DO YOU MIND!
ALM 92, August 2026
POETRY
To P.
Do you mind! Who do you think you are, Summer,
The mother of droughts and salt, or her own mother?
Your white shrill voice is haunting her,
You and your unhealthy advice on love and dates-
Thank you so much, but she’s used to feeding limbs
Only on salt and shadows, when hunger grabs her
Not with hands, but heat, in a maze of words and loss,
Under a sun scorching like wrath, on bloody afternoons
Stretching like shadows-
And don’t cut in, Summer, you are not a season,
But the rhythm of a life born wild, no mercy at all
In the sky, only a harsh glare as she drags life
Across the blue thirst of days, and feels her wrath
Rising to meet the sky, so that even stars dread
The shards of visions too bright to hold-
And ask yourself when feral whispers will rouse
In her limbs, getting her to sway like grass,
To bend and bowfor breathing the silence of leaves,
How they sway in the the landscape’s fever,
When heat clings to the horizon, a prayer to a god
Who forgot the taste of rain, and, who knows,
Maybe prayers’ll do the trick, maybe her fire,
The bastard son of this season, will learn
To be still, and wait for the axe of hours
When twilights wilt under her gaze
Just to break the fast of days, as in her breaths
The hidden magma of life rises to meet the promise
Of the harvests where the gods of heat gather,
Or the land warily agrees to her final revelation-
Harvests won’t show up, so just make do
With the faint shadows of an expired grace.
To B.
Anger her first prayer, she’ll throw it like a stone
To a night that burns too fast to fade, or strike a silence
Where truths are shrieking to get out,
And under the stars seclusion breathes,
It tastes like a blue regret for dashed hopes,
Or a bungled life, but anger’s holding silence like a weapon,
In the blue seclusion of the night, while waves
Hit souls and stones, throwing the debris
Of blue days against a cliff, but don’t apologise,
They only break against the banks of a mind despair floods
And washes away, a blue relentless water that cares not
For men or shadows-
Enough now, enough soul, man up, and watch the horizon
Where the sky breathes his wide, blue faith,
And God lies in the blue stillness of your fear,
A hymn with no rhythm so long as hearts hold tight
Harvests of anger, now look, can’t you see
The universe is holding its breath,
Waiting for God to move higher than silence,
For water to free her hold on minds slighting
Wheels, anchors, for the horizon to learn
To hold back the dawn, if a blue distance in the air
Feels like the breath God held when suddenly realizing
Secluded hearts ride waves, and light from stars
May even stab the dark, sure, why not,
But gives no warmth at all to limbs or minds.
To Y.
Is it fear, is it the thrill against the sweltering backdrop
Of a summer stalking suburban bliss?
Something’s wrong with the light, with a heat so mad
It feels like surrender, flames in the distance-
It is July, the month of rot, and white-hot glares bleeding
Off the asphalt, as tourists drag suitcases
Across the heat, heavy with days they strive to leave behind-
And never to be outdone, eternity unpacks, scatters
Across the floor blue skies stretching like secrets,
Days scorched by heat’s cruel breath, fragments
Of a summer that never darkens, God forbid,
Look, soul, it’s just your B-grade horror film
Nobody asked to be cast in, but now, behind the lens,
What’s breathing, nothing to do with the script, of course,
Blue shadows, a blue lighting, a blue mood, just the blue,
The blinding, hateful, infinite blue, while the director yells
"Cut" but the heat keeps rolling, as the extras leave
Their shades behind, waiting for the shades of a night
Where the chaos of the set finally dissolves,
Where the air turns thick with a dread no heat can explain,
And the blue deepens with ancient fears,
Something from the edges is stepping into frame-
A cool sanctuary built of limbs and breath,
As she’s looking at your hands stained with the dust
Of twilight, reaching for the shade,
Casting words that don’t belong to us,
The tourists on a low-cost one-way trip-
Is it life? Who cares, if “Action” yells heat
As it wraps us tight-
Well, thanks a bunch, summer, for making us look
Like extras in a Romero film.
To W.
No light, no roots, no mercy for the harvest of your hands-
C’mon, stop fancying a cosy cheese-and-wine do with life,
Can’t you see it’s just a scheme
Of niceties where comets gather and tears go hide-
Don’t let clouds or flowers kid you,
It’s all about ego and aggro, discarded hopes lying around
Like hopeless wallflowers,
Or trim suburban matrons teasing their hubbies-
So, short of a good option just start staking them,
Yes, the wildest shores of desire too hot to handle,
Just wonder, is sky freedom or a cage
Where guilt hangs heavy across the blue,
Smashing the air into shards of ash and slurs,
And roots writhe seeking redemption in a nowhere place-
Yet, the blue persists, a strong relentless shade,
A warning that even in demise shades shun dying-
The hardest truth indeed-
A blue so blue it hurts, so blue it must feel guilty
When stretching cold and wide, a witness to silent sins,
A shattering no prayer mends, nor dawn takes out,
While souls keep counting hours haunted by gods
They helped undo, caught between blue and afterlife,
But what else to do if heavens ghost them,
Leave words on read, if demise dances light and winks-
Look up, c’mon, only blue above, laughters beyond demise,
As you ramp and rage, blast this blue never your hope,
And in this blue no one forgives, not even silence-
Well, high time for God and you to let go
Of a blue vault where the air tastes of regret,
Of a green careless sea always misplacing keys and shores-
Of course, he never apologises.
###
God, you ready to share the light? Careful, it's a risk-
Just have a look, can you see the beauty, the stillness,
The twaddle, a night- time bustle, teenage yobs,
The henchman bound to take the blame,
A sky sitting on the edge of life where wild clouds
And feral waves teem, music records, lurid colours,
Fondest love all around, a seedy, careless insurrection
All over here, and in her mouth the sour breath
Of unripe tangerines, or grapes of blue wrath,
Pale dawns and bitter hawthorns-
Is it worth it? Can you count on sound partners?
Afraid not, as fire is an enemy, water a dangerous playmate for words-
I know, you worry for souls still out in the wild,
Yet you keep betting on a spreading blue,
On restless minds which can’t bear love or doubts,
As you wonder ‘Are they being chatted up by flowers?
The bees, I mean’ while girls with glasses
And long blonde braids jot down notes
As if possessed, slumped over in their chair,
Or an easy demise looks all sweetness and light
Among those tense, awkward smiles when we wait
For words to see us, let alone those two stars
Engaged in a heated chinwag, one an amateur philosopher,
The other hung up on theology-
I know, life goes on ‘cause the heart of the world
Must be shielded, but have you got enough ammo?
Look, we are not only rainbows and unicorns,
But a wild hunger, irreedemable limbs, and gaudy nights galore-
Enough, God, suit yourself, let your eyes shelter
Young girls swathed in cloudy silks, boulders, dead fires,
Fear, the lost noise of the moon on a spiky world,
A tangle of rapture and danger-
I know, I know, you can’t stand special effects,
So let them to Hollywood, and maybe one day
Next stop will be Redemption, Platform 5,
Even to the innards of the sea, or to lifeless bodies,
Even to souls showing off, thin and slender like flamingos-
No big deal, sure, but how can your light get never weary
Of messy flats and souls, all fallen artists
Against the backdrop of hidden hymns,
And the scent of shadows where you winter
With clouds by blue souls who never side with angels.
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 these books “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Casa di erba”; “Blue Branches”; “ A Blue Soul”, “After The Blue Rush”.
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