ERMANNO SPERA

 

The Groom, The Bride

The groom, the bride

the groom the bride 

rests a winter garden

within a fragrant rose garden

unfold crowns of the moon

on a white sheet to fill.

The cheeks of a lit candle

illuminates the smile of the night

a wax seal 

closes a letter to silence the groom,

the bride, the groom 

the bride the groom.

LO SPOSO, LA SPOSA

lo sposo, la sposa 

lo sposo la sposa 

riposa un giardino d'inverno

all'interno di un profumato roseto

svolgono chiome della lunare 

su un foglio bianco da riempire.

Le gote di una candela accesa

illumina il sorriso della notte 

un sigillo di ceralacca 

richiude una lettera al silenzio

 lo sposo, la sposa

 lo sposo la sposa

Ecstasy

I heard your paper breath

vibrate like a harmonica

walls moved 

giving way to a forest.

 

Prominent trees 

showed

their thick foliage,

a flash consumed a path.

I found myself

stripped of my wits

to fertilize

a new meadow.

ESTASI

Ho  sentito il tuo respiro di carta

vibrare come un'armonica,

pareti muovevano,

lasciando il posto a una foresta.

Alberi spicci 

mostravano

le loro folte chiome,

un baleno consumava un sentiero. 

Mi ritrovai 

spogliato  del senno

a concimare

un nuovo prato.

White Dove

Now I will speak to you of peace

the one so much extolled

by articles in the newspapers

from the pulpits of churches

the one that would not exist

if there were no war

I think of a dove flying

shot by a hunter

ended up in a frying pan

eaten and digested

a hunter will not stop hunting

another dove will return to fly

and you will continue to speak

from church pulpits

from newspaper articles

many white flags will be sold

while again and again

a red river of blood

chalices to toast

dissolved bodies devoid of souls

to sweep through time

for a shred of history

stinking like carrion

among the beaks of vultures

the white dove

a sheet of paper in the clouds

BIANCA COLOMBA

ora vi parlerò di pace

quella tanto decantata

dagli articoli sui giornali

dai pulpiti delle chiese

quella che non esisterebbe

se non ci fosse la guerra

penso a una colomba che vola

impallinata da un cacciatore

finita in una padella 

mangiata e digerita

un cacciatore non smetterà di cacciare

un'altra colomba tornerà a volare

e si continuerà a parlare

dai pulpiti delle chiese

dagli articoli sui giornali

si venderanno tante bandierine bianche

mentre ancora e ancora

un fiume rosso di sangue

calici a brindare

corpi dissepolti privi di anime 

a spaziare nel tempo

per un briciolo di storia

puzzare come carogne

tra il becco di avvoltoi

la bianca colomba

un foglio di carta tra le nuvole

Ermanno Spera

ERMANNO SPERA

ERMANNO SPERA, was born in Rome on 11 March 1967, where he lives. He is a writer, poet and painter. He has participated in various poetry competitions and his poems have been included in national and international literary anthologies. Philosophical concepts, metaphorical expressions and a great lyrical ability are highlighted in his poems. He knows how to juxtapose with skillful stylistic ability images and landscapes of the soul and strong conceptual intuitions. Ermanno Spera’s poems are a treasure trove of ideas, inventions, hidden adventures where the poetic and artistic spirit of the author is compressed and expressed. In his works, the concept of troubled humanity almost always manifests itself even if the poet tends to hide and mask reality, making it become joyful and peaceful as his soul thirsting for peace and justice desires. Sometimes his poetry becomes hermetic and enigmatic. Many metaphors, visions and how much thought his mind releases which does not rack his brain over memory, but always tries to pave the way for new paths of the spirit.