#vienna
cold summer recalls winter warmth,
candles every memory that was,
illuminates every memory to be.
as late as Romanian trains,
Happy New Year's Eve flew,
fallen, self-invited DraconiaN, figures.
as early as human traces,
sad old life's dawn landed,
risen, welcomed serenian, reflections.
as eternal as love echoes,
statornic now, time friends stop,
most dead feel life most.
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 6:41 PM UTC
Season of the Snake
on the mountains of the Moon .
We ride on the wind
like vagabond drifters and are
lovers of inter-dimensional time
☆
Across three civilisations
and tortured dark centuries in
between ,
from the reign of Queen
Hatshepsut
and in the time of Tiberius
Caesar
when Satan himself was
delighted and then deceived .
☆
We saw the Great Plague of Vienna
in the year of our lord 1679 .
Then , slowly moving west
toward Paris and the eighteenth century ,
we would lay dreaming
of hermetic clockwork and love.
☆
But it was back in Old Vienna ,
surrounded by pestilence and
death ,
you became a being of light ,
in the Hospice of the Brothers
of the Holy Trinity ,
A pulsating emerald aurora ,
and I remembered how much I loved you .
Sep 20, 2024
Sep 20, 2024 at 4:18 AM UTC
“Pages of my life sealed inside a book
like bookends at a fairground
holding steady until the rider mounts;
Still unwritten not yet ready to wear,
this garmented padded book of tales
isn't finished yet”
~~~
from
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4871833/sewn-to-the-pages-of-my-life/
by
Vienna's Bombardieri
~~~~~
it is not a total rarity,
but not an impossiblty,
that one of yours
scripts feels
that it has been ripped
from mine eyes,
necessitating a gasping grasping of me as
if her Vienna words,
like stout hands,
squeeze my already
constricted throat to close in entirety
near ceasing my breathing
<>
for the writing comes easy,
add a page daily, sewing neat stitches,
smooth connecting linear designs
but the book
never finishes, and Wonder
if this unending is
a knelling death mark of Cain,
that my mythology resonates,
boasts of no resolution
this possibility previous unconsidered
now seen as a likely vision
and do not comprehend how to
feel
becoming
a page in a book,
to attic directed,
boxed for the
eventuality of removal by the
1-800-GOT-JUNK
a very busy institution
and put my shriveled fingertips down
in contemplation of
my erasure
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 12:38 PM UTC
<>
**”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light
Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”**
~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)
<>
First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,
at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee
it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue
simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul
here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
your bullet of hate
shot in our infected heart
as it lay wide open
longing for true compassion
united we stand
bleeding the saltiest tears
crying over those
you have brutally taken from us
you will not win
we will not be divided
we are warriors
our holsters overflowing with love
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC
Body clock set to Vienna day trips,
walks atop the white cliffs of Dover,
avoiding sunburn in Roman forums -
only here it's flexed bare chests,
belly buttons pierce snail trail hair,
while tattoos sweat through skin.
Discount ***** hangs on booming breath,
headache-inducing marijuana stench
crawls up nostrils from inside pockets
like a chef advertising to the streets
via an air vent. Craving cartoon fantasy -
empathy in the world, even for humidity,
as we wait for a break in proceedings,
I pray the thunderstorms bring fresh relief.
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 11:34 AM UTC
~ per la bombardiera italiana di Vienna~
you want a poem of (a)side dishes, instead of a main,
you prefer a side vent, instead of a main event,
but always commence at the commencement ending,
another day begs for the first poem of the day (FPoTD)
the sky produces another hue, a whitish blue,
with violet shadings, majestic clouds slow moving,
heading north, Northwest by North(NWbN)
to New England, onto Toronto, then west to B.C.
but me won’t be there for that new course correction
sent some messengers your way, umpteen Canadian
snowbird geese, returning home, Florida too **** hot,
hurricanes not to their liking, quite the sight, brave old
man in dracula cape-flapping bathrobe, clapping and heehawing them intruders into the bay waters, off his land, their partying
in my no-noise motel against a law, not to mention their
empties and plentiful droppings, but I side vent digress
from where this Mariner’s tale began, but the mental alarm
signals seven bells, return to port, now a mess mate, inside,
delivering coffee in white china teacups to the Captainess,
who in time of war makes tremendous sacrifices, par example,
who due to the pandemic, graciously deigns, accepts paper(!)
napkins, a sign of the gravity of the times, no ironing!*
god, I do not understand how you do it, vast eternal patience,
every way, every day, a new shade, you musta been an art major,
or very bored, either way, this goose chasing, cook, exterminator,
driver, poetry-writing no-maven son of a Canadian woman, is
your devotee, morning glory audience, who accepts your sky tapestry, your cloud interweaving laddering, with humble gratitude, a still life never stilled, my eyes, my tongue sings your praises like King David, and that other court-appointed Canadian psalmist^ who understood, conversing with you is where all hallelujah poem songs main event must begin, fiddle middle, and perforce must conclude, that! the! main event
everything else just a side event, a side venting, a prayer-in waiting,
a get-in-line for another paradise, where poets play cards, smoke see-gars, checking their stockings for runs and new poem ideas, word worshipping the gifts of existence, a child’s ice cream dotted nose, a body’s curves, but I digress...he LoL’s to himself, wondering why his eyes are tearing...as usual, he is clueless, the last to know, but the first to weep because the winter is coming, yet again, a sky will be less frequent friendly, but the know-nothing-man will digress yet again, once more unto the breach...
2020
8:18am
Sat Sabbath Aug 29
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 8:37 AM UTC
The horse breathes in the city, the world of unrelenting pistons
And steam from the jingling harness, and the jangling windows
That reflect the bolting sparrows like fire arrows in the coming night,
Viennese darkness is like the smell of the chocolatier mixed with snow,
Sealed in a sachertorte with the alley-crack of the riding whip on coach,
Viennese sunshine is like the baker’s soul, rising on flashing coppers and tins.
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 9:25 PM UTC
The smell of mahogany
as you walked through
those white wooden doors
and the dried lavender
that spoke of summers past.
She raved about the art deco
treasures and wonders she
collected and I was mesmerised
by the ancient modernity
sugar crystals of brown and gold
were put into darjeeling tea
next to collections
of handmade theatre masks
hung among portraits of
a younger blonde girl.
The sounds of a stormy night
as we sat eating some
honey roasted almonds
were a rhapsody to us at candlelight
I wanted to sketch her antiques
and add them to the
painting filled walls
one of them I found
was an old typewriter
a Mercedes that her mother had
found discarded in a dump
she didn’t know if it worked
and so gave me some ivory paper
now I sit with the lace tablecloth
by the window to the
evening street below
cars pass with the softest breeze
and I write of summers past.
Nov 8, 2019
Nov 8, 2019 at 9:35 AM UTC
Autumn was an old Viennese street held up in sacrifice to the sky,
With burnt-song offerings that still see through the clouds, as they see through you.
His was cobbler craft of reed-winded flame for the foot in tune,
Amid the outsnuffed shopkeepers’ lights and the candlesmoke of midnight hours,
Pulsing above the inner heart of the Ringstrasse
Of brass signs and paving stones, misted and mute.
His was the candelabra of wick-notes
Wanded through the windowed rooms of forested night.
His were those woods filled with doorways, bookcases, and stairs
And everything dim and warm with people, no longer there.
*********
The winter sunlight played across the keyboard of crypted windows,
And in the muted under-roofs of ice and snow,
On one window, like a hand in whole rest,
The caramelized glass swallowed the flame-image of the stray redbird
And the black carriage wheels that passed.
In the long hallway of the Viennese flat,
One candle remained lit in the mouth of song.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
Open the door
Enter the time that lapsed
Draw out the curtains
There is light from the past
Breathe the air
Dance to the tunes slow and fast
Ride the carriages
Travel to the time of chance
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
He passed away in 1791,
aged thirty five.
He never saw a car,
never heard a noise of a machine.
His lungs never breathed a smog.
He didn't wait
for the industrial revolution,
wild capitalism and their awful
consequences.
He left much earlier,
saving his senses
from the ugliness of the world,
from the unpleasant times,
which were soon to come.
He didn't die,
he only withdrew
from
the end of the world.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Take me to Vienna where the music walks.
Where the buildings invite you to sit,
And accompany them for a cup of melange.
Where the many palace gardens have jovial pique-niques,
With their bikes resting by the trees.
Take me to Vienna where life ebbs out
Where the past lives on,
And composers wave out the windows.
Take me to Klimt's golden city,
The city where even the grey Donau is welcoming.
Take me to Vienna and don't take me back.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:05 AM UTC
Surround us in white light so that we may be your eternal servants of good
Temptation is pervasive as we remember what we should
Intend our curiosity
Empower creativity
Deliver us from evil
so we may live eternally
Amen
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
on the night train to Vienna I dreamt
as the soft tangerine light bled into the windows,
tumbling down infinities of Italian countryside
absorbing into my retinas in summer shades
of dusk-colored haze
entranced I was--
a nervous girl of sixteen years,
uncharted valleys sprawling ceaselessly
at the beds of my fingers,
love languages my tongue could not yet
stretch its fibers around
freedom forming its hunched silhouette
just outside of thin glass windows
cooled by the night’s apprehensive breeze
endless, it seemed
the rumbling blur of possibilities--
my hands sedated for the first time in years.
quietly existing in the jolt of a moving cab,
the subtle ricochet through the faint lamppost glow
of fragile Austrian dreams.
home-- four thousand and forever miles away
and yet here was fine, just fine
a girl with stringy hair and a steaming cup
of midnight European tea
as her mother sighed to herself in the
peak of her American afternoon,
wondering whether her baby had found sleep
in someone else’s morning.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
Mother threw me away
****** me in and spit me out
The pavement still tastes like your thighs
Like bubble gum underneath the chemistry table
Where I first held hands with
Some other girl I loved
Not knowing her reaction but
We burned flowers cut with kitchen knives.
I woke up to ashes lining my breakfast
Tongue thick with Amaryllis
Thinking if God asks you my name
Say serpent,
Say hello —
A disaster of two elements
You and me
If we combined
Our neon wrists.
Does Ares care about
How I touch you, with the lights off
You tell me the walls
Already know
What I do with my wolf teeth
And your caffeinated bellybutton,
They find you in three nights.
Rebirth is not as kind
To my combusting spine, replace
Ghost sin with your birth right
Jacob’s carnage
I paid for with eyelashes,
Long glances — my dignity
Wrapped in ****** white, and impotent boy skin
Becomes a coffin.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
(Scene by the brook)
He came seeking solace to Heiligenstadt
and walked alone by its crystal stream
welcomed by songs the nightingale taught.
Its cheerful waters made Vienna seem
a distant, cool and forbidding stage
where few would embrace a pastoral dream.
He dotted his sketchbooks on every page
with earthen tones born of peasant heart -
(though fare rich enough for any age) .
He poured from the stream the fiddle part,
and woodwinds sang with the birds in the dell -
all "choired" together by his masterful art.
At Heiligenstadt Beethoven attended well
and bequeathed us his golden 'Pastorale.'
July, 2006
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
Little child, be not afraid
The rain pounds harsh against the glass
Like an unwanted stranger
There is no danger
I am here tonight
Little child
Be not afraid
Though thunder explodes
And lightning flash
Illuminates your tearstained face
I am here tonight
And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forests and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning
Little child
Be not afraid
The storm clouds mask your beloved moon
And its candlelight beams
Still keep pleasant dreams
I am here tonight
Little child
Be not afraid
The wind makes creatures of our trees
And the branches to hands
They're not real, understand
And I am here tonight
And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forest and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning
For you know, once even I
Was a little child
And I was afraid
But a gentle someone always came
To dry all my tears
Trade sweet sleep the fears
And to give a kiss goodnight
Well, now I am grown
And these years have shown
Rain's a part of how life goes
But it's dark and it's late
So I'll hold you and wait
'til your frightened eyes do close
And I hope that you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forests and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning
Everything's fine in the morning
The rain will be gone in the morning
But I'll still be here in the morning
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC