreadful equilateral link,
that persecutes your time,
when ghostly shadows sink,
like monsters in odd rhyme.

Upon the deck are dancing,
the wraiths of three fools,
with broken smiles gunning,
galleys of medieval ghouls;

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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A feather dances

A feather flies in soft draught to fiddle,
in a smiling trajectory of blue twiddle,
pilots curves of a movement random,
like air traveler to Heavens' stardom.

Moves away earth's blurry apparition,
above roofs, flies on benign cognition
playing along in air-streams of Zephyr,
to flirt with Amadryads odes on lyre.

Splendid glaze, with Spirits turmoiling,
caressing whiffs upon mere earthlings,
where feather is favored by tailwinds,
when women dream in embracing glints.

It streams above Ocean, with Naiads,
to accord a lullaby, and bluish myriads
of waves to maneuver oscillating along,
the ocean where air whistles a song!

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Beahcomber Dog

Beachcomber dog is on my trail,
windy company, late December;
distracts my glance; a mute tale,
within his shiny eyes and amber.

A fervent dog, paces on shore,
sniffing my footsteps as I walk
December is gray, an icy hoar,
sea waves on monotonous talk.

I turn to see, the friendly dog,
a kind smile! Maybe a biscuit
if I could find! a dark icon in fog,
much he 'd like a tasty brisket!

The wind spells around the dog,
his bitter cold is apt to remind,
that we are firmed upon a clog,
on aimless course, a port to find.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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