When nothings wrong,
I dont write well.
I try and fail to think of a word besides 'filters' to describe the light coming through the wisteria leaves.
Soak up the light-filled air of the early morning,
And call this a day of few words.

Under the humid air
I sit, on my lofty rock and stare
as warm summer heat rises
I look toward the burning horizon

Butterflies dance by together,
enjoying the sultry August weather.
While nearby sprinklers twirl
and pinwheels whirl.

A breeze gently wisps across my skin
as birds fly by, weaving out and in.
Settling on a limb to rest and sing
before ruffling feathers and taking wing.

Bright with summer's flowers
Adorn my garden bower
with intoxicating smells
of magnolia, wisteria and bluebells

Some of August's simple treasures
brings the most delightful pleasures.


ALesiach © 07/26/2019

Sultry seduction softly spoken in strip clubs,
Cleansing carry-on and cut-away cult-goers,
Booming bandits and brass bullets,
All come together to assemble the assembly.

Wistful wisteria watch willfully
As animals adamantly attack one another,
As cold-cut, careless children caress carnivorous cameras,
And as pricey pigs pinch the pincers of pink pinpricks.

Chaos ensued among the anthill atheists,
Terror engulfed the residences of the Republicans,
Revolting ******* encompassed the demise of the Democrats,
And disgusting dissatisfaction destroyed the “don’t know, don’t do” dwellers.

Tell me, tag-along,
When does willful wanting win?
When does less lead to Ledbetter,
And when does more lead to maybe?

Tell me, strict stranger,
When will Time tell the talkers and tremblers to tune in?
Where should the preposterous and painfully patient people point their pain to?
Where should I left-handedly leave this letter?

Tell me, go-getter,
Will it ever feel better?

You can’t say that the sky is clear today,
its colour isn’t the one of the Wisteria either
and the golden light (which is intelligence)
comes from it as the background of one of the
Madonna with Child paintings by Duccio or Simone Martini.  
I can’t definitely say with certainty
that the sun melts  in the sea to the West,
(West/****) if you have never seen the sea.
The trembling singing of a bird fades
with the noisy traffic jam on the road.

*

POESIA 4:

Il cielo oggi non può dirsi limpido
e nemmeno che ha il colore del glicine
e che la luce d’oro (che è intelligenza)
scenda da esso come il fondo di una Madonna col Bambino
di Duccio o di Simone Martini.
Non posso certo affermare con sicurezza
che il sole si scioglie nel mare a occidente
(occidente/uccidente) se non hai mai visto il mare.
Il tremulo canto di un uccello si confonde
con il rumore del traffico sulla strada.

Mauve and purples,
flecked by light green,
the upside-down steeples,
are visited by the courtiers,
who enjoy communion over flagons of nectar,
and who have many rooms to visit,
this is their shimmering palace,
swaying lightly in the breeze