| Poems Niederngasse |
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Poems by Barbara De Franceschi
yep born and bred locals say it all the time it binds them to a place no one else can enter where the earth regurgitates affirmations of control hills surround in an amulet of red terrain slanted cheeks turn aside from pockmarks left by mining wounds tourists are unable to grasp the affection just a middling acquaintance from guided inspection artist come to replicate vertical light/ surreal colours the unwitting they daub forgeries for gilded frames poppet heads watch amused (steel physicians that shield the soul) disused shafts and tunnels commit to jealous hands to dig for profit gives a unity disorder kept for the back roads where lead-dust provokes the vulgarity of respiratory disease sun-blasted streets gather the devotees their daughters and their sons to walk on footpath pavers where history is written on bronze plaques you must look down upon to read Zen Moment a solid white door free-stands in the middle of a busy shopping mall intricate gold symbols excuse its stark purity a cross lifted by three lines olive branches an elephant totem people stop embarrassed by their obvious interest some peek behind others shake their heads walk around the door try to determine its purpose how it stands upright with no supporting frame the adventurous knock three times pranksters shout hello anyone in there but no-one opens the door except one feeble gentleman in tattered clothes he grasps the carved handle feels the click the gentle swing walks through the opening followed by a small child the old man no longer threadbare shuts the door quietly continues on without a backward glance the child is motionless captivated by shared secrets a mother’s impatient hand tugs the child away puzzlement changes to commotion hundreds in turn try to follow suit the door remains firmly closed Transcendental Energy I swing the mind away from land set aside − a granite canvas painted with dead names go with the wind sifting honey grit across the Sahara cluster with African violets at the edge of Tanzania I search Neruda’s questions explore a rose find beauty in the hidden roots of trees breathe winter’s crisp dry scent just before frost settles on the Mundi Mundi plain today I ate last year’s cherries saved in ruby red liqueur spat the seeds into eternity drank the blood of a past summer tasted a sweetness I thought would never come again No Darkness In Between
selfhood steeps (a complex fermentation aging with assent) furrowed between yesterday’s opinion & new meaning eyes are tied to questions seen but never heard I ask the rain if men might kiss men women love women without thunderbolts slipping on greasy clouds tears perch on the tip of my nose ready to drip complacency on newspaper headlines treaties struck dumb national anthems prepared to be sung out of tune broken promises for generations whose offspring walk in fields where grass and flowers transmute into exploding dung a photograph of a woman face veiled/ three children clinging she is a deciduous tree planted in the wrong hemisphere her pollen distasteful to native bees her leaves − not knowing where to fall hearsay heaves with slow motion-sickness behind barbwire strange species brood rumour cankers duly fester is there a bandaid anywhere? or a guilt edged invitation for politicians to join in the reality games there’s blood on my chin lips bitten in contrition I want to be wise without the wrinkles risen into heaven lustful for life mourning my own fate I try to be sunset & daybreak and a special within a special: The House Giacomo Built |