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"

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

but the most incredible, you think, was when

we found that

we had never been sick.

published by "others" November 4, 2009