Rained September

Rained September

Wraith she was in roads foremost
ancient dance in modes to totter;
with words floating on sea water,
My calls in dreams invoked, lost.

Kind expression was, in night air,
to undergo in my darknened light,
she came to me, enchanting sight,
it was her aptitude fine 'n' fair.

Aspect of solitude she traced nigh,
a brass confront she cared softly,
to touch my lips with fingers hostly,
to hash her love notes in tide high.

Memory she was or a destined coil,
contemplative strophe, poems' soul,
words that rhymed a face to extol,

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Wraith II

A call of the gust speaks thousand words
passing amid the weeping cries of Cedars,
bears up souls in woods, lost nightly hordes,
amounting solitude, of Pine needle guitars;

Wind is blowing mournful amid the foliage,
while rain's droplets whisper caressing,
leaves that rest on the ground to assuage,
the wraith's solitude, of self addressing.

Denoting calls in the breeze, a black Alder,
designing spirals of airy spells, around Fir,
a wraith whirls in twilit dance; sky's border,
were we subdued in lightless and void glare?

Rain is falling, souls turned up to bedizen,
skies are blessing the form that sky-rises,
benignant smiles spirits bestow to glazen,
as lonely Dryads spell whispering advises.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Charades II

Twas my impression, hours bending
infinitum in our minds' stall,
a ship to escape, deft sailors' call,
as times were hard and not ending.

Upon the ship were ghosts of souls,
as slow the dusk subscribed to night,
tulips of smoke, in hazed dim light,
three sailor forms in charades sprawls.

They danced and danced the nights after,
umpteen mimicks, and each mime word,
a riddle to enslave minds' circuit board,
ghosts jumped with their looney laughter.

We danced with them under the rain;
odd marionettes of dark ship hustle;
rotated round a conceived axle;
(the ship wants us to wind and feign) .

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Thermopyle

A merit of lonesome, Persephone's dark ocean
we received. A strong red wine, a wake of pain
that stings. A ghostly clad chorus, a lost odd zone
of Hades and Styx. A gloomy dim swaying
an abstract dull pain, I felt, an emotional strain.

Three hundred rain drops, and two that remain
to offer again, a destiny altered, a deadly refrain,
denial spelled about my life, over your throne
and there the air, is to betray, the death of my soul..

A mantle of arrows we wore, a lost last embrace,
a scattered emotion, a gathered devotion, away,
my fingers so callous of a never charisma to trace
there is nothing to encounter, a mist plea to obey
white of candor, a blanket of valor, so death will stay.

One thousand rain drops to bestow domain to fly
up in the clouds, Olympian vows, this wild garland
passengers of time, the epigraph read, vows comply

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Piazza Liberta

[Piazza Liberta]

Trieste. Of my February foggy white dense
a student, to expect this term to finish
You kept me in your spiritual shrine's sense
first year in the University, time to diminish.

I am waiting! Even if I knew you 'll never be
of my exclusion in this fog's heart wedges
My margin of this February will write, maybe
of your beloved one, the waves of souls edges.

(I made an acquaintance with sailors
of a cargo-boat, they tell me stories
about terrible typhoons, wild sharks
of Indian Ocean, routes upon maps.)

In three months I learned the language well
And every night, February's visitor you were
Ideally solitaire of my life's kind dream

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Embraced bridal light

Were my feelings - uncalled emotions upon a briar
or it was my foolish desperation account of wind's-a-brisk
as almost I was a non fugal or (worse) -a mute kind of liar
I wish I was, yes, to extort your existential heard-off risk

And I was striving to alter course of my conceited brig
a-route to flow or to abide-astern of hope me on the bridge
to defeat all spirits threatening yours-my beloved life's rig
I was abandoned on my winds expanded emotional frisk

For no one to keep hold of your youth's defended brittle
Me as for standing - praying in every verse's bridles
My soul's internal of your guards austere brigades
So you to be around us with full-happy-color shades

My wrath uprising where Angels inhabit, wrath of brimstone
For all your colors - me to fight for brilliance - bright
A solid house of all dreams which you deserve - a throne
emotional warmth of a sea shore's embraced bridal light

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Tarantella - Sour Grapes

I admitted that I am utterly charming;
my specialty is to feed sour grapes,
to femmes causing a total disarming,
from this entrancing, none escapes.

After we jumped on the sand dunes,
and fighting against untamed sharks,
twas the hour of listening to tunes,
vented by an orbiting of love quarks.

I danced barefooted on the grapes,
on vigorous must-making tarantella,
thus I approached your curvy shapes,
hmm.. I knew your name was Stella! !

Was it not? While dancing I kissed,
those sour grapes you were holding,
and you insisted that I had to feed,
one by one the grapes on beholding.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Soldier of bronze

Bound thoughts transform to trees;
black alders are implanted in forest,
where the winds embrace 'em free
and rain drops pour to their closest.

Winter winds around trees consent,
their foliage sweep, dithering gusts;
as their firm trunks upwards extent,
pointing to skies and selected stars.

Shadows float, as hours thump near,
adjacent to his entity, walking friends,
joyous in a silver solitude to appear,
soothing count that his sins amends.

And while a joyful and moonlit glow,
dances on rhymed cadence meters,
a ghost will stay with flakes of snow,
and fly above the pastoral features.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Twenty One Of January..

Small distances emerge from binary trails
as dusk falls upon her and dim memory ails
an origami oracle and their life's dictum
was her life a riddle, or a memory's victim?

twenty one had closed up, a fortress braced
by thoughts, recitals, a cause, finger-traced,
a sole attempt to erase quests, embraced,
if only her life tangential, emerged to waste..

To dream a reason of celestial, bridal nods,
waited to adorn her advent's Sunday codes,
maybe to nicely caress whispered phrases,
that also waited to hint, and blushed blazes..

Twenty one will stand in front, a dissonance,
of earlier caressing dreams, an abundance,
her quiet quest is standing up in dark space,
as an eccentric lone caress, touches her face.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Sentry Box 5th Feast

Obtuse is my thought, an error of links,
a valor of my memory, property to demise,
shelter my cause and my candles' wicks,
this advent of an older dream is not wise..

I recall my equities of long lost causes,
as there is nothing to approach my star,
if only a prayer.. Anxiety to rule my losses,
a cold poem of apostasy, is company to far..

Words, whisper me a tale, she bends above,
a bed of roses white, like purity, dim wail,
she cries my longing stills, trauma of dove,
waits for tears to surmise, in worlds to fail.

It was your face in the wind, a Spring haze,
my dream, it was a dry land, relentless ail,
my eyes opened in a world, outside of blaze,
for five years I waited, and you, death-pale...

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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