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ADELAIDE Independent Bimonthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Bimensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

 

BLUE GRASS
By Gabriella Garofalo

 

 

 

 

God, why have you got so many souls?
 
In the deepest blue of your existence 

No, you think and shout, no – 

Even stones fear beasts and kids 

Trees stifle branches 

A red lamp measures time – 

Time, lamps, avenues or deforming mirrors,
 
What for if life shrieks colours 

And you mistake them for light –
 
Words? Well, they try to help 

Against the sky glancing askew,
 
But bungle it as ever, set themselves on fire,
 
Why bother if souls tense: 
                            
No lavender in the desert 

No fresh seeds in the soil 

Fleeting moons whenever you think 

Voices undying – 

Definitely not – 

To the harsh taste of death blue set the tone,
 
Now it clashes with your eyes: 

Who chances on the thin side of the veil: 

The body or blue? 

C’mon, give them those smiling dances, 

They’re young, in love, and you, November,

Feel free to choose your monsters,

Feel free to send them letters.
                                                                                         

 

 

 

 

“I face the wind” some cried havoc,
 
“I act blue” others snapped back –

 All nice and good, 

But she’s after trees,
 
Your gaze, fields – 

Got a spare mercy, water? – 

For summer you’ll atone, 

For summer and anger, October’s evil seed – 

Meanwhile hands and seas wake up
 
Close to your breath, 

She lights up eyes with demise 


As ever so dense, light – 

No more delay, Begetter, 

Choose a different mud:
 
Let’s see, fathers keep falling in shreds,
 
Words keep saying you betrayed 

Stalking clouds, windswept sheets – 

Even the burning bush spurns you,
 
Of course, you betrayed your father
 
And light shows up only in small shreds – 

“No” is your answer, no to that blue funk

Wondering  why the sky looks so heavy, 

Why the choicest fruits grow on that tree, 

The last of the row, yes, 

The tree of disappearance – 

Forget the frescoes for once, please,
 
Even a white wall is worth a visit – 

Too much light?
 
You mean in your dreams? 

Oh, maybe it’s only too many years

And fires.

 

So don’t ask her to embrace a scream,
                   
She doesn’t forget – 

Ever met her when prey to dearth of light? – 

The point is life and wind get into your house
 
Even though you don’t ask them in, 

Then there’s anger, who won’t even touch the grass 

When meadows look for you, when shadows 

Overflow on the outskirts of hunts and days:
 
Call her back – 

If echoes scatter and flowers

Hammering branches with blue disperse, 

Only then she gets a life, maybe it works, 

Maybe mantises and dragonflies 

Steal white sweeps of doubt, who knows,
 
They lit the air up when she gave 

Birth to white abrupt hands – 

Wasn’t your gaze so very green, your eyes – 

By the way, who’ll teach you shadows 

If light dwells elsewhere?
 
Of course, the missing in your eyes – 

No need to fly, no need to dive,
 
Words dwell close to you, 

Not sky nor waves hide them,
 
They simply can’t or so I'm told –

Got it, Begetter, ok.         

 

 

 

 

About the Author:

author             

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Blue branches”. 

                         

 




 




 

 

 

     
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