GABRIELLA GAROFALO - TRILOGY

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”; “Blue branches”. 
 

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​Dunno why she never learnt
To gracefully ease through cobalt rules
And whirling whispers in the sky:
How to cope they didn’t know,
So they handed her over to nights
Too busy with meeting friends, errands to run,
They couldn’t foster my soul, maybe that’s why  -
Schtum now and let in skews of light,
No more captives  of grim quasars
My comets skip, jump, leap,
Survivors  from spent days  -
Him, you mean? Oh, drop his bloody bragging,
There, I’ve turned the sun off,
Yet I can see you, Father, you are drawing
Clouds, all of them a jerky fad, a delusion,
Yet I can hear the light’s voice,
Your silent yes to first creation,
To boundless art, you are my mother  -
It all capsized.
Enough enough then
With fresh pomegranate juice,
We’ve been drinking death for ages  -
Have a look, c’mon,
Blue blankets in the back yard
Dancing on the washing line,
And you, time, go, go I say, run like hell,
Forget blue girls or breeding mums:
Fed up with diving your sirens lust for sky  -
Listen, keep it sharp keep it short
Lest women smear our sight at the art den  -
Just spot three, the dazed lady
Holding hands with a sturdy guy,
The artsy girlie clad in blue lace trousers, 
I kid you not, all curls à la Dionysus,
The cougar glowing with name-dropping, silicone, 
Man o man, aren’t naked verbs, clothed limbs,
Hidden love affairs a tricky scrape
‘Get out into summer’ they belt out
And wink cheeky from afar -
Dead air outside, love, I’m afraid:
Not my fault, of course, but oh so sorry -
Yeah right.
 

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Please meet him and his endless names - 
Green everywhere - 
Tradition says Eve’s daughters 
Smell strange, is that right? 
Well, just now there is this subtle 
Or not so subtle scent: 
Spike heels, miniskirts, 
Tattooed legs, skin-tight tees, 
Then God’s creativity shows up: 
Demise, cold stones meddling 
If women shunt or trees move on, 
Soul where seed disperses 
When candles raise exhausted glow 
When angels shred rooms, 
Of course with light - 
Drop dead twice, noise, she’s going 
Back to the stars that fix what went awry, 
You know how first creation fouls it up: 
Foliage, vault of the sky, ditching white - 
No myth hold you safe, no prophet 
House you desert - 
Questions maybe, scant words of light 
As candles hiss your name she can’t feel mother - 
Yet you inside.
 
 
 
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‘T was the best part of our childhood,
We played, free and flowing like clouds -
We were clouds -
But the angels fired off without warning,
Wild shot discharge, we both jammed up with light -
Listen now, there’s a good girl:
I’ve just run short of questions and  time,
Workshops, book fairs, the fairy tales of raped souls,
Resentful lines simmering with grudge or grinding -
Sorry? Oh, you don’t need names or queries, do you?
Sure as hell, as you smite all names, all queries,
Even the mad thinker says you rose higher much higher
Than names queries daft words,
Well, so he says -
When and only when stillness was the stuff of another life,
Maybe the stuff fairy tales are made of,
Meantime health and sleep go awol
and my sister’s words are beating like traffic lights,
Green red green red -
Or is it a heart’s lights just a sec before riots strike?