"Women are one people, scattered throughout the world.
They same problems that cross and go beyond religions, customs and Culture Department.
Violence is the problem.
Shirin Ebadi (Iranian lawyer Nobel Prize 2004)
(p. 3)
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Uwave Motherboard 133mhz Cpu
Mythical METEODIARIO
Meteodiario is a container full of bright ideas, poems, poets, performances and events.
a poetic connection between the city of Seventh, and poetry and poets around the world.
Know "Meteodiario" is a pleasure to participate and intriguing experience.
http://meteodiario.blogspot.com/
http://comtzeta.blogspot.com/ 
Meteodiario is a container full of bright ideas, poems, poets, performances and events.
a poetic connection between the city of Seventh, and poetry and poets around the world.
Know "Meteodiario" is a pleasure to participate and intriguing experience.
http://meteodiario.blogspot.com/
http://comtzeta.blogspot.com/
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Tingling At The Base Of My Skull
Water on the moon
quel tuo fascio di luce carezza su tutte le cose
ha lo stesso ritmo del cuore la mia auto in corsa sulle ruote veloci
la luce a pioggia è melodia sconosciuta
danza l'ombra e canta la notte di fate
come non amarti o luna
come non sottrarmi
da questa contaminazione buco dell'anima
ci are you
ciami
The NASA confirmed Friday, November 13, 2009
already assumed a fixed base on the moon
will change our relationship with our no longer mysterious satellite?
Anna Maria Garavoglia ;
quel tuo fascio di luce carezza su tutte le cose
ha lo stesso ritmo del cuore la mia auto in corsa sulle ruote veloci
la luce a pioggia è melodia sconosciuta
danza l'ombra e canta la notte di fate
come non amarti o luna
come non sottrarmi
da questa contaminazione buco dell'anima
ci are you
my friend
reflected in my solitude
or night of a thousand moons
overlooking my silence
not reveal the secret
bac
ciami
follow the road that connects the border
; ; ; there
where the profiles intersect
transfigure our essences
a light appears
crosses your path
behind 'crumpled under the horizon
sc
... the evening chasing the moon ..
(from the balcony of a house to Pietraligure)
..... there was a moon and your eyes were tired
he put his hands on your hips
the moon was out and had beautiful eyes ...
he put his hands on your hair ...
De André
... I sang the sea
connected to the moon
(There was) ...
Arnold Schoenberg
Sunday, November 1, 2009
What Makes A Pokemon Card A Rare Holo
ALDA MERINI
I open the cigarette
like a tobacco leaf
and eagerly aspire
the absence of your life.
's so nice to hear you out, eager to see me
and never heard.
'm cruel, I know, but the slang of poets
is this: a long silence on
after a very long kiss.
read poetry to me and very popular in the theatrical performance
"most thrilling round" with the group "Hildegard von Bingen"
I was born twenty-one in the spring but did not know that to be born
crowds
open turf
could unchain storm. So Proserpine
sees slight rain herbal
gentle grains on the large and always cries at night.
Perhaps it is her prayer.
O my poetry, save me
O my poetry, save me,
per venire a te
scampo alle invitte braccia del demonio:
nel sogno bugiardo
agguanta la mia gonna la sua fiamma
e io vorrei morire
per i mille patimenti che m'infligge.
Nulla vale la durata di una vita
ma se mi alzo e divoro
con un urlo il mio tempo di respiro,
lo faccio solo pensando alla tua sorte,
mia dolce chiara bella creatura,
mia vita e morte,
mia trionfale e aperta poesia
I throw the deep
because you give new resonance.
And if I come back from the closed
hell because you are spring
why waste shoot me, shoot
chaste of your life?
O poetry, do not come on, you're like a mountain
heavy
crush me like a gnat;
poetry, not crush, the insect is brisk
and sleepless
paws inside la rete,
poesia, ho tanta paura,
non saltarmi addosso, ti prego.
ricordo con emozione la lettura per televisione
fatta dalla Merini di questa poesia con quella sua voce così pacata
e intensa nello stesso tempo.
dalla raccolta "Vuoto d'amore"
Canto women
I sing abusing women by brute
their healthy beauty their "not crazy"
I sing the song of Julia poured on a bed
the chanting of psalms, of souls "eat" the song of Giulia
open souls wore heavy
the lightning of a human code disapproved by God,
Canto those fists horrendous data on the stripe of white crystals
thighs, fists in the adolescent age
the purity of the womb nudato for greed,
Canto naked by the stable where he was born the "crime"
the crystal ball for a mouth "magata" . Song of the White Breast
now made withered hand man
her legs wide apart on the small bed
like a man's body was his body salt
but fraught with love as in any woman. Canto Bello
life that was attacked by brute
thrown on a letticciolo, beaten with heavy iron
and storms of insults, I sing its not season
woman lived in the shadow of this great left
suffered its extent, Hot
her womb opened up its hand on a bed of deflowering psychiatrist
hand, the callow youth that I wanted to save. Singing the
prods prows of those ghostly nurses
where the hand of man and dog made villosa
unpunished touched the cheeks of young girls
delicate and veiled by Village touched by hands.
sing the absurd violence of the sea
hospital where the psychiatric
beaten lying in strains of court of dreams, suspicions of court. Singing the left
order we harnessed the language
and a beacon that led to a naval port.
Canto member who had the bed sheets of gauze and the symbol-
perpetually offended
doctor and nurses snub nose and violent bastards. Canto
the rudeness of the wind through a barrier
sing my size of a woman torn from her only love that crazy
on a bed of green leaves of nettles
singing all through the solution of a single street
I sing the misery of a
harrowing adventure where the whip hand sought the groins sweet. I sing the shamelessness
of those men to lust
broken wind raping women.
I sing a thousand knives in the lap of Life Bello
decreased by dark marquees at the mercy of Cain
and sing my pain of escaping the pain for the lie
of life because of poetry.
from "head" - Crocetti
A Franco Basaglia
I open the cigarette
and eagerly aspire
the absence of your life.
's so nice to hear you out, eager to see me
and never heard.
'm cruel, I know, but the slang of poets
is this: a long silence on
after a very long kiss.
read poetry to me and very popular in the theatrical performance
"most thrilling round" with the group "Hildegard von Bingen"
I was born twenty-one in the spring but did not know that to be born
crowds
open turf
could unchain storm. So Proserpine
sees slight rain herbal
gentle grains on the large and always cries at night.
Perhaps it is her prayer.
O my poetry, save me
O my poetry, save me,
per venire a te
scampo alle invitte braccia del demonio:
nel sogno bugiardo
agguanta la mia gonna la sua fiamma
e io vorrei morire
per i mille patimenti che m'infligge.
Nulla vale la durata di una vita
ma se mi alzo e divoro
con un urlo il mio tempo di respiro,
lo faccio solo pensando alla tua sorte,
mia dolce chiara bella creatura,
mia vita e morte,
mia trionfale e aperta poesia
I throw the deep
because you give new resonance.
And if I come back from the closed
hell because you are spring
why waste shoot me, shoot
chaste of your life?
O poetry, do not come on, you're like a mountain
heavy
crush me like a gnat;
poetry, not crush, the insect is brisk
and sleepless
paws inside la rete,
poesia, ho tanta paura,
non saltarmi addosso, ti prego.
ricordo con emozione la lettura per televisione
fatta dalla Merini di questa poesia con quella sua voce così pacata
e intensa nello stesso tempo.
dalla raccolta "Vuoto d'amore"
Corpo, ludibrio grigio
con le tue scarlatte voglie,
fino a quando mi imprigionerai?
soul circumflex
bathed and incapable
soul circumcised,
you do lying in the body?
poetry included in the theatrical performance "in the round"
theater group "Hildegard von Bingen"
to which I belong.
Canto women
I sing abusing women by brute
their healthy beauty their "not crazy"
I sing the song of Julia poured on a bed
the chanting of psalms, of souls "eat" the song of Giulia
open souls wore heavy
the lightning of a human code disapproved by God,
Canto those fists horrendous data on the stripe of white crystals
thighs, fists in the adolescent age
the purity of the womb nudato for greed,
Canto naked by the stable where he was born the "crime"
the crystal ball for a mouth "magata" . Song of the White Breast
now made withered hand man
her legs wide apart on the small bed
like a man's body was his body salt
but fraught with love as in any woman. Canto Bello
life that was attacked by brute
thrown on a letticciolo, beaten with heavy iron
and storms of insults, I sing its not season
woman lived in the shadow of this great left
suffered its extent, Hot
her womb opened up its hand on a bed of deflowering psychiatrist
hand, the callow youth that I wanted to save. Singing the
prods prows of those ghostly nurses
where the hand of man and dog made villosa
unpunished touched the cheeks of young girls
delicate and veiled by Village touched by hands.
sing the absurd violence of the sea
hospital where the psychiatric
beaten lying in strains of court of dreams, suspicions of court. Singing the left
order we harnessed the language
and a beacon that led to a naval port.
Canto member who had the bed sheets of gauze and the symbol-
perpetually offended
doctor and nurses snub nose and violent bastards. Canto
the rudeness of the wind through a barrier
sing my size of a woman torn from her only love that crazy
on a bed of green leaves of nettles
singing all through the solution of a single street
I sing the misery of a
harrowing adventure where the whip hand sought the groins sweet. I sing the shamelessness
of those men to lust
broken wind raping women.
I sing a thousand knives in the lap of Life Bello
decreased by dark marquees at the mercy of Cain
and sing my pain of escaping the pain for the lie
of life because of poetry.
from "head" - Crocetti
A Franco Basaglia The wind, the Bora, the ships that pass by
the dream of this night and you
eternal rescuer
from behind the plants omnivorous
looked at a young age
our kisses absurd
the old bark of life.
As we were in love, we,
there asylums
when
hoped one day to return to bloom
hoped one day to return to bloom
but the most incredible, you think, was when
we found that
we had never been sick.
published by "others" November 4, 2009
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