Tuesday, November 29, 2022" Gabriella Garafolo's "A Blue Conundrum"

 

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six, and is the author of Lo sguardo di Orfeo, L’inverno di vetro, Di altre stelle polari, Casa di erba, Blue Branches, and A Blue Soul.

A Blue Conundrum

To M. W.

Adrenaline high up the sky, you shocked-

Do not bend over me, night,

No need to, you’ve got lovers, right?

Fear, fear always digging her graves, souls,

Cold, and a silence you misplaced so long ago-

Just remove the sounds words echoed

When stalked by water,

Or fighting like no tomorrow with light-

And you, my cold, do not bite me tonight,

No need to, as souls, and a tousled desire

Don’t mind green, or silence-

As soon as they leave give birth

To life, and God, your last resource,

Give the sky his own fire, but, my soul,

Don’t set yourself on fire, not your fault

If days start whirling ‘round you,

Scalds, men, rejections, of no importance at all,

As you chose from the start colours

And plain books, certainly not love, nor limbs,

You just kept slicing shreds from renegade skies,

Dissenters, the lunatic fringe -

That’s why skies can’t grab you on the fly,

Nor can Sahara want you as a prophet-

Just an albedo of words

Breaking through stones, and boulders-

Dunno if she feels like a mother, but you inside

A place where they’re so keen

To come and meet you,

Questions, doubts, slip-ups

In a brand new creation:

A heavenly vault, foliage, that pearly white

Set to strike back at your soul.

© 2022 Gabriella Garafolo

Saturday, March 14, 2020: National Women's Month: Gabriella Garofalo's poem " 'Cause This is What a Blue Wave Looks Like"

‘Cause this is what a blue wave looks like:

Elderly ladies enjoying their blasts,

Young creatures chattering like monkeys,

Children shouting ‘trick or treat’,

Girls playing with their blackberries,

Waves busy painting the foam in blue,

They’re artists, yes, all of them strange beasts-

So, are you going to live your dreams,

Or ask for help?

Don’t leg it, soul, if you stumble on deserted rooms,

And life’s raiding silence,

Don’t leg it if the anger’s stares look cyanotic blue,

And a slant light breathes on your shapes,

Sure, comets play hide-and-seek, so what?

We’ll talk dreams when the biting cold hijacks life,

And you’ve just hailed clear days,

Or dissolved rows in purer shapes,

Clouds, maybe waves, maybe angels-

We’ll talk dreams when you rise deeper than a radar,

And get close to words despite the stinking roots,

When the moon, the undergrowth intertwine

Threads of silence, thus shedding light on warring times-

But why are you scared if the last fires stay silent?

OK, nobody’s watching, yet demise

Sneers at green, and the many questions flooding

The sky for miles, when you can’t see it,

When you think them the strongest dam,

Who knows, souls end up hopeless-

Stop it then, my hidden god, your sky is just a mix-up

Where poetry shivers and froze,

Where you push a non-stop light

To show up as a demise-

Oh, and don’t forget they’ve done them in,

Those blue words, the many voices you sent AWOL,

While they’re stoning the dosh

I’ll smoke my soul away,

He said to his friends, three punk kids on their way

To granny’s house, three cheerful dead boys,

And a unicorn heaving among the trees,

A dead-end point of no return, nearby.

© 2020 Gabriella Garofalo

Bio: Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with 

the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian), at six , and is 

the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre st 

“Blue branches”, and “A Blue Soul”.