irony and cows

Two pictures and a question 

 

update on the spiders:

... 

but twentyfour hours later

much has changed already

new nets have been woven

and a new prey has been killed

and then wrapped

time for an extensive

feast 

in tranquility

 

spider in the garden

On a rainy sunday afternoon

drops are falling

silently

slowly 

thinly spread 

but constantly

and in the garden 

next to flowers

on top of herbs

in all shades of green

there wait 

two spiders

for easy prey

for changing times

and maybe just like me

they wait for yet

another warm and sunny

early autum's day

one sits 

on broken lines

of his net 

that once was fine

but now is gone

beyond repair

another hangs all quiet

in the center of his kingdom

of his formidable trap

and all I can do is stare 

let the camera snap

and wait and see how drops 

bring further beauty but no crops

to symmetries

pearls and steps 

to my sunday reveries

instead of crossing the alps: giving up to climb higher

I wanted to walk from door to door. From Munich to Meran. Me and Myself into the central European adventure.

 

 

I wanted to cross the Alps and walk against the streaming of rivers

 

 through woods and valleys of bliss and beauty

But in the lowlands


one night and two days after the beginning
I had to give in
already
to excessive heat
to excessive weight
to excessive miles
to excessive want
on a long straight road where
once upon a time in a dark brown yesterday
people were stumbling out of a Lager into uncertain freedom
full of hunger and hopes
I gave up where they walked on

just to find myself on mountaintops
of prayers

 

 in the deep embrace of the woods and heights surrounding my hometown with the Dolomites fuming in the distance

sporting their advertising smile

 between clouds and sunshine

 

mirrors of silent beauty

and the depth of our selves

 

 

where twinkling details abound

and give you silence as a present/presence

 

 

ánd the over-saturated meadows of massive farming could so easily be forgotten

and the roaring of the motorbikes on alpine roads could be simply overheard

 

in exchange for a hug and a smile
and the deep conviction: not all is right but you may walk into that direction
 one step after the other
one breath after the other
now

cloudreading

Sun's encore

when you believe the show 
comes to an end 
with a fantastic
finale

stay open

 

when you believe the curtain fell

&

you expect no more

wonder 

unfolds

Sunset as seen from mount Hohe Kisten (1922m) in Bavaria 

on Saturday, August 10th, 2013

Water drops on the outside of my water glass

the drop stops
in front of those heaps of sweat
from my previous hold

the drop glimmers and glisters and mirrors
the worlds
one outside with winds and hands and thirst
another inside and full of calm bubbles


on the glassy border
sits a drop
defying gravity
tending to poetry
and pretending to evoke
time less ness

the drop rests
together with the rest of his archipelago
on the outside

while in the depths of my water glass
new galaxies are formed
at all times

snail's saturday

green side

pictures with title

daemon died

I am currently finishing my thesis in philology
and on my internet usage I should be very slim
but today - o user! - is quite a day to rejoice

I finally found him and i have no choice
but to inform you in picture and also by word
that no daemon no more is living on this earth

after searching far and fooling wide
i finally found him right by my side
but I only found him because he died

yes you see clearly alright
the letters are sharp the message is bright
the daemon - oh user! - the daemon has died

now my computer will hum
with aengels' will and good speed
he will work how it pleases no one but me

[or this is at least how I want it to be
this bright rosy future right after the restart
of this program or two with a jolly good heart]

(c) Daniel Graziadei 2013

turning & moving 2012 - 2013 into thankfulness

As another year ends
the earth keeps turning
unmoved but moving
& I am thankful
for every light
for every night
and the flight of our hopes and smiles
as they open their wings
and rise and shine

The colours of our dreams and visions

turn from black and white to red yellow blue

and blur into motion

A sun rises yellow in the Southern East
behind the mountains of new beginnings
until clouds of infinite altitude turn
into eyes and dragons and other imaginaries

Shapes and visions - premonitions
new days soft moons and full circles
turn into stars or flowers or something unexpected
full of grace and beauty
chance and invention instead of duty

Like that clear evening full of light 

of a year to come 

or this year soon to be gone 

another turn of this planet 

moving unmoved

turning unturned

around sun

light without darkness

and only some clouds 

to write a message

into hilly horizons

I love this life
on this earth
at this time
and thankfulness
gets the last rhyme

261212 Algund, Southern Tyrol, Italy

silent smile(y)

 ...








...









...

Gazagain

After seeing two furious interviews on Aljazeera

1919161112 MUC

But all you can see

in front of your hate

ridden face and rect

-angular glasses

is

how he's holding her

and her daughters

and sons hostage

You see a crime

against humanity

as they cower around

the angry bearded man

in their crowded cage

stereotypically

shooting

blindly

angrily

despe

rately

at You

his very

precise Other

________________________________________________________________

| &

| with

| the passing

| of time and reigns

| violence became violense

| all eyes one sense

| all muscles tense

| full time

| no peace

| to the body

| and the mind

| just fear

| turned

| sour

| to hate

| and

| into a

| border fence

| an ugly grey scar

| ridge of that flat dry volcano

| close to that ancient coast of our Middle Sea

| where the bored waves don't cool no heat no more

| where fires burst under the entertained gaze of Latest News

|

|

|

|

|

|

|

|

|

|

&

You &

the Other

you Brothers

have started your

fight under the olive trees again

all birds

and goats have fled

there is too much noise

too much dirt

too much blood

too much smoke

and you never

come up with

the simple

power of

a handshake

a forgive you

and the poetics

of raising

doves on

neighbour

ing roofs