Liberatore Suffoletta

Rookie - 8 Points (July 2,1948 / Pettorano Sul Gizio, L'Aquila, Abruzzi, Italy)

Liquid Days And Naked Lunch - Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

Beneath his sickle moon
Morpheus comes
along a sea path of red poppies
and crystal endless nights.
The starless silence, begins
from his rhythmic tambourine,
eyelids fall like whips
and sing in dreams desire,
nights filled with embered fireflies.
High atop the rivers dark green
angels are weeping;
angels are singing;
And gypsies beside the water
for their pleasure erect
little seats on Venus' shells
with arbors of Christmas pine.
Playing his sickle moon
Morpheus comes.
The blood sees him and rises,
the blood that never sleeps.
Even naked David swells,
watching this eunuch dance
and shows his red tongues
Ringing softly dreams of celestial hells.
unleashing his dormant stirring sword

Woman, I have forgotten
your skirt and look of you.
Forgotten how to open with my fingers
the blue rose of your forgetful womb.
No need to run away in terror
There is no virility to this man
Though he does pursues you
with a breath burning sword.

The sea darkens and roars,
to the ingrate mountains
while the olive's eyes open.
to the darkness all around,
and a muted gong announces.
the gentle pricking of pinning sky
the green wind always catches!
no matter how fast he runs!
This god of high-born stars
with this deep delirious need
of consuming flowing blood.
Awaiting now filled with fear,
that he may mistake that house
beyond the tall green pines
where desire lives to die.
Alarming anguished cries,
three demons come running,
their ebon capes tightly drawn,
white hoods low from their crowns.

The Italian sells the gypsy
a glass of tepid espresso
and a shot of sambuca
and a red ancient horse
that is both dumb and lame
And while he sells his birthright,
Morpheus furiously gnashes
against the hunger in his blood.


Comments about Liquid Days And Naked Lunch by Liberatore Suffoletta

  • (12/30/2009 1:46:00 AM)


    This awesome mural of a poem supervised by the last stanza which is the fierce red horse of Ferrari is one of the greatest poems I have read aloud. Though my comprehension is incapable of interpreting the fullness of these metaphors, this is to me wonderful and evocative visionary poetry in the grand style. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 28, 2009



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