DONNY BARILLA - POEMS

He writes avidly and reinvents his poems with renewed enthusiasm. Topics such as the transition of death, intimacy, sexuality, mythology and nature find their way upon his page with invention, intense imagery, metaphoric thought and the enigmatic relation of man and nature which coat the background of his poems and flood the pages from his creative palate. From poem to poem, each image and blending sounds as the words fluidly possess the reader, one finds oneself in a sweet and delectable arena of literature, an open captive wade into the ocean of turning pages. With the demanding pulse of heavy language, these poems embody the spirit of trembling phrases and beautiful metaphors.

Travel to the Oak Tree

Upon this rest by the fine, sleek films of the pond, I stood and walked distances away from the lily pads and swept deeply into the moaning branches and the sweet hum of each trembling fern.

Now, evening shouts with the wash of the rain and I remove both cloth and fiber.

The hollow of these woods, glistened and fed the parchment of my tongue. 
I drank and wandered deeply into the thick and wrangle of these perched and patterned poise which bellows triumph and the sweat of the earth.

At the final moments of the fading day, I find the sweeping trim of the jade colored meadow; Swiftly, I climb the sloping hill and smile upon the gasp of the scarlet oak which scatters the floor in burgundies.

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Search for Softness

Moss spread along the pebbled edge of the creek and soothed and suckled 
the depths of the washing current as it held the spooling leaves and slice of the driftwood.

The song of the rooftop and canvas which nestled upon the quivering limbs,
I spoke tenderly to the breadth of this wild and crackling sound which summons
to the fine layers on the leaf coated hustling soil, slumbering upon the earth.

This boastful, fumbling slide and tremble upon the thick sweep of my boots,
well upon the threads of the finely coated colors of every leaf,
here, against the shooting, towering scream of the ancient pine,
I fell and shattered as a part of the trembling earth.

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Breast upon the Meadow

I absorb every fragrance and tender breath which sweeps across me;
Slowly, I hear the windows rattle and she trembles in the fleece 
which suckles upon her and gently rises warmth from each moist nook.

She fell into the arms of nightfall.

Through the ancient gasp of night, I shook my path through the old farmhouse
and trembled to the outer meadow and sweetly walked my path upon the rising hill.

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Wait for the Sun on the Thick Mountain

I looked to the swelling dark clouds of the rhythms of the heather gray spread
which tumbled to the crescent posture, the thick glazes of the slanted, steep mountain.

As I opened the chambers of these lungs,
I fill myself with lavenders and the sweetest floundering perfection of the tulips,
wedged in sap and nook.

As the abdomen of the sky, sliced open and slung and cluttered the pouch of the sun,
I held the liberty, this smash of day and I soaked these boots in sweet clippings 
of grass and retort of the blast of the sun.

​Field Wandering

I wade thigh deep as the wheat caresses and reaches into the host of this groin and pale pink flesh.

By night’s opening of the plump growth of the moon, I lust for the ribbons of the light 
blue rings and gingerly, kneal upon the earth and tend to each stalk.

I wrestle with the cool Autumn breath of the marble colored sky.

With tender strokes, I recall you as the willow tree draws upon the sap of the earth which enriches and fills you with a taste of the leaking breast; alive, I hear the approach of the crying rain.

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