Bushido

[Bushido]

1._ Justice
Apply justice, when time is right.
Crooked, unfair actions to denounce,
Be ready to accurately strike.
Before action be wise, on balance.
-

2._ Courage
Courage is virtuous on righteousness,
a sacrifice to unworthiness is odd,
defend correct values with ableness,
admitting mistakes with mind bold.
-

3._ Benevolence
Love, affection, sympathy for another,
combined with an excellence of mind,
highest soul's attributes and character,

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Impetus of sinners

My eyes were not able to stare, actions delayed or seized
a kissed bit of neck, a response's lift, a caress long missed

Almost of a perjurer of my prime, odd self, a painter's easel,
a cross birth of desires - a fence of abandonment, a drizzle

of sea foam or tears! Of even moments, my senses surround
you, the same void remains, not to fulfill, a fortress abound...

Sea gulls weighing their flights above, lift high, a move on
and then become of air, uprising of senses, far of horizon...

Dusk! Kind of a glassy gray, the sky! Your breathing nimble,
all of another way subtle. Silences, adorned, at times feeble.

settled, tangible! All your internal spirits, one even touch...
You hushed! Was it a domain of yours? Or more to match?

Watching up high, as if you were an airy, rare adornment
or conquered in a sovereign domus of odd abandonment

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Hioni (Greek poem)

ΧΙΟΝΙ

Χιόνι και γύρω ερημιά να μας τυλίγει
Σε χρόνους της απόκρισης, στο βουητό του ανέμου
Έρχεσαι μέσ' στον άνεμο και ξανασμίγει
η φωνή μου και τ' αλαργινό σφύριγμα τραίνου.

Χιόνι που πέφτει σα σιωπή και μας τυλίγει
Χρόνια σε ψάχνει το ταξίδι μου στο χρόνο
κι ελεύθερα στον άνεμο η φωνή μου ξανασμίγει
με τη φωνή σου - κι ο παλμός μου αναπτύσσεται στο δρόμο.

Στο δρόμο που ξανοίχτηκες για να γυρίσεις
καιρός κυκλάμινου, πλανήθηκες πολύ
για να μιλήσεις στη ζωή, φτερά ν' ανοίξεις
να μ' αγκαλιάσεις στ' όνειρο και στη σιωπή.

Χιόνι που πέφτει κι ερμηνεύει τη μορφή σου,
να αλαργαίνει μέσ' στον άνεμο, στην ερημιά,
να στροβιλίζεται, να με κρατά μαζί σου

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Bergen

Thoughts in anguished minds were bleeding,
a kerosene lamp illuminated the burden;
darkened were the few flowers of Bergen,
like the unfit hopes of defective pleading.

She was a prisoner behind labor camp walls
where innocence was defeated by horror,
human values were punished by an evil juror,
with blind thirst to obliterate weak thralls.

Darkened was the plaintive scene of death
a mortal's funeral was his devoid salvation,
heavenly and unreal pastures of negation,
each visioned, with feverish mental health.

She appeared above Bergen's hellish dome,
of frau Wahnsinn, amidst cold grayness;
sorrow suffocated breaths as the emptiness,
crushed on our chests like a stone tomb.
........................

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Bag Pipes

A ship-yard celebration is to accede
no sailor from a new boat will abscond
to abrogate drinks, of a wishing deed
Oceans to challenge and far beyond.

And there the bag-pipe players cond
on ethnic island tunes, and aural modes
as Nautilus dance and gals respond
like oceanic waves to acclaimed nodes.

The adage of players' hypnotic tunes
invite every young to a dance agog,
men forms with girls to smile, as balloons
fly colorfully, with every toast of grog.

The gals smile to the well chosen male,
in this feast of agon to renew a toll
of ocean routes against storms and gales,
just to return to moors and their call.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Standing Athwart

The storm descended down the Straights,
it was Lorenzo fixing sails at the backstay,
me gangway, the bargermast'r Jim Bates,
working ropes, on mainsail aft and forestay.

Northern winds barked like dogs, the gust,
lifted the batten, boat tilted off to port bow,
lowered the cent'rboard and hull, to thrust
like a curse of Demons, on deathly draw.

I lost Jim Bates, suddenly as he unreeved,
went off; sea waves thrushed to sternway,
Lorenzo fought at the top-gallant, bereaved,
and Angelo Corto was holding timenoguy.

The steersman conned fine; me on th' ganwale,
to lower the spreader, even at a gust blow,
we had the mainsail torn, and guff-topsail,
to guide wind's force to the jib bendin' slow.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Oriental Dancer

[Oriental Dancer]

Was her obstinacy to make you, extol her?
Or her elastic flesh beneath colorful veils?
Images she carefully designed, to perceptibly err,
a Datura stream of Crimson to run in vein trails..

A dance, this dance depicts an ancient instinct,
a trite so elementary it's candor to expiate,
a foggy atmosphere to rule your cause, to extinct,
all of your amulets, to kill your faith, and to bait..

..orderly alive images, placed upon this altar,
alive force, a flesh, to offer facial value indulged,
still dreamy power, as if your manhood is to falter,
this muse will submit, just to adhere so, to divulge.

She dances, as her jingling finger plates nightly ring
and ring, incursion of a deathly whiff, a drink of rye..
to sound a monotonous of Dervish siege and sing,

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Vrohi Tergestis (Greek poem)

BΡΟΧΗ ΤΕΡΓΕΣΤΗΣ

Τρόπος που βόρεια ξενυχτά, βροχή Τεργέστης,
Στους νόμους που μου γνέφουνε να ξαναζήσω,
βροχή μου λέει πως εκεί θα ξαναέρθεις,
στον ουρανό μου τη μορφή σου θ' αντικρύσω.

Αγάπη στη βροχή ψηλά, σύννεφο γκρίζο,
εσύ να με κοιτάς εκεί σε κάθε απόπλου,
Μικρές σταγόνες της ψυχής σου αυτό το λίγο
Ενός δευτερολέπτου αναλαμπή, βλέμμα του νότου.

Μικρές σταγόνες της ψυχής, βλέμμα του αέρα,
Βροχής καρδιά που έμαθε στοργές να υφαίνει,
Δικό σου γκρίζο τα' ουρανού για κάθε μέρα,
Αγάπη στην Τεργέστη ξενυχτά και ανασαίνει.

Ουράνια βροχή μου εσύ, γιορτή του ανέμου,
Μνήμες πολλές του Αττικού φροντιστηρίου,
Τεργέστη, μ' αγαπάς εκεί, σφύριγμα τραίνου,

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Catafractos

Coal - dark nomadic eyes, under an icy sky,
a steppe robust stallion of wild breed canters,
a blowing Boreas wind, a whipping drizzle,
form of a winter tundra's frost, white embrace..

Form to oblate his destiny on own volition,
only exception maybe, his higher challenge,
to overpass his fortified scold ambition,
to master in a Gods forsaken earth's edge.

A cavalry paid mercenary, a Pontian Scyth,
warrior of Byzantine deathly squadrons,
his aptitude close to Charon's duel myth,
a great honor is to be war-slain by sword!

Two wolves run by his side, ready to clash,
howl to infinity, Orthodox Crucifix contrite,
their obstinacy will redeem his sword's slash,
astute dark Charon will be a visitor to invite.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Digenis Acritas

Pursued fromward eastern directions I stand,
an aeriform of the dawn comes to annunciate,
dark soldiers close in, borders to infiltrate,
to overkill farmers and our lands to demand.

I stand upon black turf, damp from the rain,
unfaithful disorderly horde closes to border;
the peace of pasture subsides to onset order,
and the waving of steppe horses black mane.

I slaughter the attacking impertinent mortals,
benevolently I send them to warriors' terra;
Crimson spills onto Tagma Flags of Porphyra,
and my face to dissipate on spring's portals.

The flag waves crimson in dawn, and morning
rises innocent from some euphoric nostalgia,
forsooth bless of Mistral liturgy and eulogia,
the orderly kills of barbarians and mourning.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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