Ten And Eleven
Here she comes, a flower of the field,
describing glory of the Spring to bloom,
while at noon, when all shadows yield,
light is bright as in ether, love looms.
Here she comes, beloved lines in light;
so as to caress my vision, and to smile,
In an elysian field her grace will ignite,
my confessions as to extend forthright.
She is my call when rose flowers blend,
so I respond in lyrics of heavens music;
perchance an ode will extend and mend,
old wounds and scars, with this acoustic.
An ode lifts our encounter to heavens,
amid field flowers, with love to attune,
a bouquet of roses red, ten and eleven,
gallivants noon-this twenty first of June.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Eternity of my soaring
My whole life I kept for you, a reason
of annunciated dimensions, prorogued;
my turned to the winds hands, a mizzen,
account on dusks of a bitter monologue.
All of my soul's children hunt storms
first sight of our sun, repleted light's wit;
amid winds of ghostly-dreamy forms,
sounded the Bells of our morning reached.
My pulse yon spreads, on church bells,
rhythm of waves inscribed on time's embers,
escorting me on Sundays, a name I spell,
marked with your return, my dream enters.
When friends, on Sundays invite me to feast,
I see the river of our uprising morning,
You are in dim light, adorning my mist
to love me in the eternity of my soaring.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Granite Date
(Granite date)
Up in mid air my glare hangs,
in my pulsation and time thumb,
gravel of this end that drums,
amidst ticks, foolish and dumb.
Seconds surround my solitude,
they tick and dance, fastened;
in half lit space, as to delude,
my expectancy 'n' stay absent.
I wait; in a mystified rhythm,
knowing that it may be an end,
solving my rejoiced algorithm,
and solitude's relentless bend.
On slopes bellowing, outwitted,
time is virtue, waiting is merit;
my expectancies only omitted,
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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I Am A Machine
I am a machine to cause my stagnation
I am an engine to operate on activation
you are a noise of chords in train station,
or my controls of a same contemplation.
I am a machine to adjust to adoptation,
I am programmed to refuse an alteration,
you are a script, a demand of abnegation,
you are a letter in my dream of alienation.
I am a machine, you invoke my obligation,
I am a robot to quantitate approximation,
you are a machine to amount navigation,
You are an antenna to examine caligation.
I am programmed to refuse an alteration,
I am an engine to operate on activation
you are a noise of chords in train station,
you are a letter in my dream of alienation.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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I shall carry your icon
I shall carry your icon with me, I have said
because an icon is a burst of feel spread
a deity submits it's absences oblation
without caring for our life's destination
The waves come, go, return I have said
because we care to worship our lost, dead
an ornament to an impertinent Maenad advent
Or just because a Hydra barks to the world
My words have fled upon Boreas wind
to reach a form, a dream, your silken lint
as they whiff, a world's oblation of this hint
my soul flies, adorning a lingering feast
And I recall your inner thoughts, a smile of doll
your image of a cumulus to carry my extol
as if we engaged upon our worshiped fervor
as our pains became obtuse, Nymphs enthrall
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Two colors are
Two colors are wrapped around my heartbeat,
detained by dawn's last bright star;
I want to keep a faithful record of replies,
for whenever you return to my feast of time.
Raindrops of a thin rain
This bitter fog resembles Fall
little phrases I sent to your infinity -
to your infinity I searched for you - Angel rain,
Angels of your dreamy form.
I saw you elevating there
an absolute, ideal outline of forms
in iridescent colors of the winds
of the winds that made you a little
a little return of my visions to infinity.
Two colors are wrapped around my heartbeat
which in solitude records a windy day
silences of the Angels surround my Fall
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Ten Times Anoint
Ten times anoint
Reeds yield to the wind,
monotony of bright noons,
colored garland festoons,
in vast sky, disruptive tint.
Travel far, fare of calls,
paths hint a script roiled,
maybe your solitude toiled
on proud lands and slopes.
But it is blest and bright,
on incandescent courses,
as Northern wind forces,
your dancing feast alight;
Music accented to parade,
a sign your eyes beguiles,
historied on your air miles,
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Ebony Star
A wharf awaits our boat to up tie,
shoreline of lonesome, wax light
a moor to quay and my Siren's cry
quells my solitude, strays my sight.
Night spirits link on my shadow
demons of Hades and Furies call
dim lantern lights remember a vow
dim blinking stars my sorrow toll.
I pace on wet pave walk as there
a quietness empty is my welcome
I know you loved me only in air,
As ether flies, my love is lonesome.
Dim lantern lights, Harbor dockside
Maybe time will stop with Auster,
maybe a word in my soul will abide
blossoms are white on ebony star.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Will you dance?
Will you dance when reasons for this chore,
become blunt? As another dimension lore,
bid for a subtle, abstract distinctive kind,
that inspired me, your undefined mind.
I did dance! When the invitation was lost,
in propagation of causes laced, innermost,
soldiers of oddities that string a whisper,
transmitting my seasons dancer's drifter.
Lister. A spear traveling above the clouds,
whistling, hissing his trajectory astound,
searching for piercing my kinder feelings,
penetrates through my upstairs ceilings.
Dancers of Oddities, embraced in mists,
folklore abolished of lost soldiers listed,
stragglers of obstinacy, barefoot misfits,
on briars, a dancer's call, in Hades existed.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Windward On Deck
I recall four among old friends
nautilus to cond in offward ways;
the one to stars made amends,
his mind's tide gate ablaze;
Another wavered in midday light,
forfeiting Spring's glinting details,
remote figure in relentless sight,
with a distant smile, despite ails.
A third buried his inner kindness,
when in sea-trip received a mail,
that signified his life's emptiness
to play harmonica in ocean trails.
The fourth was an enigmatic figure,
who had not spoken about his past,
confessing to his wallet picture,
under dome stars and main mast.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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