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Below
Scopello
To
become, to belong, bohemian,
So many
miles my smitten songsmith sent,
Striving
for prospects paradesean
& an
immortal moment’s monument -
Time
carves us this vista Tyhrennean,
Tranquilo corner of a continent,
To
become, to belong, bohemian,
So many
miles my smitten songsmith sent.
This
rocky cove, this tower, this mountain,
Blend in
an often prophesied fusion,
Sweet Sicily!
Sat silent & content,
Recently
have my dreams increasing seen
Visions
of places I had never been
Where I
should sit a songsmith & invent.
Marzemi Sunrise
As all
the sky grew lighter at the change,
With
pastel arms, from rich & vivid heart
Emboldening & merging with god’s art,
The
peachy dawn reach'd round the ‘risons’ range,
As
milk-white sea caresses waves to shore,
Which
kisses rock, bows gracefully, takes leave,
Where
rising from the lands of make-believe,
The red, all-seeing eye that I adore.
Tho’ you
are far away in outer space,
All
other images crumble to dust,
Filling
with feelings more than love or lust
My
humble soul enters that special place
Of two
spirits conjoined by nature’s hand,
One
omnipresent, one a grain of sand.
Lines
Written at the Jait Sagar
If India
can make a man a man
More
than the brothel-nests of Amsterdam
If thro’
the chaos he can make a plan
Respecting Hinduism & Islam
If he
can give the beggar his rupee
& tip a
tout charging over the odds
If he
can read his Rajput history
& choose
a god but still bless other gods
If he
can bear the rolling railway run,
Find
fresh clean waterfalls amid the dirt
If he
can wonder how the Raj was won
Then
pause upon the horrors & the hurt
If he
can haggle down & know his daal
Then
does he need to see the Taj Mahal?
Casalino
More
tranquil than the murmour of a rose,
The
piazzas of Pratovecchia,
Bethlehem-twinned, harbour a sweet repose,
Calm
cluster shepherds call Casalino –
Here
Dante mused upon his fifth canto,
For
Paulo & Francesca tears did pour,
Mixing
with the streamlings of the Arno,
Flowing
to ev’ry Italian shore –
A place
to set poesia in store,
Where
sacred sisters break ancient bread,
There,
summoned by the grunting of wild boar
Into a
place where feet have seldom tread,
Not life
nor history shall help my art,
Just
fragrant music of the valley-heart.
Fort
Cochin
Come
share a second with serenity
Up in
this lake of European rooves,
The
crescent lamp’d oer th’Arabian sea
Lulls me
thither, I hear the sound of hooves...
At once
a sacred chime grows on the breeze,
Some
teller of a thousand ‘ancyent tayles’,
Some
from the world’s crop-fellers overseas,
Some
cross the Karakoram’s lofty trails,
Some
were seekers of immortal glory,
Some
content to be husbands & be wives...
Tho’ the
vision is all clutter’d & hoary,
With me
a single memory survives,
Being
extras in the global story
We are
stars in the movies of our lives.
<<<
>>> |
Damo
Bullen |
