"salvare" poems
IF I could have stopped you.
I would have jumped in my car, raced to Hohenwald, and slung gravel as I sped down your driveway, braked fiercely to stop inches from that guest house, and fly out from the inside of my car, screaming, "Don't do it! I'm here, Uncle Brandon! I love you! We all love you! "
I would have ran up the cedar steps, kicked the door in with my foot, and yelled as loud as I could until you answered me.
No matter how many times I yell at your headstone, you never answer me.
You were a cowboy, traveling all over the country, and seeing sights that many would never witness in their lifetime.
You had broken every bone in your body twice
you had a sense of humor
intelligent (two degrees), both in English and Teaching.
You had dreams of being a lawyer and
a college professor.
Only you were a cowboy first.
You loved to ride, and you loved with a heart bigger than Montana sky.
I wish you had not left.
I miss seeing your dark brown matted hair, peeking from beneath your torn, curved cowboy hat as you tipped it at me, with a wink, adding, "See you when the wind changes"
You were a poet.
I think of you when I write, and part of me still blames myself for not telling anyone about seeing you at my work that night. You looked awful and I knew something was wrong, but I didn't say anything--I have no clue why.
You loved life, why did you leave?
You had love, why did you look?
We were your family, why did you leave?
I shouldn't be typing this
You are dead.
The world lost a true cowboy.
A man that lived by the sweat of his brow, and the dirt on his clothes.
I would have stopped you. I would have grabbed that gun, and hugged you for the longest time, and then I would have saddled up your horse and one for me.
Then the four of us would trot along to the highest hill we could find, and I would watch the sun move across the sky, and tell you that every sunset of every day is always different, so you don't need to miss a single one.
Uncle Brandons last poem
Im riding. Riding this way is like playing a finely tuned instrument, at times delicate, at other times powerful... The true artist can play with equal dexterity a soft ballad or a crashing march.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Uno sguardo ,due anime perdute ,
Un solo attimo per riportarle a galla !
Gli occhi di lei…
Gli occhi di lui …
Una sola anima ormai !
Lui, forte creatura leggendaria dal spasimato passato
si sente fragile e impotente come mai prima.
Le lacrime di lei colpiscono più di mille *****
e il sorriso …oh! Il sorriso , non li dà gioia…no,
perché è il sorriso di lei la ragione della tua esistenza ,
non più la Terra a tenerlo fermo ,ma l’esistenza di lei.
Lo sguardo di lui che colpisce gli occhi di lei fa invidia anche al sole:
dolce, sereno, colmo di un eterno e sconfinato amore
che gli fa perdere il senso della vita e della persona,
quel amore che è l’unica cosa a poterlo salvare
dal suo lurido destino e strapparlo dalle grinfie della solitudine!
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
Listening to the night angels in the sky,
Porcelain as every joy from the universe,
Flowers of eternity always surrounding them.
Time heal broken hearts,
By vast velvet magic of yesterday's young.
She explores life's poison,
Sad father did worry and never smiled.
Lingering peace go after daughter,
And wake her from decay.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
sono l'autostrada che hai paura di percorrere, quella che i tuoi genitori ti vietavano di fare appena presa la patente, quella dove ogni giorno si fa un incidente.
parlo di ciò che sono per evitare di dire ciò che non sono, mai provata l'ebbrezza di riuscire a salvare qualcuno.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
Bell tower
against the afternoon sky
and the tolling of bells
for the office of None,
Domine *****
mea aperies,
the sun in the church
through high windows
pouring in the light
and we stood
chanting in Latin,
siamo come Dio
ci ha fatti
said the Italian monk
as he aided me
in the sacristy,
see I am as Eve
come enter my valley
she said and I obliged,
pray as if everything
depended on God
but work as if everything
depended on you
said Augustine(saint),
the feel of the rope
between hands
as we pulled down
to toll bells
for the office of Sext
George smiling
and I too,
Dieu se trouve dans
le silence the French monks said
as we walked
the abbey woodland
after lunch and birds sang
from high trees,
she peeled down her clothes
and revealed her soft fruit
partake she said,
Hugh stood in the shade
arms folded
gazing at the tree
in the garth
and the fruit it bore
still unpicked,
I polished the choir stalls
with a yellow duster
and red polish
the smell mingled
with incense
from mass that morning,
sprechen mit Gott
the Austrian monk said
as we walked
from the chapter house
one early evening
and I did but
was he listening?
I wondered,
perfect numbers are like
perfect men they
are very rare Gareth
said quoting Descartes
as we washed up
after supper
in the small room
by the kitchen,
my husband will never know
she said if you want to,
Deus qui possit ita
salvare te,
but I closed my ears
and even in the dark hours
I saw little light,
and I closed the shutters
to the departing day
and gazed at the Crucified
on the wall
above my bed
but small connection
to Christ in my head.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC