The Pixie and the Witch

By Edda Tassi

Putin has the soul of an Irish woodland elf , mischievous , now good , now bad. Mab, apart from the Shakespearean name, is a small witch that exists , because the artist is defenseless among the other humans. Both are inhuman. You cannot know what they are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9780992019945

Book preview

Preludes to Lutin

1

In the great celestial stage

a star is waning.

2

Dipped in the grass

I try in your face

new skies to explore .

3

In the last day

I will try in vain

webs of joy .

4

In the darkness

a still small

small light

then large

almost large

still small

very small

dies

darkness

again.

5

This night

the sky told me

old stories of ghosts .

6

You are

fleeting oblivion

of death.

7

Poetry

knows every street

and it returns

caressing illusions

carved on ancient walls.

8

In my eyes

abducted from whirling illusions

and in my hands

that still touch rag - dolls

there’s always a hidden anger

and so I get sick of life.

9

In the faint light of a church

the divine mask cries

ancient errors of absolute

escaped in an eternal moment

during the human birth.

10

At night

the usual nausea that knows

every my abandonment

re-emerges.

And with it

the usual voices

of happy ghosts

elusive at morning.

11

Even the latest escape has completed .

Indifferent skies

observe

the loneliness of a cemetery.

12

A dead fly and a thin spider

are waiting for me.

All around me there’s the desert.

I , intellectual of a twentieth century.

13

Death, ah!

After the last crime

to meet

the absurd face of the assassin.

14

A hopeless monk wanders upset

among the moist incenses .

He stops to the altars

listening ancient prayers

whispered thousand times

doubtful

to the Muse of time.

15

Scatter your doubts

in the fastest cloud

set off your madness in the sun

persistent fantasy of death.

16

Desperate rings of fire

are about to invade the world.

But here’s

a flower

in the wind.

17

I am

a rainbow of solitudes

lost into mysterious presences.

18

Leave me alone

now

with my snowy shadow !

Far from certainties

I deflower life.

It’s destroy time.

19

Every day

an agreement with the infinite

burns my mind .

From every word falls

the absurdity of a poem

again .

20

With the broken arms

I relive the silences

that aroused a thirst in the stones of the road .

The glimpsed spring

in the blue gray water.

Beethoven played

his piano.

21

Beyond the glasses of the school

only the roofs

that abduct the sun

and turned off chimneys

like hands full of cracks.

22

The sun leaves me

crying on the water

infinity and a grainy ray .

Alone again

while another clown

is dying.

Melted wax.

23

I’m tired

to mould in reality

irrational existences.

Blue colour

that explodes here inside.

Nothing in this time.

Even the manifacturer of dolls

is tired.

24

My season

my green grain fear

don’t go afar from here

it’s not the frothy winter.

The madness of a white clown

explodes on the road .

The birds come down from the clouds

and they carry new seeds .

Don’t go afar from here

it’s not cold under the snow .

The blue swan sings

and it does not die .

In the dark sea

great chains tie