Iris

among the planets and the stars

you know very well
that there are stars
in the sky

and planets
among them.

so even though your hands
can not reach
that high

in a dream
you fly happily
over there.

you want the moon
to be
the cradle of that dream

and you
a child who wanders
through those highs;

a child
among those planets
and the stars

who knows that the world
is only
a small toy--

a truly small toy
in the arms
of
the universe.










© Tom Del Braco

comfortable silence

hole

it's the kind

of a day

I'm yet to understand.

once again

in a lousy mood

and it sucks to be

stuck

in this hole.

I know

there are those worse

than me

but somehow

I don't feel I'm

any better.

there are things

that make me

feel good:

the excitement of

buying the book;

the fresh smell of paper;

a poem written;

a decent human conversation

excluding vanity;

Bukowski's Madness;

a touch of luck;

the feeling of fulfilment reached

with good music;

a message of encouragement.

but now

I'm empty.

empty as a trash can

in a haunted house.

empty as a politicians

promise.

empty as a following thought written

on a blank peace

of paper:

we're all

just the same; we are only

borrowers

on this planet

and that is a simple

truth.

empty

as this hole

I'm in.

maybe

I should get

a cat?

I like cats.

they'll stick with you

for as long as you

feed them and

occasionally

pat them.

even if you don't

they'll find the way

to survive.

they'll move on

to better things.

with no fuss.

I'm sure

they'll even know the way-

the way out

of this

hole.

© Tom Del Braco

 

penetration

put together as one piece
and then destroyed by
the explosion within;
now, that's what I call the
ending, the burning of my skin.
tempering with thoughts
to be outside this simple box,
revolutionised self-being,
aggressively lethargic in
total misunderstanding.
unshaven and let loose
in the kingdom of misused,
penetrated with silence
I scream what I desire.

and now I wonder
if you know
what
sets me on fire?

walking on
the
thin
wire.











© Tom Del Braco

the mirror

finger in the eye

 

a toast

with the bottle

of red

and my laptop

tonight

I will salute

all the women

in my life

that made me feel

miserable

to say

THANK YOU

for the heartbreaks

the loss of innocence

for a dirty mind

for helping me discover

what love really is

for the first fuck

I remember all too well

(but one I would

rather like to

forget)

and for everything that's

better left

unsaid

because you were

the real teachers
in my life

(when I paid attention)

and I still love you

all

with no

exception.

© Tom Del Braco

 

the burning

to do it alone
to be dethroned
to follow
to follow the words
unknown
to be a poet
without suffocation
to set him on fire
without hesitation
to be able to hear
the undeniable
truth
to be able to heal
when it hurts
to be able
to say
that I won't obey
to you
my master
your rules of play

to be able to hide

and show myself

again

to be able to kill

the pretentious

madman

but I'm still alive
with this fire within
and I'll be pushed

again
but I will
win.

 © Tom Del Braco

the cupboard

 

I remember

I wasn't ready
as a child
to understand
the expectations
for myself.


Even now
I'm surprised
with the answers.

















© Tom Del Braco














 

the art of being invisible

there's a certain world

around me.

everywhere

I turn.

people are there

but I'm not.

among them
I'm irrelevant

and I'm sorry.

different worlds of desire

exist around me

flying as winds

and they're tied by

soft foundations of their

relationships and their

heartbreaks;

and I

understand them

but they don't understand

me

and I'm sorry.

there's

an eternal dreamer

living among you.

and you don't even know how
the darkness

is only one silk curtain

under which

he's happy to hide

until it gets eaten up

by moths of the

morning sun.

and he's a star in the sky

flickering

as if every moment

he's about to fall

on one's palm

to be strengthened by its

mystique.

but he doesn't fall;

he disappears in the light of a day

because then

he doesn't belong

among you

and for that
he is not sorry.

and you should maybe try
to understand

why

because he can't.

 © Tom Del Braco

the instrument of surrender

probably the most tragic thing about poets
is their comical nature,
and what's really comical about them
is their incomprehensible
tragedy.

dreams are eaten up
by a harsh reality
and almost every written poem is
in fact
a signature page of surrender.

too weak
for such a battle, in life
they almost always remain
defeated.









© Tom Del Braco












 

(home)less

it's only a repetition
alarm bell knocking on the door
of a cold Ackland street
the fork of life is lost
in singularity
and the night stabbed with a knife
not young any more
principles are irrelevant
regardless of their faith
some
people
always
feel
alone
like an attitude
against the rules of life
a lack of fortune exposed
like a sadness on the face
of a merciful coin sleeping
in a hat.









© Tom Del Braco













 

not today

I still don't understand why
I started writing poems.
and why poems
rather than
novels?
ah, I've heard the stories that life writes them for us.
and I believed in that once.
I even believed that there's one
perfect poem hidden in all of us,
the one in which we'll be able to fit our entire life.
but I'm still looking.
still searching for it.
and I can't remember when it became an obsession,
the dependence on finding spontaneously devastating words.
an obsession as real as drinking
to a broken man,
inhaling smokes of cigarettes
to a penitent sinner,
sex without discrimination
to the masochist.
something like masturbation to the climax
of the last word in the mosaic.
and each new poem
in a unique way
becomes a new thought orgasm. a miracle.
but I don't understand why
when I write
it has nothing to do with the actual words,
but it's all just the sigh of the storm.
I don't understand why those words are sometimes
like ghosts in the fog
that speak a foreign language.
maybe it's all a matter of projection,
black and white film, a negative
awaiting processing to be converted into the
positive image.
and maybe one day
it will make sense, but today
I don't know.
I don't understand.
I can't remember
why.









© Tom Del Braco















 

the dark room

annoying habit of indisposed behaviour

at night, when it seems
how I finally managed to
identify myself,
satisfied I would think -
how bad is my need for
a commonly encountered happiness,
which really is not so ordinary after all
because of my stubborn desire--
such a distortion of truth
really fits me perfectly
but each time
it's shaking my nerves again.
in any case
it's becoming annoying
as a habit
of indisposed behaviour;

a habit of estimating
my own state of mind
as something inappropriate, amorphous.
alternation then becomes a staple
in psychology.
imagine the power of modification,
alternating appearance of two different people
in the same role, perhaps
of two different roles in the same
person?

for once, at least
a simple hypothesis
becomes a reality.









 © Tom Del Braco

morning conversation with the mirror

it seems very difficult
to be a thoughtful individual
and yet to preserve dignity.
this morning you were pretty nervous
and every word I've said
you accepted somewhat arrogantly,
just waiting for an opportunity
to spit it all back
into my face.
you didn't let me notice that immediately
so I felt superfluous.

"how can you presume,"
you said,
"that you know everything?
I hope sometime you do allow others
to look at the world with their own eyes
without the persistent grey picture that you paint
with all of your false
claims.
well, perhaps they're not always incorrect
but in most aspects they're excessive and
unnecessary;
and I know you sometimes know how to think
with a  brighter tone.
prove to me why the distrust and dissatisfaction.
so you think you can see everything so wide,
but you still won't dare to open your eyes.
how do you expect to see the world
with eyes closed?
how dare you condemn something
you cannot face?"

I was shocked by your
highly unexpected reaction
so it took me few moments
to gather all the strings
that were suddenly snatched away
out of my hands-
which, until now, I
so confidently held.

"I never wanted to draw the attention
on myself,"  I replied,
"but you are mistaken in something.
my eyes are not closed,
although sometimes I wish I can dig both of them out
knowing that I would still remember the evil
they have seen. and you;
if you only knew how not to be so selfish
you'd give all of yourself away
instead of living the ideals of the dead idols that fell
on their knees.
like a picture removed from the wall
you would sell yourself out with no shame,
only if you'd know
that you are worth at least as much
as a single gram
of a bad dope.
it seems life is not for you with all the absurdity-
yet all of you would like to be the unnecessary
masters of the world-
with no dignity."

"so you think I'm the
unsuitable God's creature?"

"clarify your own response
from that discrete yet sensitive question"

"can't you see where's your poetic culture
taking you?"

"I turned from your path
to the vortex of thinking satisfaction."

"without the basics you're also dragging me
into something that neither one of us
can manage to understand.
you're leaving desperate impression
on me,
I can't handle it ..."

"now I really feel sorry for you.
I used to understand life
just like you, easily,
just as a glass of scotch
that waiter placed in front of me
slowly,
at which I would look with disgust in some way
knowing that it is watered.
although I haven't yet tasted it
I knew that
I wouldn't enjoyed it-
as a result
of a handful of similar experiences."

"I don't understand your so-called
individualism ..."

"well now, indeed, I can't expect
anything more from you.
I don't claim to know everything,
I just wanted to explain
a different view on life
which is not so foreign to those
who look closely to my eye.
one day, I hope you will understand,
I am not a God-given intellectual;
I'm just more than you
human!"

listening to my defence
you noticed the energetic hustle in me
you can no longer restrain
or prevent its apparent transparency
so therefore you decided
to terminate the entire conversation
with the common words
of every prejudiced half-wit:
"you're talking shit."

all this would have passed unnoticed
if only you're not hangover from last night's revelry
and your stubborn assumption that you're infallible,
angrily cursing all morning
on someone else's shadow,
but totally forgetting your own.
you were mad at me, of course ...

you lost your way in life
and now it must be found.











 © Tom Del Braco