Literature In Los Angeles

Archive for September, 2012|Monthly archive page

BUTTERFLY DREAMER

In LITERARY FICTION on September 25, 2012 at 1:39 pm

Short story by Sue Callender.

The nape of her neck expended tears of anxieties and fears.
Recalling love had and love lost – not so appealing, and yet so enticing.
Dalliances craved to the core of pleasure – few and far between.

Her pensamiento turned to him – the boy next door. She once had a dream in which he beguiled her out of her clothes, and she came (in actuality).
Nothing really happened, ‘twas solely the act of perhaps, the chance of maybe, the mere sound of yes.

He had come over to work on their yard a few times; her flat mates said they knew him from school. And every time he would pull out his grandeur shears – skin so smooth, hair so fine, a countenance of soiled dreams entrapped in perfection.
All she could do was grasp her notebook and coffee whilst she sat on the big beautiful cyclical bay window, her foot dangling.

Her corazon went a flame, when her pensamiento turned to him.
Her sentimiento could only be conveyed as the time of the butterflies.
But, their rustling flaps angered her.
Love did not reside within her, anymore.

All too real – imprecations of past existences have brought her here. To this place of sullied Nirvana. Cobain-ing through life, the misery felt so right. The happiness felt so raw, so transient, so self-important.
She hated that happiness. And it was more clear than the crystal that resides in the tomb of Great Love:  Happiness hated her as well.
And this actualization paralyzed her, breath heavy and oscillating against the big beautiful bay window.
A dream deferred.

Story by Sue Callender.

Photo: Girl and Butterfly.

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ALEPPO

In POETRY on September 10, 2012 at 3:03 pm

Poesia di Maurizio Pedrini.

Gli incubi della notte
sono incredibilmente vivi
mentre la pioggia di bombe
s’abbatte su scheletriche case.
Aleppo m’appare illuminata
dai lampi del temporale
che rinfrescano il mattino
mentre ancora dorme Verona.
Gli infami orrori della guerra
s’affollano nella mente
evocando solo inutili morti
follie distruttive d’ogni cosa.
Rosse lacrime di sangue
colorano le vesti delle madri
prostrate al capezzale
di piccoli angeli smembrati.
Mi risveglio infinitamente stremato
dalla bastarda violenza assassina
stanco dello stupido potere
che giustifica solo se stesso.
Per questo ancora ti prego, mio Dio,
con la forza della fede e della ragione
ultimo appiglio per il mondo
in questo disperato spasmo
di fuggevole speranza.
Perché solo il miracolo della tua voce
potrebbe domare, come d’incanto,
la barbarie di questi oscuri giorni
che, implacabile, massacra
ogni residuo d’umanità.
Vorrei finalmente assaporare
un soffio di dolce armonia
il fresco piacere di nuovi giorni
il tempo d’un amore senza confini
vittorioso sull’arroganza
sulle assurde ideologie
sui pregiudizi di sesso e colore
sul fanatismo religioso
che certo non tollera
chi ti ama in modo diverso.
Non desidero effimeri beni
illusioni di dannate ricchezze
ma solo essenza d’amore.
Così ramingo viaggio
senza sterili barriere
dentro l’universo dell’anima
alla ricerca di me stesso.
Torno rassegnato a dormire
mentre nel sogno risplendono le luci
del mio risveglio in un mondo di pace.

Poesia di Maurizio Pedrini.

Immagine di Rene Magritte, The Great War (1964).

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