Deathwalk
It was November of the mourn
In shootouts challenged life but worn,
the lines of worriness on brow.
Holding a smoke, his lonely being,
his hands steady on deathly sin,
in all gunfights, he had to draw.
And he was fast, ever so fast,
as both his hands suddenly flashed,
with sixes' thunderous echo.
Twas noon, he stood on same deathwalk,
devil of dust and the gunsmoke,
dry winds in Tombstone derecho.
Instinctively ejected shells,
replaced bullets, some rung the bells,
- unfavorable her eyes amber.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Sacred Band II
Valor hails proud souls,
begotten from blue sky,
spirits amidst eagles fly,
advancing blade's calls.
War sanctuary receives,
Four Eons of sacrifice,
Styx throttles an excise,
steel Byzantine greaves.
Their wary eyes aggress,
odd souls to harbor life,
youth's conceived strife,
to glorious fight egress.
Hands tight on sword grip,
when valor starts to slay,
blood drops mix in clay,
as wrath of gods to drip.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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First Sorrow
Unknown face that you clearly see,
while the night hides the apparition;
Hands outstretched, waves on a quay,
caress your grimace with contrition.
Gifts of the air now define your life,
you have escaped in the morning mists,
Sunday afternoon cuts you like a knife,
Or maybe you answered to the winds?
Suns you transformed to rain oracles,
in airy corridors amid winds blither,
distant stars of solitude and miracles
where your Sundays in coldness dither.
Twas when you packed your own response,
- the roar of the sea, a tear to borrow;
you lifted choices to become ensconced,
- you were of your first life, prime sorrow.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Bronze fog bell
Acclaimed invite - the bronze fog bell,
in mid damp air, black was the ship,
revengeful diktat and dark spell,
the ghost ship floats to send its knell
(dimensions odd - vectors of wield) ,
attract to ship where doors are sealed,
false worlds invite with dusk's befall,
doomed spell avers my crimson spilled.
The nimbus deign and winds beseech,
sea men confreres; as night darkens,
lost ghosts from depths attempt to reach,
the trips to ports that minds bewitch,
denounced their scopes and goals ardened,
my soul will flirt with truths discord'nt,
the drops of red the clouds besiege,
ship's descant curse of Had's accordm'nt
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Inactive Souls
Capitulum of thorns on marble values
wisdom is crucified for rogues' cues,
disbanded logic's theory, dour moons,
heretics' repulsive and stealthy tunes.
Void of knowledge in wrongful sheer,
actions unjust in damnation to adhere,
invalid servants of asmodeus, and hell,
Inactive souls in confusion shall dwell;
Never worship light's angels or gods,
unspirited to serve self centered odds,
with lack of ideology, a foolish scathe,
empathy of mental plague, blood bathe.
Equality was abused, based in numbers,
always one glowering excuse slumbers,
as freedom enslaved by fool fanatics,
beguiled perspective of logic's statics.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Dot white sea-gulls
The ship floats apt to bear up round,
our crew of nine, lace on bonnets,
the Mistral conds the ship abound,
arcane new shores lay to astound,
and nine sea nymphs from ocean depths,
we hope to find new views of breadth,
and Mistral blows to dreams confound
the sails distend with hopes well set.
Dot white sea-gulls peculiar circle,
foretelling that the land is near,
the crew starts boisterous to hurtle,
laughingly sing as scents nice herb'l,
affect our senses and cheers peart,
resplendent maids on sunshine vern'l,
of years before in blooms and kirtles,
predestined om'ns are commandeers,
the nymphs invite amid the myrtles.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Arachne
This is the tale or yarn of one she lures,
below red moon, uncouth, crude sins she fits;
his tarantism he assayed through dance to cure;
Guiled and obliged to her appeals, submits.
Unsure, fair bride, her urge in webs will hide
foolhardy blind, his blood her bite enven'ms;
her soul's eight eyes, his self condemned deride,
Arachne's sense surrounds unlovely phen'ms.
Alarmed, honed instincts act, to deathly cause
recounts his midnight bride, splendid and belle!
Seduced and swayed by horrifying applause;
grotesque her curse, to impose the tarantell'.
Through centuries will dance bedeviled for
............her detrimental need to enamor.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Call Me My Love
I invite your form amid the deck winds,
I hear your voice up in clouds to delve,
'hold me my love as tidal waves engulf,
and gray dusk descends on ripe fields.'
In our lightless home a coldness casts,
shapes of time laugh near the hearth,
much a void resembles above my berth,
your eyes' stare at my departing masts.
A faint call as I stand upon the bridge,
alludes to me melodious words to ravel,
'call me my love out my sadden garden,
when sun sets, behind a distant ridge.'
'Call when streams oppose your routes,
with sacred love and bonds I 'll regale,
when winds my words carry to gunwale,
transform my verses to notes of flutes.'
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Beyond that ridge
Why do you keep your staring
beyond that ridge my loved,
where sun descended bearing,
field blooms of thistles mauve?
It was their icon that stayed,
to keep you company my loved,
where the light breeze payed
our toll to shining stars above.
It was a dark warmth of night
To embrace us then, my loved,
when the owls remotely cried,
for our undued domain halved.
.........................
O ur spirits appear at one a.m.
repeating a careless laughter,
daffodils fade and their stems,
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Yew Sun
Yew sun! In my dreams, like only a few.
maybe two... But yew will have a place
to be respected in a plain barren, a dew
dropp will dropp and stop me in her embrace.
Sun amidst soiled fingers, dried, ecstatic
like a sarcastic notion of drought, slow
redeem of moist mostly of time elastic
on these primeval criteria of torment glow.
Remembrances of wind's caress fair
of strives in a mandragora field treen
Yew will recall of my lives passing there
an open box of dreams that trace green.
Dry lands will always adore me, a sense lost
trace, a kind lace... My adamant waste
to a yew sun barren face, thorny crowns most
will crown thorns inspire a poets taste?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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