The Butt

Pigmalion and GalateaTo the Butt
everything belongs

your  discrete look

or your primitive  feelings

She is City, landscape, sculpture

Poetry!

She is there to be adored

the chaste man worship her in silence
the fearless man   whistles along the way
so nonchalantly
The intimacy of look

She  is the morning’s bread or the  elegant sandwich

It is longing that fills your  eyes

perfect in any color and  rounded shape
She has innocent forms
Forever

Proud when passing  through and when venerated
So, so sweet

Redemption

7 Deadly Sins shrouded in secrecy

who idolizes her  loves more

much more

on her ,  rest your timid gaze
And without knowing why
arouse inside you memories

of

sweet spanking, pinching and biting

To the butt
everything belongs

your  discrete look

 your primitive  feelings

Hey Past I am alive!!!!!

 

I worry about my past
not that he has anything special
what worries me are those that I left behind

And i think with myself
It is me that i am always running and not walking
or were their choice and not mine that made us so apart

 

And make it all only a Past…..

 

anyway….they are so far far away from me
hey nineteen…any memories?
the camping, super 8 videos, any birthdays?

The surf on Ipanema Beach, the Noscote to protect the sun
the chopp at Barril 1800, the friends
always the friends and no one of them so alive ….

Hey father, hey mother and the haunted house
With the mystic Pan, carved on my balcony
not a man not a beast…causing me panic as he like

Damn i hate flutes…..

Hello my sweethearts… so many…
one in every party ~and the dances to involve~
driving at dawn to UP to the Cristo Redentor and down in cartsMirna ao vento de Guarujá!!!

I worry about my past
not that he has anything special
just He is….and just now i am aware

sad, empty and dead without me to remember

 

But Hey Past…I am Alive….

My body not so ruined!

I can not….
besides me lies something bigger

~no pleasure, not love , nothing~
and hold me , and warms me
for a short period of time
~I do not just bang bang~

not anymore
Bang Bang is my name
sad that is not?
not so nice as well
in fact i am so near to death
that you can smell it
I ‘ve lived a good time
I danced with my frufru
~whirled~
I made my feet a ruin
I broke them all , one by one
not for the pleasure of the dance
but for the pleasure of pain
~and no one was watching ~
my feet are inviolate
for all to see
like my body
that the priest wanted to destroy
~and failed~

then I run
today
trying to keep my body
and my mind
stable and  in harmony

but
the the man in black more and more in a  ballet
i am so lonely with my body

bailarinastill

L’Armata Brancaleone – Go Ahead!

the eminent war
remembering us
how is its bittersweet
a place where has no  one gain
just tears of Marie(s ) and Anne(s)

who is the winner,
Who cares?

people forget
that inside us
and really hidden
the monster lies

the man or woman
that prays in front the meal
OH! God! Bless us!!!!
Coming at sundays to the Church
The Book is your companion
Pray, is the salvation

Believe in My God
they shout
your neighbor, my friend
our sons
all following  peacefully the  way

Until…..

But i have a gun
and is not for fun
and i want to see
the troops doing well
for my Country
and for my own peace

~Are you ready
for the funeral???

The same wind that blows here
unfortunatelly , blows there too

For my Flag and my blood
i pour the chalice of your life

That is why
i have one single certain
and a single belief
Poets and Poetry
That we are

your
Poetry Poet

changes all the world
all the wounds
even when we are so fragil
by our vanity

We took the pen
and pour the own blood
of our hearts and veins
in a single sheet
that changes us and change all

We can fill a thousands of  Red Croix Bus
same beat of  our heart
and instead the number line

or  L'armata de Brancaleone brancaleone_alle_crociate_vittorio_gassman_mario_monicelli_010_jpg_eebr

the direction to drive

Is write

~The Brancaleone Army  ~go ahead~

Thanks God!