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Best Poems From
GIORGIO VENETO
(01-16-1970)
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17.
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Steppe Horses
Steppe horses gallop in the mists,
carrying the messages of war,
trumpets echo across the hills,
and holy men to Gods implore.
The harbinger reaches on glen,
an ex-guard's rock mountain bastion,
and begs the tough man in the den,
to save the village and the fort.
The guard's laughter, with dark alines,
the parrot on his wooden rack,
repeats six words that ghost-remind,
companions killed, lost souls, way back.
'The souls possess martyrdom's knoll'.
he croaks as dark descends like quilt,
The guard stands up with eyes of coal,
barbaric fires on plain are lit.
'Your spell of news appears coerced, '
behind hearth's glow, argued the guard,
'all these details make a discourse,
and guiltiness my soul scarred.'
'On these mountains, next to the clouds,
none is to blame, and none will gain,
deep faith relies on firm surrounds,
and sinful pasts were burned in flame.'
Behind the fort's notches the lords,
gaze at the fires, on saddles tall,
the steppe stallions impatient snort,
while women and children depart.
From mountain tall descends the brave,
holding the Byzantine dual axe,
transforms their camp to final grave,
gathers barbaric corpses' stacks.
Along with him invade the ghosts,
slept nuptial grooms of mountain raids,
swaying the swords without remorse,
the horde of Hell is cut by blade.
Behind the fort's notches the lords,
hark to the distant sounds of hoofs,
the winds from East carry hoarse calls,
as Demons ride with arms and dogs.
Giorgio Veneto
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18.
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Ten And Eleven
Here she comes, a flower of the field,
describing glory of the Spring to bloom,
while at noon, when all shadows yield,
light is bright as in ether, love looms.
Here she comes, beloved lines in light;
so as to caress my vision, and to smile,
In an elysian field her grace will ignite,
my confessions as to extend forthright.
She is my call when rose flowers blend,
so I respond in lyrics of heavens music;
perchance an ode will extend and mend,
old wounds and scars, with this acoustic.
An ode lifts our encounter to heavens,
amid field flowers, with love to attune,
a bouquet of roses red, ten and eleven,
gallivants noon-this twenty first of June.
Giorgio Veneto
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19.
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The Warrior's End
Construction debris loaded truck slow rolled,
on empty street he walked drunk and well fed
but like a curse that rages uncontrolled,
a falling rock hard hit his genius head.
He fell inside the freshly deep dug ditch,
and some illusion crossed his simple mind;
a soldier was in world war one - some glitch,
but he believed it and addressed it kind!
The bright trajectories of missiles searched,
for his protruded to the airs behind,
that's why he ducked his head although farfetched,
convinced he was that his behind aligned.
The 'Warrior's End' some named this ditch dug land,
where stalwarts ducked inside it like ostrich,
stouthearted' stance with their behinds' firm stand,
would thus confront any bad threat of Reich!
A red dressed gypsy danced because he left,
to join the horror of world wars in ditch,
with his protruding round behind bereft,
the gypsy girl danced in his drunk mind's glitch.
A round new rock jumped from another truck,
as he wide eyed did search to distinguish,
if war had ended - the falling rock struck,
his head to make him mumble in Tiddlish.
Giorgio Veneto
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20.
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Translation: Elytis 1
It doesn't matter how one attends,
or how after it he goes fervent,
always, always will approach the end,
a second life won't flow in current.
?s? ?? a? ?a?e?? p??s??e?
?s? ?? a? t? ??????
p??ta, p??ta ?a ‘?a? a???
de?te?? ??? de? ??e?.
Giorgio Veneto
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