Italian Poems - Poems about Italian

intermediate truths will do for now involving dissolution of ego staid stillness reveals what mind cannot know by direct touch, God wisdom does endow kundalini rises if we allow whence sailing in the boat which God does row spirit repays debts of love which we owe clear sight’s bestowed when to His will we bow ego vaporises yet we remain we as living...

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I’d say I know my partner pretty well: She’s cool, so smooth, and outshines every light? that merely grazes her—O’! what a sight! If just that you could see what I can’t tell! My partner is that holy, hallowed well!— A muse and martyr, wisp and wanton sprite, if you could catch an honest glimpse, you might then think I’ll...

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Like tufts of cotton colored red and rosy And scattered through the baby sky at light Eve’, twilight clouds are whirling around the white moon, orbiting their spoke, all lush and lazy; Or strands of cloth sent fluttering a’mosey through late afternoon drowsying near night, and circling about, like crimson kites in flight, a beaming moon, swirling afloat and hazy; The heavens,...

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Friend, Silence listens,—every thought we think, each new feeling which soundless trickles by, the twinge of untold pain, the snuck-in sigh, are registered within the margin’s ink Friend, Silence listens (better than your shrink),— in worries sunken deep below the “I”, the subterranean soul, the scrying spy, dutifully encodes each missing link.— Observe the...

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A lunar luster spills a silvershine cascade of nebulating moonshine lilt onto a night-time field, drawing a quilt of pale radiance over the still vine. A myriad of glowing serpentine twines sleep.—but, slithering round its stout stilt, a wakeless plant is working out its tilt.— It’s fruit will not be ripe enough for wine. So see I, amidst the flourishing grape, the withering...

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Drawing in energies in our heart’s core, the manifest universe disappears, yet each soul within exists without fears, having seen this epiphany before. Poised in the void, ready for an encore, intent of spontaneity appears, whence we exhale, applauded by loud cheers, making kinetic life, since heart seeks more. Breathing in and out, we thus go about, driven by an impulse flowing from God, love...

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Just how long does a steaming lobster sob? How terribly do boiling limbs and guts burn? Like a million simultaneous cuts? When does its sweltering heart cease to throb? On who’s authority do humans rob that creature of its life? Have we the rights? —the rights to cook a living being? Nights, (countless), have I questioned this brutish...

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You may—I might—theywill—some ‘won’t’—just say: “Living’s a walnut begging to be cracked!” And if-or when-but why-sosoon-the impact of such a soundstatement will hardly weigh? on the forget- fret- fear-ful kind of gray dispositions who dwell on the abstract (no)tion of (this)regard or a(n/a)tacked self sobbing in the corner of the day.— Re—again—jected once one final more, such spirits spurn the sense ‘security’, to cling...

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I need a break, a minute’s breath of space; The furious tempo driving me along, a fussy temper, fervent all day long to strive, stress, toil, scramble to keep the pace— —the pace of a spent poet keeping face;— enough to numb a hand that once inked strong words, and made paper sound loud as a gong.— and what a base...

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A sudden darkness veiled the world below. Luna was defused by a shadowed sky, giving cause for Earth to be wrought with woe. Something strange caused the night to go awry as a shroud covered moonlight's golden glow. My pulse quickened at the phenomenon. I inhaled the floral scent of roses. Snowflakes drifted over garden and lawn. Like a fairytale that one composes, it...

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O’ fluid friend,— —O’ liquid lover, please embrace me, soothe my sootheless, stranded soul—, —caress my restless thoughts, and set them still.— O’ sap of spirit,— —sweet sip of ambrose! O’ potent potion,— —O’ magic mixture, daze me, dazzle me, nuzzle me, numb my frill fringes |—...

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Within a crack in grisly clouds one night I briefly glimpsed the redish-orange hue of the Australian desert poking through— pillars of bunched up puffs, in the colored light of a sleepy sun’s rosy rays,—and the might of such a sight struck my soul’s drowsy blue. So suddenly my heavy spirit flew like a falcon to that unequaled height. And soon returning...

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The argument of silence, absonant, hammers into the pliant mind it’s hard nails of craving.—a spirit thusly marred will yield to any prickle, every scant pressure to give in.—once the foreign implant is firmly riveted, a brain so jarred can no longer trust its levies to guard its thoughts against the inner, speechless “can’t”. Quietudes disturb the peace of silent folk, pounding its forceful...

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Why Poetry? she muses, sat in front of paper, staring blankly, lifelessly at her image.— and really…, who is she to ask the page—in a manner so blunt— to shoulder her excesses? such a stunt surely exceeds the bounds of decency; Soliciting a perfect effigy, she risks paying her Muses high affront.— Still, she dares,—and dares she bold and willing to strike strokes of black...

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When we’re at peace, God’s light engulfs our chest, on top of our head, He places His hand, this epiphany dawning on demand, divine gifts of grace, for which we feel blessed. Employing free will, we ask thoughts to rest, that drenched in bliss mists, soul may understand, God’s omnipresence as we make our stand, in our heart’s cave, where light of...

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