The poets contrive

I have nothing to complain for, not even of one
I am thankful for all, conceived in mind, to stun
it is because my garden blooms, and soul strives
and my ancestors salute from their distant lives

Memories visit me and mostly make me care,
they turn the key of remembrances on my door,
and I accept their oddity of call. Maybe I enroll
a frivolous romantic, on this supercilious stare.

People claim their life, was a tragedy! My God
what a falsehood to live upon! A baited fishing rod
to catch me in their transient support of riddance,
I laugh, as there is no mercy in their cold glance

I 've seen poets! Yes, noble, mysterious souls
with words to kiss a remote heart, a boat's tholes
supporting our rowing oars of efforts. A caress
explaining the bliss of a Naiad or curse of an Ogress.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Relentless Kiss Upon My Face

Dim lights on this winter road,
midnight, a black color of smalt,
Northern Ranges, a night code
on the wet dissonance of asphalt.

Melted snow, a reflective surface,
spring birds are hidden for life;
neon lights, bright epigraphs,
street signs hung, soul's cold knife,

units dispersed - thrown randomly,
lowered sky, Scattered snow smell,
no voices, you left, a runaway,
an existence absent of this quell..

A smiling Abyssos opens above me
that sums my voice's apostasy!
Makes life's floss a bitter glee,
on this scene of my empty sympathy.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Poets Contrive

[Poets contrive]

I have nothing to complain for, not even one
I am thankful to all, conceived are, to stun
because my garden blooms, and soul strives
and my ancestors salute from their distant lives

Memories visit me and mostly make me care,
they turn the key of remembrances on my door,
and I accept their oddity of call. So I enroll
a frivolous romantic, in my memories flare.

People claim their life, was a tragedy! My God
what a falsehood to live upon! A baited fishing rod
to catch me in their support of riddance,
I laugh, as there is no mercy in their cold glance

I 've seen poets! Yes, noble, mysterious souls
with words to kiss a remote heart, a boat's tholes,
supporting our rowing oars of efforts. To express

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Howling

Mountain wolf's ebon insightful assertion,
a death-making, in oak woods immersion,
his mandragora enthralls an animal right,
spirits live in the electrons of a dark light.

(To build a house on sticks is a cause
to be his friend, a genuine soul will fight
as valor will visit a threshold of hurt souls
wolf howls, for any over-crossed right.)

Howls the wolf, in dark, a blanket covers
sounds submerge, as shadows revive
a full moon hymn, same sounds gather
a prayer, as silence austerely subsides.

Howls the wolf, an Imperium of red shed
awakes, destiny of forest rules attained
the wolf will run, a Plutonian kingdom wed
to catch, a carnal pray 'crudele' ingrained.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Zap Zapped

I fell in love with her that night in dark,
you see, twas my turn as a wolf to bark;
then she asked me to become a rooster,
a cool chicken cot was a morale booster.

July 9th it was, national day of chicken;
we both were of Zeus lightning, stricken;
and after that, darling, I had to disband,
since the zappy flash hit my tall manned.

Well, I promised to be back and contrib,
from my joy and happiness I fired a squib,
under her window to sing for roister-ous,
was my style to flirt a gal, and boisterous.

(Hmmm... Was that window yours or not?
I invoke thee, to externalize in my yacht;
when you aesthetically posted an affable;
like a gnu I had to moo, and kinda gargle ;)

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Quarta Maria

Quarta Maria bears up round,
favored route before Gregale,
helm a-weather to surround,
concaving head and main sail.

Bearing west, for four days,
a-steady course at two-thirty,
she goes large on mile chase,
foremast curves full and sturdy.

Sails apt away closing to wind,
for not striking an opposing sea,
with square sail, routes winged,
Quarta Maria, Gregale nestle.

Ghost steersman upon rudder
a drunk crew upon dead water,
hoarse voices in dark shudder,
bearded fools in ocean, totter.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Princess of Bright

Princess of Bright

Aerial was that friction match and I,
beguiled by her beaming glare, luminous,
Glorious amid red rose beds, flowery,
Radiant of her young Springs and vows!

Dazzling and glistening the air around
with bees to seethe in redemptive light,
a sprite! Was I the blessed unsound,
a mere mortal! Lurid but unfit, albeit!

And then, like an aeriform, descended
to fill my emptiness, ascetic severeness;
acceptable, wed scented, well respected,
my openhearted vacancy, and nothingness.

Princess of Bright, lucent, deplorable,
aloof! A nonadjacent mistress, in Utopia,
to navigate in veinal dreams lamentable,

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Picture

Yesterday I found a picture of you,
hidden in one of my school books,
in sepia tones - and romantic hue,
smiling nicely, were your looks!

I picked the picture and rested it
upon a book self, with loved items;
placed next to my army black beret
- you had a smile full of kindness.

In my eyes you beautifully stared,
with a becoming, Angels bestow,
behind you a drizzle forever poured,
monthly on the 16th, on my meadow.

Our first yellow rose - in your hands
- tender, accepting a caress beatific,
and it was your tenderness to expand
on petals, to inspire verses prolific.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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And This Rain

You were so simple, on your old balcony,
adorned by white roses, yet down looking,
west's flame encircled in lyrics' euphony,
sea Nymphs' surround was a benign setting.

Your words will glow in my distant trip's links
maybe your reason to escape was false,
and an affection was left in the winds
among your crossed ethereal hands and pulse.

Our time was still, with eyes to gleam, conceived,
and was our company, phase to reckon,
maybe atonement was, a cause bereaved,
and our glances in mists remote beckon.

Caress of sun steppe flower on my face,
will alter a dull course to steady 'ffuse,
our bilged steadfast is in brines to encase,
a summer song of longing to bemuse.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Charades

It was my impression, hours were bending
infinite years of waiting and mind stalling,
a ship of our escaping, deft sailors calling,
time was becoming hard and never ending.

Upon the ship were only shadows of souls,
and as the dusk slow, subscribed to night,
it was three of us in tulips of smoked light,
and seven sailor ghosts in charades sprawls.

They danced and danced the nights after,
mimicking umpteen concepts, as each word,
was one more riddle upon our mind board,
- ghosts jumped with their crazy laughter.

and we danced with them, under the rain;
foolish marionettes of a black ship hustle;
rotated, around a conceived infinite axle;
the dark ship wanted us to wind and feign.

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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