"subito" poems
Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation
If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation
An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation
Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes
The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes
Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time
Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
NA KS. DRA HAB. NATANKA W GRZECHYNI MUSZELKI 52 OKTAWY DWIE VON STEFAN KOSIEWSKI Studia Slavica et Khazarica XXI Prolegomena do Niebopolityki PANDEMIA PSYCHOZY Zniweczona Rzeczywistość Zarys Estetyki Chazarów Fascynacja Obłędem
I
Czy Arcybiskup Krakowa Jędraszewski żydoską babkę Wojtyły
z domu Szulc wyniesie na ołtarze Kościoła Rzymskokatolickiego
za rodzicami Santo Subito Lolka przez tzw. populus Romanus
ludzi siatki ojca Hejmo w ramach działań operacyjnych SB?
Czy ważne święcenia kapłańskie ma Jędraszewski od kropienia
wodą święconą żeliwnych klap kanalizacyjnych w mieście Łodzi?
Czy uchodzi, by cudownie rozmnażane przez Dziwisza relikwie
zachowały ważność do usranej śmierci, jeśli gówno przychodzi
II
Kubicy w sporcie z przedmiotów szamańskich nie posiadających
nawet mocy placebo, bez wiary w modlitwę księży i biskupów
Episkopatu Polski, którzy w porze Pandemii CORONA ograniczają
liczbę członków Rodziny Góralskiej na Mszy św. za Ojczyznę?
PS. Nie licząc przychodów Kubicy pochodzących z dofinansowania
amatorskiej aktywności państwowymi dotacjami Morawieckiego
hojną ręką słupa Obajtka w PKN ORLEN, jak poseł Kaczyński nie
zalicza do Rejestru Korzyści obstawy i kierowców biseksualnych.
https://sowafee.jimdofree.com/2020/03/15/na-ks-dra-hab-natanka-w-grzechyni-oktawy-dwie-m52-von-stefan-kosiewski-ssetkh-pdnxxi/
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 4:31 AM UTC
E subito riprende
il viaggio
come
dopo il naufragio
un superstite
lupo di mare.
1.1k
Erano i capei d'oro a l'aura sparsi
che'n mille dolci nodi gli avolgea,
e'l vago lume oltra misura ardea
di quei begli occhi, ch'or ne son si scarsi;
e il viso di pietosi color'farsi,
non so se vero o falso, mi parea:
i'che l'esca amorosa al petto avea,
qual meraviglia se di subito arsi?
Non era l'andar suo cosa mortale,
ma d'angelica forma, e le parole
sonavan altro, che pur voce umana.
Uno spirito celeste, un viso sole
fu quel ch'i'vidi; e se non fosse or tale,
piaga per allentar d'arco non sana.
1.2k
my maestro, how do you -
with your baton - keep the
pulse of my heart aching
for the broad gestures your
open arms insinuate?
tell me wholly, how you -
with your hands - conjure
in me an anthem con brio,
then throw me subito doloroso
and even so, never losing
your scherzando.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
(Theme, Variations, and Coda)
Theme – Andante sognante
I dreamed last night...
It was a dream
Like one I've had before
Variations on a theme
My colleagues standing at my door
Guitarists all, I bid them in
And soon it's time to play
My teacher first, each one in turn
They play the night away
Var. 1- Agitato
But as they play I look around
For my guitar is gone
I look and look but cannot find
Then comes my time... “I can't go on!”
This is absurd. How can I play?
(What? Did I hide it by design?
Is this my “out” as light breaks day,
An ironclad alibi?)
“I can't perform, no, not today.
I'll have to play another time.”
Var. 2 – Appassionato
My time has come, and there I sit
With my guitar in hand
And wonder what the hell to play
My mind a porous shifting sand
Completely unprepared I sit
And pray for intervention
I make up some simplistic ****
And play it with “emotion”
Var. 3 – Allegro con brio e subito calamitoso
This time round, it's different
I really want to play.
I'm ready, I'm inspired!
I'll play till break of day
I'll show them what I'm made of
They'll marvel and they'll cry
But my guitar just falls apart
“What? Why now? Why? WHY?”
The neck breaks off, the body splits,
the strings are hanging limply
I'm foiled again, I cannot play
I'm ******* (to put it simply)
Coda - Andantino Contemplativo
What does it mean, this silly dream
This wild subconscious spectre?
What nourishment for soul to glean
From such netherworldly nectar?
Hmmm...
I think that I should spend more time
With hands on wood and string
To reconnect with touch and sound
To let my veiled heart sing
To feel, and set those feelings free
Catharsis, true release
My sheepish nature put to bed
My denigration now to cease
For I have something bold to say
Now my true voice is ready
I'll sing again through wood and string
Rich and full and steady
Alive with truths that transcend words
Ego now at bay
Connecting with the universe
It's time for me to play
Fine
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
Si ferma, e già fischia, ed insieme,
tra il ferreo strepito del treno,
si sente una squilla che geme,
là da un paesello sereno,
paesello lungo la via:
Ave Maria...
Un poco, tra l'ansia crescente
della nera vaporiera,
l'addio della sera si sente
seguire come una preghiera,
seguire il treno che s'avvia:
Ave Maria...
E, come se voglia e non voglia,
il treno nel partir vacilla:
quel suono ci chiama alla soglia
e alla lampada che brilla,
nella casa, ch'è una badia:
Ave Maria...
Il padre a quel suono rincasa
facendo un passo ad ogni tocco;
e subito all'uscio di casa
trova il visino del suo cocco,
del più piccino che ci sia...
Ave Maria...
Si chiude, la casa; e s'appanna
d'un tratto il vocerìo che c'è;
si chiude, ristringe, accapanna,
per parlare tra sé e sé;
e saluta la compagnia...
Ave Maria...
O, tinta d'un lieve rossore,
casina che sorridi al sole!
Per noi c'è la notte con l'ore
lunghe lunghe, con l'ore sole,
con l'ore di malinconia...
Ave Maria...
Il treno già vola e ci porta
sbuffando l'alito di fuoco;
e ancora nell'aria più smorta
ci giunge quell'addio più fioco,
dal paese che fugge via:
Ave Maria...
E cessa. Ma uno che vuole
velar gli occhi, pensar lontano,
tra gemiti e strilli e parole,
tra il frastuono or tremolo or piano,
ode il suono che non s'oblia:
Ave Maria...
Con l'uomo che va nella notte,
tra gli aspri urli, i lunghi racconti
del treno che corre per grotte
di monti, sopra lenti ponti,
vien nell'ombrìa la voce pia:
Ave Maria...
884
I can hear the baby quail,
they’re telling me, from in the hay bales
and chirping like little frogs.
While they themselves
**** back their bog pockets,
bloom, press the weak wood, and leak to me.
The trickle-slap pipistrelle
in subito notes, that hit and fall,
that explain to me so frantically.
crooning to me so mutually
and between themselves,
like organs pumping air into each other.
The birds sail on it over fields
relying on the attitude of the night,
feeling out its hot rushes.
In sensory geography,
dependent on a mood of its own.
In an ocean, emancipated from the moon.
The sky-lung, plays its shivering reeds
Where the spores, the sycamore, shattering
in crochets, quavers, in minims,
on any mistral score
are mooring till but a touch of direction.
It hears all of what my fingers feel.
It tastes all of which my eyes are witless.
The asp in the verge tasting me
with undulating flick of forked tongue
in aromatic echolocation,
both received and given by all.
The curious noses of foxes
between the furious foxglove
sifting out the berries of effort,
of strain and sweat in fur
haunting out from the stems.
There they find the scared,
shouting in the language of the animal.
And when the colours leave the flowers with the day
the night is painted in flavoursome air.
The night which licks at your ear,
the night that chatters amongst itself,
sonic charybdis,
whirling in the moth-light.
The dark side of the earth
is facing me.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Tu che dall’ombra compari,
E docile e dolce tu pari,
Nel sole cocente la tua pelle schiarisce
E dalla tua faccia la tristezza svanisce.
Ti ** guardata dritta negli occhi,
E tu la mia pelle mi tocchi.
Ti ** guardata nel viso un sorriso
Che la dolce faccia tua ha riso.
Mi ricordo di averti amata subito
E che allorché scelta non dubito,
E di fatto mi hai regalato la felicità
E al cuore mio la verità.
Adesso ti dirò che sei speciale,
Speciale ma non tanto quanto il reale.
Perché più di questo tu sei e sarai
E per sempre il mio cuore battere farai.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC
Season melting into my arms
My sentimentality is not a product of my hope
which still prevails
though the weather ties me back
The cold of the backstage walls
brings me comfort
connects me to a memory
subito!
It becomes glorious to remember.
a present wind is pleasant
so long as it doesn't sting
But to feel the waves of matter
slipping through the creases
soothing the cracks of old troubles
It is everything to breathe
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
Si tras el ***** muro de granito
de la muerte hay un mundo, un más allá,
al cruzar el dintel del infinito
mi pregunta primer, mi primer grito,
ha de ser: "Y ella, y ella, ¿dónde está?"
Y una vez que te encuentre, penetrado
de una inmensa y sublime gratitud
para quien quiso fuera de ti amado
y me permite haberte recobrado,
¡a qué pedir más beatitud!
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