END AND BEGINNING

Every new beginning comes from 

some other beginning's end
_{This line from Semisonic's "Closing Time"}

"For last year's words belong to last year's language.

And next year's words await another voice.

And to make an end is to make a beginning." 

- T.S. Eliot 

LOVE AND PEACE IN THIS 

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2011

 Photo: some_other_beginning__s_end 

by snikkio in DEVIANT ART

DO IT MY WAY

Contributed to ONE SHOT WEDNESDAY

  

INSPIRED BY NEVINE

 

 I used to be the manipulator,

Then the manipulatee

Now I am neither nor

My God just lets me be.

IMAGE: The Manipulator by BadInfluenceOnYou--in DeviantArt

COME BLOW YOUR HORN!

The One Stop Poetry Picture Prompt Challenge inspired me.  Here is my contribution:

HE and SHE conversation:

SHE:  Gabe, would you like to go with me to a concert tonight?

HE:  Sure! What time, and what to wear?

SHE:  Pick you up at 6 PM and your uniform would be nice.

HE: Can I bring my trumpet?

SHE:  Are you ever without?

HE:  Answering a question with a question again, Huh?

SHE:  OK, you can come blow your horn.

HE:  Maybe they'll give me a job!

SHE:  Oh Gabriel...you would pursue that as a career?

HE:  Well Sweetie, there are worse occupations than

Standing tall
Having a ball
In the Grand Hall
Of the Shopping Mall

"FOLLOW THAT UH...ER...STAR, THEN HANG A LEFT"

Little ones--picture this sight
Bethlehem shook and shivered
As Child was born that night

Inside  stable--the real Body and Blood
Enough warm love inside His little chest
To make water out of snow
Engulfed the whole world in flood
Gifts from His warm Heart flowed

Roused from blanketed sleep
By sweetest music in high fidelity
Bunch of old fellows with sheep
Found their way fast
At last, into the barn,
And warm
Attending
First midnight mass

Animals knowingly bent
Their knees, witnessing
Most spectacular event

See what happened after that
They rode in with the wind--
No limos, but on camels sat

Three wisest guys
One totally black
With squinty eyes

Followed the slow-moving sky light
Many weeks, many miles
Gazed
Amazed--
At Most Bright

Lamb of God has now met
Face-to-face
Lamb of man.
Son shall live; Sun will set

In the following span of time
Third of a century, by count
He spent humbly sublime
Appeared a donkey to mount

He rode through the streets
Hail the King they shouted
Thousands of folks he meets
Along the way--routed

That little Babe,
Child of wonder
Now became man
Life broken asunder

Died to sounds
Of tympanic
Thunder

So the curtain dropped

While life..

Suddenly.....
Stopped

....................and started

image: Deviant Art

LOVE BIRDS

This is posted in ONE SHOT WEDNESDAY


Rode in with the wind

Rode out in style
Brother, I have sinned
And loved every mile
 

 We slept on
Beach and
Bench
And tall building beams.

Down mountain streams
Flew with feathered beaks to
Quench thirst therein
Soared over highest peaks

Breathless, we stopped to rest
Flapping wings and things
Decided to build our nest
And there exchanged rings

Oh my love remember
That night held no bars
Sweetest night of December
Full moon, and above--stars

AUTHOR NOTE:

Why do I
Sometimes wonder and ponder
To write one line of thought
When night like this I use
Four minutes time of Muse
For which an hour should have ought.....

--Me

Photo by The_people_in_the_attic_by_Muse1979, found in DeviantArt

CERTIFIABLE? (JUST A POEM, FOLKS!)

 

Occurred to me a thought today--

(a unique happening, you say?)
That many of us are insane
Maybe all of us....or

Could it be
Only me?


Long ago it seems
Yet could've been
Last night's dreams


Received revelation
Curtain pulled aside

Was placed between
This moment of being
Where your absurdity
And mine collide


You realize you are crazy
My own I see only lazy


Buried down deeply
Down inside of me

Idiocy, silliness, madness
Show me frequent sadness
Never truthful gladness


My profile:
Imbecile
Denial


Comes to what I choose

Prison bed or bedlam
Either...I lose

Photo: DeviantArt: Old_Bedlam_by_Corvidae65

GIRLS NAMED SONNIE

Sonnie is her sweetest name
My first really hottest flame
She plays the piano--and sings
As that big bell in my head--rings

Hal-le-lujah...Hal-le-lujah!
I'll drink one more to-ya!
(Reader, I wish you to know
This was so long ago...)

Recall us loving on the beach,
Smelling...the warm salty spray
Sea-oats bend and sway
As we twisted, each to reach

That place of well-known bliss
--Which started only with a kiss.
We had fun, like a couple mating bees
I ended up with two very sore knees

Sonnie remember, we toweled the sand off one another
And that very beautiful night, you became mother
To our future first-born, a baby girl. She survived...
You died--that terrible morning she arrived

(I must Pause)

Sonnie, only ONE ever could match your beauty
Yes! Right! Our little girl, a darling cutie
Named Sonnie-Two!


Graphic: Love is Over by `gilad (Deviant Art)

Eureka!

Reading books is not something I do.
Without reason--I just am not in the habit.
There is no pride in that statement, simply a fact.

Some blogger friends were discussing recently--in comments--
a certain Portugese author and Nobel Prize winner, Jose Saramago.

This very morning I biked past a familiar old building, one which
I've  frequently wondered what was hidden inside. Huge alphabet letters
in bold and gold beckoned me: PUBLIC LIBRARY...

Once inside (ah! warmth) I just walked aimlessly among the stacks, and
guess what? My eyes literally (pun intended) fell upon the name:
"Saramago, Jose". Of the several books (English) by him on the shelf,
very carefully did I choose one--by closing my eyes and
pulling down whichever book my hands touched.

The title of the book in my hands: "ALL THE NAMES".
It was that very same book which had been discussed.
Too cold to ride any longer, I sped home to read,
a new practice for me--like opening the door to a new room?

Unbelievable!

 Image: Jose_Saramago_by_COVO
(Deviant Art)

FROZEN IN TIME

Cold. Cold. Frigid. Freezing. Brrrrr! 
wind howling, snow blowing, eyes and cheeks  burning.
any small amount of heat my body is yearning.

long-haired horses and cattle stand with heads down to avoid.
my heart has slowed, back is bowed, fingers froze, my very soul shivers.
everything, all creation frozen, even calm lakes and mighty rivers.

as wildlife instinctively go away,
humans like me threaten to leave
but stay.

why?  why? 
why do i? 
Why do i not go...
just go?
must go!

my body actually is shaking as i write, this room is so old,
so cold--
opposite curving of the globe is aglow with sun's warmth,
no snow.

i was told--so as to believe
tomorrow might be better, warmer,
freshly breathless scented air.

WRONG!

same old cold is in store for days following.
i must get out of here.

to where i neither hear nor fear
howling, blowing, burning
of frigid freezing

where inside and out, warmth
of heart and hearth made for
loving. only yearning
to give freely.
really!

and praying peace for all seasons
for all reasons
for all--
that peace
which surpasses
all understanding

koniec

SOMETHING IN THE WAY SHE MOVES

First by those brandy-colored, slightly parted lips this attraction began, as she, facing me, smiled so lovingly. Then (my God, see them laughing, squinting, glowing), eyes were smiling also with their own brand of love. But what next happened, she turned, beckoning me to follow. From the beach up the marbled staircase, I two steps behind...

Speaking of behind, never during a lifetime of observing female charms had I witnessed a more 'moving' pair of--well, perfect roundness, beneath a pantied suit--not for swimming.

My hands wanted not to touch, but maybe leave just an impression, sensation, one fingered palm print on each quivering globe. Still following behind and below, my view of that sight--her centeredness, her essence from within, merging itself outward--which branded her "SHE".

My now-girl-friend walked, sort of mimicking the walk of an over-confident athlete, her shoulders swaying a natural flowing grace. This moving upper-bodied exquisiteness resulted in an astonishing ass-swing in unique fashion. Wearing flat-heeled shoes showed her gaited movements nicely enticing to me.

A more direct description--maybe a bit rude--is to characterize her walk as that of one who was trying to hide a package of illegal substance, by squeezing it tightly between her legs, all the while while walking the bit faster. And I, the 'official observer' asked myself, "Why-Oh-Why is this ass such a complete turn-on? After all, its functions are practical, and but barely few!"
_________________________________________________________

Faintly I heard someone saying, "Keep working him over, he may come back to us, don't give up.  Any BP yet?  He looks whiter than white".

Another spoke, almost reverently  "Must have been a hugely traumatic experience, whatever he's been through. Hope he makes it, I'd give  anything to hear his story".

And I, listening to the work and words of EMS technicians, knew I had been somewhere, somewhere, but where? Maybe heaven?  I cannot talk, only hear and think. I believe I am immobile, maybe in a coma?

Last memory I have is of my Sweetheart slipping her thumbs into the sides of her suit-panty, and......right there it all goes blank...............except the words of a song keep flowing through my brain:

"Something in the way she moves,
Attracts me like no other lover.
Something in the way she woos me.
I don't want to leave her now,
You know I believe and how.

Somewhere in her smile she knows,
That I don't need no other lover.
Something in her style that shows me.
I don't want to leave her now,
You know I believe and how...."

WHILE WALKING IN THE PARK ONE DAY

Vera Graf was her name
this message is to her
my Argentinean flame

i was there month of December
in Buenos Aires--how i remember
there she, beauty in the park
shouted eureka in my heart

quickly chose "our" bench.
we set, became instant
with one another

she, artist and model
me, drooling idiot
breathlessly we planned
all while holding hands

dreamt in tomorrow
fragrant bloomed galleries
sharing bravos, bravas galore
and yes, much more!

like a stage performer
graced her art with flair
music from a golden flute,
mine--filled the air

walking in a park
one wonderful night
she and i shared
huge red apple

later...in unison
hand-in-hand we
felt some special
moment glorious
profound, spiritual.

floating above
minds, hearts, souls,
our very beings:
we were in love!

there the moon
holding stars in its
crescent palm

ahh! quiet of night!
peace and calm
cool breezes light
all in togetherness
so blest us

leaves 'leafing'
shadows abounded
summer surrounded
birds calling, and
in that same park
i knelt, she prayed...

Whispered "are you Jewish?"
my heart split open
shocked, broken
eyes leaking
teardrops did
their own speaking
without breath, "i am not."

pause.....

night after night alone
i walk the same path
each time
passing that place
bathing my face
with flooding tears

the stars, the moon
soft cool breezes of
summer nights

puzzle-like shadows
leaf-strewn patterns
the same park

all were there;
the elderly, the homeless
in their stillness

missing only were
the hand-in-hand
two of us..........

Vera, even this day
sometimes...YOU!
my fondest Memory

Don Carlo

IMAGE:
Buenos_Aires_Parque_by_bbmbbf.jpg
in Deviant Art

Please Release Me, Let me Go

to cherish forever

do we realize

this thought

that our love

our need to be together,

our attachment

is maybe because

we are unable

to keep

our love?

this...ahhh

requirement

to be together

is forbidden

not forsaken

forgotten never

nor renounced

lovers are we

of the impossibility.

paradise gained

and lost,

predictable, inevitable

cannot desist nor cease

because....

cannot release

carlo

Filed in One Stop Poetry

DECEMBER THOUGHTS

who are these things?
they came to me on wild winds
amid bird-songs and world-sounds

after the moon, before the sun
in faint rosy-colored fingers
which signal to half the world
that dawn is about to enter the room

hurriedly without turn
totally unaware of
my tendency to spurn
these type thoughts

fear has gripped me
tightly into immobility
ending is ever so near

what must one do?
the time is passed
help is nowhere seen
so this is finale, end

writing now is paramount
that is all which will count
until curtain descends
until life ends

in the sky are signs
clouds gathering
earth shaking
nothing in align
i am hopeless
helpless
carlo

image: deviant art

MORTE E VITA

 

my name i cannot remember
only know it is december
the cold
made me old
tomorrow i shall die

why?

because I
have decide
it's time high
It is nigh time
to end this silly rhyme
of my life

no strife
no joy
no reason to live
no wife
to forget, to forgive

friends all forsake me
let them
this is my thought:

i still have you
maybe i have ought
that too, forgot

this life, heaven-sent
something borrowed
something lent

end of the show
time to go........

c

POEM: Carlo Benevento

PHOTO: "As I Lay Dying" by mcneal in Deviant Art

THE SEARCH

SEARCHING

Are you 'out there'
Or rather are you here?
And if you are so near
Why is it not such
That I'm feeling your touch?

My body, mind, heart, and soul yearn.
Horribleness is I do not know
For what, why, where, when, or who.
Which, oh which way to turn?

Maybe it is simply God I seek.
Certainly it is God's Will I desire.
First to be shown, known
Then as I become weak, meek,

Be given power so dearly
 Lacking. Strength to do whatever
Is found wanting
Yet daunting--

Therein lives both unknown and known.
Alone, thinking more clearly.

With one or the other,
Or another
Or one other
Someone yet else,
Focus of my whole life
Changes
Becomes obscure
No focus
Nor obligations.
This may be 
Epitome
Of my selfishness.

So why continue to beat on myself,
When already on the mat?
My own version of absolution?
Well, time only can tell
Surrounded by dreaded knell
And adagio ringing bell

In every puzzle
Few pieces missing
Sprinkled among parts of known
In pockets of yet unknown
Please let me be
One of us who see
You are not 'out there'
Rather you are here.
And I love you!

This is posted for One Shot

Poem: Carlo
Picture: "Soul Searching"
by Michael O at Deviant Art

A GIRL

HE tree has entered my hands,

The sap has ascended my arms,

The tree has grown in my breast-- 

  Downward,

The branches grow out of me, like arms.

 

Tree you are,

Moss you are,

You are violets with wind above them.

A child -- so high -- you are,

And all this is folly to the world. 

 

by Ezra Pound (1885-1972)

Now is the rest of my life

My second name ‘Benevento’ (something like "good wind") and the fact that I love cycling gave name to this blog.

Spent most  of my life settled nowhere. My father’s job obliged us for many years to live in so many different places…so, it was difficult to make friends  and then keep them… Brazil, Argentina, Sweden, Saudi Arabia… 

When I got old enough I met the one I felt was the love of my life in the Netherlands where I spent a few years…. Maybe the happiest years  of my life. Good house, good job… cycling everywhere. Playing my flute… But I lost both: my partner and my job… Been for four months at my parents house in Milano. Mamma feels so happy her youngest son is back for no matter how long. Having a handyman for this old house must be great to her.

I feel like leaving,  I feel I should stay. Papà is really old now. But apart from riding away as far as the lane takes me, I find I do not belong here any more. In fact I never did. Never had the time to. But, at the same time I know they need me and leaving them, to go abroad again makes me feel kind of guilty…
Am I getting old too? Am I foreseeing my own old age and realize I would not like to be left behind and alone either?

After all, nothing, nowhere is calling out for me…

Ok, while I take the final decision I’ve decided to start this blog, thank a friend  who suggested this could help… Hope it does!

Want to ride with me? Get on and let be ridden and blown with this blog-wind…

C.