Vanish to the Mountain Spring

By Donny Barilla

These poems enclosed waver and fluctuate with rhythms and hold a natural approach to musical theories, yet they do so through images and metaphors. Poems included create sounds which need arrangement such as a puzzle piece must fit with its fellow pieces. Along with following the sound of the poem, one will discover an image, or images which cover the palate of the senses. The sounds of the words, individually or together, create the themes of the book. I hold the strong belief that the art of writing and reading poems exists as theatrical one. One which calls for an audience and upholds the notion that verse, in the end, is music and image and meaning together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adelaide Books Publishers
• Release date: Aug 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951214203

Donny Barilla

Donny Barilla, living in the beautiful state of Pennsylvania, devotes his evenings and nights to writing poetry. He published over seventy poems in magazines and literary journals. He has twenty-three books in libraries, both academic and public. He hosts readings and signings on a frequent basis. Coming in first place of the Adelaide Literary Award for poetry, two thousand and eighteen, many of his pursuits have come in the direction of charities for children in need. Donny released his first two books, ‘Treasures’ and ‘Dance Upon the Forest Floor.’ Numerous more rest on the horizon as Donny writes daily constantly trying to improve upon his craft. With nature standing as his backdrop for his poems, Donny pulls on the heartstrings of his messages and stays as a disciplined artist.

Book preview

Chants of the Cherry Blossom

Blossom of the weeping cherry tree, I hear the chant of the

spindling winds which gather in my weakening chest.

Running my fingers through the moisture of the petals,

sweet rain dances from limb to supple bud.

In an endless stretch of sauntering wind,

I fill my lungs and then, I hear the hymns as they have

buried in these roots, filled with antiquity.

After roaming this orchard, sweet scents of the fullness of this

pasture climbs through my mouth, moans in the presence

where my fingers and thumbs gather pollens and lofting dust.

For many years, thousands of years, she once

threaded her way across this earth. I hear her

tender voice with this wind, blooming

upon the gestures of each floundering seed.

I gather my things and venture through the endless grasses

which slumber upon pasture and fertile meadow.

Field

I lay upon this sheet, down pillow, and endless roaming blanket, quilt.

I swim through as a river licks and moistens the earth.

Feeling your breath, heavy loafing incense patterns

across the wooden and most generous room.

Slick, cool beads dampen the fullness of your breasts.

My cheeks, jaws, and temples soothe with every ebb and flow.

Winds smash upon the oldest trembling windows.

The fury of this storm rests upon milks.

Quietly, I hurry my mouth and soft lips.

I hear the thrashing posture of this soaked, trembling field.

Lost in this Cloak and Fog

With the full, sinking clouds, I watch the sleek gray fog slips

and spread across the inviting forest.

Several, silent, steps and I am lost upon

The threads of night which cloak my way.

Wrapped in shrouds of this theft of night,

each trail which loosens from my boots,

I feel the thin gauze wrap across my face.

The heaviness of my body sulks upon

the trembling pat of the soothing rains.

I answer to the gloat of the moon. I moisten with each fading grass

as the trickling beads whisper upon my feet and ankle.

Softening weeds moan with the pulse of the sky

as each dewdrop carries a song of it’s ancestor

which milked root and loafing branch.

Heavy

Rains pelt the shift and goblet of my mouth, throat.

Tasting the scouring creek, glide of the river,

I walk through each bush, thorn, and thicket.

I hear the passion of the holly bush as the skies

Open to the threads which stitch upon my torso.

I step across the mumbling pockets of the earth.

Stopping briefly, I smile upon

the velvets of the trees, boasting green moss.

I walk my way across the moans of the forest.

Reaching the wheat and muds which swell across my Boots,

I beg for the heaviest of rain to fall upon me.

Oaks Which Triumph

Spread, a fracture upon the earth boasted of rock,

pebbles and rich, fragrant minerals.

I deepened into this chasm and slept until the sliced rivets

of moonlight trembled across the most heavy blanket;

I shrouded in burlap and gave myself to the threads

which coddled both face groin, and sulking flesh.

I give myself to the trembling dash of starlight.

I wrestle my way to the heavy passing stream.

Upon the notes of the drenched, flooding sky,

I gave my lust to the heaviest of oaks which triumphs.

After Walking through Your Garden Years Past

There rest bones within me; I recall each finger

you grooved across me which trace signatures

and witness the quiver of this tensing flesh.

A redness flushed, slapping fluids, rises with each antidote

and fires a swallow through the floods swelling in my throat.

I look upon you in the crests of a morning dampness.

I unbutton my denim and sculpt my way across you;

Looking to the horizon, past the pastures

and roam of the wooded hills,

I recall the angles you shifted

and rose to the fibers which dashed across me.

Age Marked by Sapling and Cloud Descension

In the soft hours of the twitch and sway

where the sapling fumbles each jade, spread and branch,

each bud and bursting pod, I breath the voice of this dancing tree.

There once broomed a