Poem by Liliana Isella.

sacred to my heart
is nothing

but your presence.

Poem by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Denise Leitner.

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).

Ti raccolgono
su un marciapiede senza via
in un buio senza frontiere

ti scaricano
sul ciglio di un fuoco spento
ai margini di stelle rivoltate

fiore stropicciato
fra elastici sgozzati
risa di dolore
pene di sapone.

Poesia di Liliana Isella.

Photo: Frances Cobain by Hedi Sliman.

Photo Credit: Helmut Newton

For the fairy fingers
Your hands will hold
One by one
My rotten nails I’d rip and tore

For the place of honor
Your arms will guard
One by one
My filthy bones I’d break apart

For the blue spring holes
Your lips will crave
One by one
My sad two greys I’d scratch away

For the witchy smile
Your words will dawn
One by one
These poisoned teeth I’d pull and blow

For the regal paleness
Your tenderness will trap
One by one
My veins I’d draw of the last blood drop

One by one
I’d skin my soul of every inch of me
To blossom in the only dream of paper
You can call Love.

Poem by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Helmut Newton.

Poesia di Liliana Isella.

Coccinelle in coda nella notte
Dagli occhi giallo fluorescente
Questo aspettare casa interminabile.

Santa Monica tramonta
Verso le punte dei tuoi alberi
Fra la brezza del tuo portico
Sul cotto dei tuoi passi.

Volteggia la nostra favola
Dentro la magia dei tuoi respiri
Nel lino delle tue notti
Tra gli anelli delle mie preghiere.

Che il vento te la possa portare
In questo orizzonte di fuoco
Oltre questo muro di nuvole
Su questo oceano di ghiaccio.

E che la nostra canzone torni a suonare
Fra note di malinconia e sapone
Per questo tramonto di santi e perdenti.

Poem by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Max Furia.

Common as a mako, mean as a bull
You attack survivors, you smell the crash.
We think we’re safe, wading in freshwater,
Coastal inlets, summer vacations on Maine islands.

But you swim upstream, play salmon in shark skin.
I grew up fearless—skinny-dipping like Anne Sexton
Who hungered for death, so she went for night swims,
off Squirrel Island.I bathed in that same dark water
Tip-toeing ‘til I plunged, numb from the waist down.

Drifted downeast to Sand Beach, I got my feet wet
After a stormwatch, the rains receded, a neap tide
Too weak to take me in the undertow, and yet
Eudora herself couldn’t promise a good catch.

Then you had me, pulled my leg out of its socket
Suddenly whipped by this possessive man-of-war
I felt the heat of the welt, spinning like a kid’s
Black inner tube floating with the cold current.

Dizzy from blood in the water I could feel,
Insulated and surreal, I didn’t even see you
Nudge my hip, but serrated pain prickled
All over my body, bubbles broke through

My choked throat—only sea monsters
Communicate on that frequency. The ill-fated
Rusalka, wronged girls, might have warned me
As I kissed the mouth of their rivers goodnight.

Still we thrashed, I tried to look you in the eye
But you’d blacked out, rolled back filmy shields
So you wouldn’t watch your own violence
It’s the way you create intimacy, a living weapon
You wield, as if you had fists instead of fins.

If you brought a buddy, I’d be torn apart.
Since you prefer to tag-team, but unguarded
You had one weakness, like a beat-down dog,
And I wasn’t dead, though you bit hard.

Teeth cracking bones, you said, “not done
With you, bitch,” I kicked you in the nose
And swam as fast as I could, a sick diagonal
Limp strokes, a flying fish nibbled by gulls.

I prayed for no splash, expecting the take-back
One last time, to drag me too far to be saved
How you took those nympho girls in California
‘Til you got chased out of Monterey Bay

Hunted to the brink of extinction
Looking for seals, unsuspecting prey
You changed coasts, a notable distinction
In the twisted mess of abandoned nets.

The military didn’t want you; the Lochness,
Drowned ghosts, the wrecks of the Great Lakes
Absorbed the sordid stink of your cowardice,
Rampage, frenzied bets and stomach contents.

They could map a watershed of your victims,
Whoever you ate, the carnage in your wake
Bottom-feeders live for that kind of bait
You circle and surf, take what you can break
Scientists study your natural rhythms.

My mind flashed back to a funny movie scene
In “Beetlejuice,” the dead guy in the waiting room
Of the Recently Deceased, a shark up to his knee.
Weirdly enough, you waited for me—to swim

At my own risk, at dusk, in four feet of water
That’s where you lurk, hulking and sulking,
A big fucking jerk, but a Titan’s daughter
Had supernatural powers in the making

I have used these against predators like you
Who’d never believed a sea-maiden existed
Let alone shot salty jets, tears like bullets,
Adrenaline, Calypso-tempered and persistent.

Nothing propels a woman faster to shore
Than knowing she chose a fate, her mistake
I’d already healed from the other bite wounds
Your friends, bad boys with Great White grins
They draw a songless siren, then surround her
Like hell hounds.

My muscles remembered the weight of your jaws
Clamped, an invisible vice grip with a hacksaw.
I crawled sideways over rocks, spilling myself,
Understanding the cause, secretly poured whiskey
And rum down the drain so you wouldn’t get rough;
It’s not like I was chumming.

For a few sun-soaked days one February,
I wallowed in the Caribbean to recover
Snorkeling in Savannah Bay, despite
The bull shark sightings, I followed
A blue tang, let my inhibitions sway
Like sea fans.

At home in the lakes with the nixies, who purify,
I regenerate, justified, having testified. But the moonlit
Waves at Scarborough Beach tempt me; I can’t resist
Channeling the silhouettes of rockweed, illuminated
A conduit for waking sea fantasies, their shadows
Like slithering heads of Medusa.

Poem by Leah C. Stetson.

Image by Unknown Artist.

“It takes two to tango.”

You say that and I wake up.
It’s the first time I come back from a dream with a flavor.

Your big pink tree and its flavor.
On my belly. Under my fingers. Between my lips.
On the skin my tong can taste your absence on a little more.

“Knowledge is pain. Magic is freedom.”

A million crystal shower to ash our last dinner into tears.
I close the door, lit the candle, and a steamy river bursts all the banks of the prison you slaked my slavery with.

I know I chose you because of her.
Of the rough hands that fed my nights with honey
of the blonde hair that sang my earliest prayers
of the invincible smile that no black angel could ever make me kiss goodbye.

“I adore you.”

I couldn’t tell you that I love you.
It’s because I know you can’t.
It’s too much money, too much women.
You’ve got too much – and never enough.

And never enough
I will hear your voice.
Feel your coldness.
Melt your worlds.

Back in my bedroom
the mirror of my mistakes
holds your hands out to me.
Hands I would kiss hold and pray.
Hands I would hide under a coat of lies
to cover all the winter illusions of this warm, far sundown.

“It takes two to tango.”

And a lifetime of starless nights to get out of ours, Jeff.
A million skies have fallen on our dance.
Still, we’ll look for the freedom of its magic
in every other step we take.

Story by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Peter Lindbergh

Se nel tuo respiro
c’e` ancora un silenzio
per la nostra luna

se fra le pieghe del vestito
c’e` ancora spazio
per il suo primo raggio di sole

se nell’ombra dei tuoi pensieri
risplende ancora l’attimo
per i nostri passi fra le onde

non spegnere l’attesa sul mio sorriso
non lasciare la mano del nostro destino
non abbandonare le fila della nostra canzone.

Poem by Liliana Isella.