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Best Poems From
GIORGIO VENETO
(01-16-1970)
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117.
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Black Dove
Night-calls my mind deceive and feign,
refusal's written by your hand;
a sorceress spelled on this land
- rose blooms of loneliness are vain.
This poem was written by your hand,
and when your verses flowed in love;
your flight in light of a black dove,
became the road of life's demand.
You lifted us with songs to clouds,
where winds transported us beyond,
the hopes like late night birds abscond,
dispersed dim lights danced verses' sounds.
You held your bitterness with pride;
dance-shadows stepped a ghostly chasse,
how many dreams and time's sand glass,
turned silence to become my bride?
Giorgio Veneto
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118.
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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.
Apotheotic nacreous form, swan dive;
November of anamnesis, became,
Blance where were you when I was still alive?
Recall we were racing on Storrow Drive.
Giorgio Veneto
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119.
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Blest many days
Blest many days
Blest many days, I wore your cross,
dim lantern alleys, remote felt me,
content wishes - hopes to emboss,
in musing scripts of my ink blue sea.
In my files I was values unaltered,
ways of solitude and rhythmic waves,
an unworldly ode of notes clustered,
where prowess smiles from graves.
In these scripts I became a reason,
for pondering minds to express light,
in wars innumerate sheds of crimson,
where eligible Nymphs tend my rite.
And there Dryads smiled friendly,
so I became a verse and a rhyme;
we were in a far prairie, unworldly,
reflective icons of my loss, in time.
Giorgio Veneto
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120.
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Blue window
Night's acquired perfection and wind's shout
outside your blue window alone I stood,
my mind yielded to null - and crossed to doubt
- broken airplane model from balsa wood.
Foolish the daughters of the gusts - (some thought!) ,
came to escort sky's sovereign tears - clouds shed,
you fled above; sepia contrast - and naught,
in air the photograph adheres - my wed.
How the black vastness chose to die - (my soul!)
and in that dream I kiss your palms - and crave,
soul's longitudes that sing and lie - stand tall,
deep burns this solitude's realms - engrave.
In air suspending a newspaper folds
remote's her dance and vain message renders,
her insignificance my spirit holds,
before the blue window my thoughts menders.
Giorgio Veneto
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