Rosanna Bonci – A lucky boy

Rosanna Bonci - our Italy chair

 

Rosanna Bonci – A lucky boy

 

I’m a lucky boy. Sure I am. Because as a ten-year-old, I’m allowed to travel to Europe! Happy and grateful I am, on the Lungotevere of Rome, the eternal city.

Today is a special day, March 20th, the start of spring. Dad and mom have organized a unique event: we are going to spend the day at the Orto Botanico. We walk along the Tiber river, smelling the Platani’s bunches and watching the water running toward the Mediterranean sea.

The way turns inwards, we step on the typical ancient Roman alley, made of sampietrini – cobblestones. We cross Trastevere, I take some pictures of some ancient building with lights hanging on its walls. Because of my passion for photography, I’m used to seeing those details.

In front of us suddenly is Largo Cristina di Svezia, 24; the gate is open, we enter the Orto Botanico. A fresh smell enters my nose, it must be mint.

Mom is reading a guide. She tells us we are in the Villa Corsini garden and today is the Equinox, which means it is the day of the year when daylight and night are equally long. In honor of the equinox, I take a picture of my parents near the rosemary bush.

As I turn around attracted by some happy voices laughing out loud, I see a group of maybe fifteen youngs in my age coming our way. Mom keeps telling the story. The Villa Corsini garden is 500 years old and it used to be the Vatican ‘Giardino dei semplici’, meaning simple people garden of medicinal plants. The kids pass by, they are loud, mom’s voice seems mute and I can only read her lips!

I learn there are three thousand plants in the garden. I take pictures in a sequence so that I can choose the best later on. Basilic, sage, pepper and many other spices catch my attention from far, they smell fresh and spicy!

As I look into my camera I suddenly see a pair of binoculars in front of a face with long hair, held up by three white thin fingers on each side. She can see my eyeballs from there, she is close enough and looking straight at me, I can tell.
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Alaha Ahrar – HATE

Alaha Ahrar - HATE

HATE

Poem HATE by: Alaha Ahrar

I hate to see hatred
I hate to see everyone faded
I hate not seeing any hope
I hate not being able to cope
I hate to see how people are after each other,
I hate to see most people live in fear
I hate these rockets, bombs, and killings
I hate all these manmade sufferings
And of course, of course
I hate to see children bleeding and dying everywhere
I hate to know there is no safe place for anyone anywhere
I hate not seeing any tearless survivor
I hate not seeing any clean river
I hate not seeing smiles on people’s lips

 

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Sanja Arsenovic – Goodwill

Sanja Arsenovic – Goodwill

Sanja-Arsenovic

 

God has given us two hands: one to give, second to receive. We are all humanitarians, in our own ways: My way is reaching out, to all the aching souls out there, with my poems
God bless us all!

 

GOODWILL

Small town lady, was born to hold dreams:
showing grace, to everyone – as part of human race.
Sorrow, that occupied – so many aching souls…
Anger, and rage out there – that erased the space:
for love, we are blessed by – for a helping hand…
For unique, and special – that will understand…
Good Will Ambassadors – were brought to this world:
to bring joy, and happiness – no one ever heard…
To help: “wounded” families – arise from the ground…
To help, silent whisper – becomes a big sound…
To help, hungry one’s – or those, without a home…
World, is our family – so, you’re not alone…
To help, all the refugees – mother, that lost the child…
We are all, the followers – chosen, the right guide…
To embrace, the goodness – protect destroyed land…
We are here, and now – time stops, as we STAND:
Rhapsody of empathy – let’s all reunite…
Wars, just have to stop- and all sorts of fight…
Killings aren’t forgiven – God, has given love:
who gives us, the right – changing rules above?

Neglecting the Earth – spoiling all her’s worth…
Impossible mission – or, possible vision?
Small town lady, here – talking with a low voice:
I know, there is a chance – we’ve been given choice…
I am here, to help – words, follow my step:
Heaven of existence – Hell, can’t make the trap…
God is love, my friend – we are all, God’s children:
Time, to stop destruction – then, we’ll be: forgiven…
I am proud, to live – I have chosen good:
If u had, a chance: I know, you too – would…
Meaning of my name is woman of the dreams:
Sanja wants the Paradise – that we just can’t miss…
Let us heal the world – make it, a better place…
Let’s all, bring the magic – catch her’s: shiny trace…
Stars, do live within – let us stop the dark…
Doing deeds, for others – let us make the mark…
We are all: survivors – Earth, needs us the most…
We’re not, empty shells – you are not: the ghost…
GOODWILL, in your lives- I see that, in your eyes:
We all have: forever- future, in us lies

Written by:
Sanja Arsenovic ⭐

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AN OPENING FOR A NOVEL

AN OPENING FOR A NOVEL
(excerpt from my book “Extraordinary Story of a Turnskin”)

“…And suck the blood of all thy race.”
(George Gordon Byron)

“…and people do not, as a rule, believe in Vampires!”
(Stanislaus Eric Stenbock. The Sad Story of a Vampire)

 

In the summer of 1888, a group of good friends were travelling through Switzerland on their way to Italy, when, one night in August thunderstorms halted their journey. They were ensconced for a few days in Villa Lou Vieil on Lake Geneva, and after the companions had read aloud from the Tales of the Dead, a collection of horror tales, one of them suggested that they each would tell a ghost story to entertain and terrify his friends, and in order to pass the time. The names of the travelers were Lord Ruthven, Count Vardalek and Count Dracula. In theory, the competition was open to all three, but in actuality it was a test of rivalry between Lord Ruthven and Count Dracula to see which of them was able to attract the heart of the young green-eyed beau Count Vardalek…
The End of the excerpt

Photo off Vamires
Actors: Rathbone, Karloff, Lorre, Price.

blank verse

The Winter Tremble

blank verse by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898),  my translation

 

Always slow, among flowers and deities, the clock striking thirteen. Who previously owned this Saxon clock? Picture them bringing it from Saxony by those old slow stagecoaches.

(Weird shadows looming over the old windowpanes.)

Who did ever look at oneself in the Venetian mirror, deep like a cold spring, enclosed in the snaky framing with the faded gilding? Surely, more than one woman used to sink the sin of her beauty in the stream of this spring and if I stayed peering for a long while I could see>The Winter Tremble

blank verse by Stéphane Mallarmé a naked phantom.

“Nasty, you can be so caustic…”

(The cobweb above the big windows.)

Our wardrobe trunk is very old too. Look how the glum woodwork shows purple in this lighting. Time has left traces on the faded curtains, on the embroidery of the chairs with the faded ruddy varnish, and the yellowish etchings on the walls, on all our old things. Don’t you think that even the Bengalee finches and blue bird are somewhat time-faded?

(Don’t think of the cobweb that trembles above the big windows.)

You love all this, that’s why I can live beside you. Didn’t you wish — oh my sister whose eye turned to the Past — the words “charm of all withering” to sound in one of my cantos? You detest new things. They frighten you with their meretricious harshness, making you feel like obliterating their counters and colours — which is so difficult to those who are tired by every motion.

Close the old German Almanach, which you read so attentively, though it is published more than a hundred years ago and the enumerated lords are no more. Lying on the ancient carpet with my head on the faded cloth that covers your lap, oh quiet child, I shall be talking long! No fields around; the streets have got empty; I shall talk about our furniture… What are you thinking about?

(The cobweb trembling above the big windows.)

Photo of painting by Julius Sergius von Klever (1850-1924)
Painting by Julius Sergius von Klever (1850-1924)

 

poem in my translation

The Butterfly

by Afanasy Fet (1820-1892)

 

You’re right. An outline of Air

I am so sweet.

My velvet with its living blinking–

only two wings.

Don’t ask me whence, what brought me,

where I speed.

I light the flower down, here,

and now I breathe.

How long, so aimless, so effortless,

I want to breathe?

That’s it now, flashing, raising wings

I fly away.

AG00130_

Time

Dark night has choked daylight. Day is dead.
It won’t come back to senses any more.
You killed the time again. You must be mad
To waste the only treasure you afford.

Time is for living not for false alarm
About future and the outcome
Of the events that are not bringing harm
Just now. So my old chum

There’s twink anon, so value twink
The future hell is not existing now
And it depends on what you feel and think
Will it take shape or just drop out.

 

I started the poem in one mood (first 4 lines). Then without any pause my mood changed and I just recorded the remaining part. The result was quite surprise to me. I have not changed a word and now submit this poem to your judgement…

Natalia Nikiforova I’m enamoured of you (flouncing soul)

Translated from Russian by Victor Sklyarov
(Russian original and her other poems are at www.allthelyrics.com )

I don’t want you to be neither lover, nor friend, nor the kind.
Remain sole like the wind got entangled low in dust.
And my words will empoison return route you wont find,
Our ships having touched sculls at last separated in dusk.

Let the howler shout out the warnings of dangers in haze
Our feelings will not be rescued by this tedious growl
In a desperate rage waves will raise over us in blind maze
And will scatter in vain never cooling the fever of soul.

This is when all the windows of heaven will suddenly close
And the sun will embrace all the seas with a hope and light
And the ships will turn back over wimpled bright road
Further route side by side will be easy not burdened by fight!

Swamp

When I was in the middle of my school years my family moved from suburbian 1-flat private house to 2-room state-owned standard flat on the other end of the city of Krasnodar. I remained in the same school since there were only 2 advanced English studies schools in Krasnodar.

Each day (save Sunday) I voyaged on the tram (about 1 hour to one side) to school and back. Having settled at new place I went to explore the surroundings. Two houses separated me from the lake heavily grown by bulrush. At the brink there was a long board leading to bulrush bushes across small pool abundant with water insects. I recalled that I had a textbook for the next study year first pages of which were devoted to water insects. I decided to examine probes of water myself and went home to fetch a suitable vessel for a probe.

Having returned I found no board. Without much thinking I jumped over to what I thought to be safe and dry bulge behind the water pool and was amazed to sink knee-deep in the bottomless swamp. I have tried to turn around but only found myself sinking waist-deep in the swamp. Each attempt to move resulted in sinking deeper and deeper, my legs failed to touch firm ground and felt only constantly sliding roots of plants. Black enormous bubbles rose from the depth. My roaming eyes noticed that all windows of the 5-storied building were shut and nobody would see or hear me. Suddenly I heard some noise behind me and slowly turned back sinking breast-deep. There were 2 boys standing on the board with another board in hands.

– What are doing here?
– Don’t you see, I am sinking.
– Why don’t you call for help?
– Useless. Nobody would hear me.
– Ah, clear.

The boys turned back but continued speaking

– He seems to be really sinking.
– I never lie.
– Do you want us to extract you from this swamp?
– That would be fine.

After few minutes all of us were covered with black stinking mud. But we were at the dry bank. The boys proposed to wash ourselves in the other lake nearby. Both were the remnants of once a river. It was early spring and the water was rather cold. But none of us got ill.