Butterfly-farm
All dressed as witches.
Hovering above my senses,
loitering in corners of their jail,
gliding to Reggae shapes.
Soft wing’s silent, blue smile
flashes during the chase.
Steamed windows
limit their space.
Pixie birds chattering
behind sight,
bushes close up to cover
of gracious feather’s delight.
Anna shuffles and flutters
chiffchaffs away,
her young laugh
causes déjà vu sway.
Precious moments stamped
images into my retina
to see again in my call
of the arms of a new era.
Gyula Friewald © 15/07/2012
Emilia Romagna
(Bologna)
Terracotta handstroke
stuck bricks to bricks
formed streets, towers and gates
like reverse earthquakes.
Arches of days and nights
dark green and blue
named after saints or criminals.
Years turn to bricks of sancturies.
Smile turns grim and perches
on the brim of senses.
As violin plays on memory,
smoky winter’s melody.
Now, the angel makes love
to fallen, gray and fat dove
in plenty of melted butter,
in mouldy friary’s kitchen.
Meanwhile the monk stutters
lovers profile quickly turn to
intricate calligraphic patterns
on venous bricklayer’s hand.
Gyula Friewald © 28/06/2012
FRIEWALD 