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Best Poems Written by Albino Mattioli

Below are the all-time best Albino Mattioli poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Thirst

Prostrated to such vastness,
unable to speak
I turned away
leaving fear standing
where I had come,
and the immense river entered
into those boundaries I had raised.

I watched the pale colors
wash away and disappear
as the water moved and swelled
and flooded all that was,
then the bells rang
the world awoke
with its insatiable thirst
that makes all beings irreparably mad.

I retraced my self back
to the perspiring
street and walked across
into the shade,
to disappear unnoticed
and silence became deep
with frightening familiarity.

I considered it to be just like
an abandoned mobile home
in Louisiana, where everything was left
as it was, to rot, to be dispersed
to bury a forsaken giggling past.

Wasn’t that a recurrence?
It’s funny how fallen into the trap,
I cut those knots and
all along let the blood drip 
to mark the narrow path
till dusk took over
and none was there 
for others to be seen.

I had eaten food
that makes your hunger grow,
and felt as I wore
a dress sown by death itself.
Along the filthy canal
a putrescent smell arose
and the penumbra made the gardens shine.

...That was an ordinary
evening on the Ganges’ shore
where I had brought my tiny lamp
to see the universe.

Details | Albino Mattioli Poem

Bicycle

The sun has centered me
into a fascinating glare,
humble reason
amongst simple people
no to be misplaced.

They carry a hidden regret,
that constant abstraction	
makes them survive
the unnamable decline,
those empty sentences devoid of meaning.  

Here I come into the rain
cast into a slander,
clusters of tiny colorful figures 
hastily are crossing the road 
taking shelter of crumpled roofs
ravaged, still living.

Ahead, I catch a narrow way 
through the raucous roar of the bus
a cavernous stomach
packed with bruised stares, 
exhausted and silent.

Never too far is the river
hiding his incumbency
behind the dilapidated architecture.

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Sold

Distant love, o silent mystic!
My petals are just made of rubber
and the sky is rusty blue.
How arrogant your degree has made you
have you lost or never had a sense of youth
the nerve to hold imploring hands?

A man walked naked on the crowded street, 
accompanied by a dissonant band 
trombones and drums made a blatant sound,
where he was going no one really cared. 
Ladies wore upon their chuckling heads
huge wigs of undulating grass 
the sinuous bodies graciously they moved,
a vision that was there indeed to end. 
My fragile feet are of clay, I am a giant of wet lands, 
my days abounds of joy dark and profound 
my life’s a carnival of rainbows and moving clouds
unadorned beehives behind the buzzing crowd,
arrays of shops are the backdrop of such stagnant show.
How can you hear me?
This chaotic circus has a deafening sound, 
just for few farthings myself I’ve sold 
now mad I dance and laugh, all covered with dust
an incantation no one can dispel.
Tell me about the bed you now lay on,
your welcoming crib and lonely songs you sing
these are not the cruel suburbs of Rome,
desperate mothers their addicted sons turned in
and fascists beat you, if didn’t like your clothes.
A great poet was mercilessly lynched 
on the same shore he had sang with fervent love.
So cursed we lost the sense of who we are
since then we live without identity,
a spell has made us all insane and dumb.
Certain things man dares to say or do
may cause irreversible dismay.
Are you sure you want to hear a joyous song?
Tell me? Can’t you really hear
the desperate cry of life? When times are dark
that’s when people are awake
and start to really appreciate their lives.

Details | Albino Mattioli Poem

The Bay of Boston

So did the leaves shivered 
at the breath of a sudden chill,
in the midst of
colorful hopes already drift
lovers fallen in the trap of illusion,
the same road awaits.

Montreal was cold and gray
and all those shops
incongruous
with spices and pungent smells
deceived us of where
we really were.

I have left you in such moldy flats
to spend the endless winter,
lone at your empty banquet
your enthusiasm
long before had vanished.

The sightseeing along
the highway
staged a melancholic show:
distant reds, yellows,
an agonizing greens
red, burgundy, into brown again.
A see-through of skeletons
the stretched trees implored
slowly sinking into apparent death.

I now look at the dense black water
of the ocean
washing needles ashore
while the unrelenting joy
of a clear day
stands behind newly built 
outstanding condos waiting.

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Obliquity

An afternoon sunlight
carried a shade of winter, 
an oblique sharp razor
that stretched my skin
and again I live, those northern seasons
with a feeling of deep intimacy,
the warmth addicts long for.

After the agony there is joy
resplendent as now
foretold  by the decadent 
song of my city,
sank and reborn from beneath
always, again and again
as water recedes from the river.

The choir of the stretched trees,
spreads an intense mantle of ochre
resplendent on the porous walls,
it resounds all along.
I saw your face sunk 
into the depth of an alley
your thin hands white as snow 
handing the dripping cold water.

I stood obviously embarrassed, 
my sight blurred, my eyes teared
I pretended to search the stacks of old books
for an appealing title
“None is yours” you have whispered,
freezing sound of truth.

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That Virginia

Cascades of chirping birds
pour down in colorful swarms 
while I walk the same clean roads 
you just walked yesterday.

A toy stuck in its mechanism
I religiously search 
Over and over, I vacuum
all areas of town.

Under the same sun that stroke me
in late mornings I see
the barren roofs’ skyline 
strawberry, lavender  and after mint tints.
A pale yellow pierces me deep in my heart
was it your tank top
or your beautiful arms.

I stroll down Virginia ave 
on sunny mornings alone, 
delinquent I burst blindfolded by light
and slide down the hill
as I did many times
of others’ working days the beauty I enjoy.

Out on my own with no one to play
I turn left on Monroe
with no signs of life
just quiet cars cruise by the lifeless row
of soft pastels townhouses’ emaciated tones.

I turn my eyes uphill to the traffic that speeds
I see butterflies drawn to the fire that kills
I admire the beauty and poison
of decadent flowers
who grow wild on Ponce to breathe air that’s sour . 

There is a tranquil simplicity
that here hides the crimes
and covers the tragedies of everyday life.
It’s hopeful monotony that makes us all numb
to live in a dream’s dissonance and charm.

Could be the architecture, the linear design 
the empty stores’ windows, the derelict beings?
This walk is a sample of our Southern lives
covered by dust and irreparable lies.

Details | Albino Mattioli Poem

Warwick

Yes, I was very much focused
driving up and down
those immense highways,
dressed as an Irish carpenter
with no proper clothes,
to face the harsh New England winter.

I had moved the hearts
of those construction workers
who gave me their coat
dipped in their own urine.
How grateful I still am,
going from state to state,
town to town
admiring the stillness
of the great
North American coast.