Meth Sambiase

Rookie (Torino, Italy)

Spring Time - Poem by Meth Sambiase

Apple flower,
let allowed to bloom in this wind of voices
that they oscillate as little bell
and they are woven in fans of slender earths,
it is crossed
they admire the end of lethargies
when the vipers seduce the warm one some stones
and it take a seat us to the sun to show him the face
alone,
untying itself sweaters and naked feet
to touch the grass and the clovers,
you set in a line of reliefs,
billows
as clear harbors of greens and cinnabars
as flowers that any more gives
desiccated by the Chinese plastics
and they convince you
that the doesn't is not sin to cook some heart
what the young and gilded skin always likes
that always likes that that word
spring
a new name cannot be used by to give a child
a boom of life in a bed
a white smoke of a love at first sight
indefinite
cultured in the first instant of the to bud
in sincronia with lights of the rivers that ignite,
soaked with mixed seeds
primizia
from the thousand notorieties
outcast to strength from the etiquettes of the Latin sultans
signing the surrender with the blue of the not you immodest Myosotis, immodest as the scandal of a satisfied syndrome premestruale bandaged in a white suit by virgin whore
in an immaculate rebirth
odd
new root in a valley of gems
and glasses of forgeries emeralds
shattered too much in a field of noisy clouds.

PRIMA VERA
Fior di mela,
lasciati fiorire in questo vento di voci
che oscillano come campanelle
e s'intrecciano in ventagli di terre
snelle,
si attraversa ammirate la fine di letarghi
quando le vipere seducono il caldo dei sassi
e ci si siede al sole per mostrargli il viso
sole,
slacciandosi maglioni e piedi nudi
a toccare l'erba e i trifogli,
incastonate in una fila di sollievi,
marosi
come marine limpide di verdi e di cinabri
come fiori che nessuno più regala
essiccati dalla plastica cinese
e ti convincono
che non sia peccato il cuocere del cuore
che la pelle giovane e dorata piaccia sempre
che non si possa usare quella parola
primavera
un nome nuovo da dare un bambino
un rimbombo di vita in un letto
un fumo bianco di un colpo di fulmine
indefinita
colta nell'attimo primo dello sbocciare
in sincronia con luci dei fiumi che si accendono,
intrisa di semi mescolati
primizia
dalle mille nomee
cacciata a forza dai galatei dei sultani latini
firmando la resa con l'azzurro dei non ti scordar di me
impudica
come lo scandalo di un'appagata sindrome premestruale
fasciata in un abito bianco da vergine baldracca
in un'immacolata rinascita
bislacca
radice nuova in una vallata di gemme
e vetri di falsi smeraldi frantumati
in un campo di nuvole troppo rumorose.


Comments about Spring Time by Meth Sambiase

  • Meth Sambiase (6/19/2011 2:12:00 PM)

    so, thanks Akmal Nazir. I have read your recommended poetry. I have left you a comment, but you must excuse me, I do some it labors with the language.
    Thanks still and compliments for your poetries.
    (Report)Reply

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  • Mohammad Akmal Nazir (6/17/2011 10:28:00 AM)

    This is really a nice work. I like it for its vivid imagery and skilful description.
    A fine 10.
    Thanks for sharing.....
    Please read and rate my poem 'A busy street on page 1.
    (Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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Read all 2 comments »



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Poem Submitted: Friday, June 17, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, June 17, 2011


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