google2a2dd558cabf67a3.htm

Saturday, November 4, 2017

Poetry By Donny Barilla

Donny Barilla, age forty one and born in Dallas, Texas, weaves around common themes, such as:  mythology, nature, human intimacy, and theology.  He writes on a daily basis and engages in the beautiful landscapes that surround him in his home of Pennsylvania.  His first book, “Treasures”, was released in August of 2016.  He currently works on his next book and has published in numerous journals and magazines.  Donny, an avid reader, is passionate about female Japanese poets as he finds them to have a masterful poetic voice that resonates throughout the ages.


Shards and the Crimping Earth

I spoke to the death of the old woods, so slowly
each dash of the falling leaves
scattered across the frozen dirt path
scouring through the ancient forest.

~

With the eager lift of my aching neck, head
I softened to the spread of snowflakes
fumbled in shards upon the crimp of gnarled earth.




Sulking at Nightfall

The sky bloomed in delicate pinks and bled
the color purple.  Soft winds slumped
across my face, neck, and torso.  From these distant horizons, cliffs
which slung from neighboring mountains, I watched
the hawk scour the landscape, hunting.

Alive, the most paused breeze
kissed me upon both mouth and cheek.
Her spiced perfumes, heavy like musk, towered
across me.  I felt this craving for her
and the damp grasses hugged my foot, roamed
across my ankle.

Before nightfall, I sulked as I yearned for the press
of her abdomen and breast.




Until the Close of Day

Treading the palm of my hand
with a slight direction across these patches 
of emerald clovers, I sopped so slowly the dew
trembling beneath the earliest of daylight showering upon
both creek and somber close of flowers at Autumn breath.

Removing the pouch of shoe and sock,
I slipped my pale, soft feet through the mumbling
meadow.  Eager morning daylight
smashed across the paleness of my face, I-
swallowed the powdery breeze, gingerly turned away.

No comments:

Post a Comment