By all means may your spirit be free in its flight. But your body and mind must
know no such freedom; they must obey the spaces and attitudes of this earth,
for the goodness of those who fly beside you.
Oceans Of Sentiment
My homeland melted into the foaming ocean horizon, and as my heart followed
my sentiment swelled. And swelled, and remained a torturing torment inside my
soul. But now I have learned to keep it at bay,
only in order to survive another day, where I have come to rest..
When fresh encounters capture my imagination my eccentricity runs;
unleashed medieval humor a-La Serenissima. Eclectic contortions
of my face test the audience. Finally, I can be my placid natural self,
at-ease that I have not been over-looked on this stage.
Evening Stroll In Capri
Such a simple pleasure in our lives; nonchalant steps that wish to tread-back
the racing hands of time. On this our beloved isle, under romancing stars, with
you, where fear of earthly time is not warranted.
Swinging With Euterpe
In two, three, four, or more! No matter the number you please, it’s not the
factor that counts. The muse blows through your soul; she beats your heart,
strums your spirit, and ripples your fingers.
The power is ultimately hers, flexing innately in you, so let it swing.
What would I see, hear, smell, touch from within a traveler’s trunk of old?
Perhaps nothing I do not already know? But that was then, when every day in
the life of every being was adventure, discovery, and mystery.
Now, I am but wrapped in the cotton-wool spun in the past.
One Morning In Springtime
How can I accept that this beautiful day is not only for me, but also for those
whose hearts are tainted with badness, whose world is weighted with pain,
whom are not as fortunate as I? This is the challenge of my every day.
The Golden Sea
One night, I was sailing on the golden sea; I met a silver dolphin leaving a
wake of crystals. She told me it was not at all unique, nor the glittering
diamonds or ivory albatross circling the big pearl in the sky. I was unique; she
longed to ride my wooden boat to the land of flowers, giraffes, green grass,
mountains and waterfalls.
Dream Of Adria
Traces, stories of an ancient people and place, remain.
I collate, imagine-ate, trying to understand. And what story can I leave?
Sweet valentine, in a secret love, wrap me with your arms so true
As the peace dove fly’s, what the cupid brings, come to me, come to me.
Sweet valentine, be my only love, touch me with your hands so true.
As the holy veil, on a peaceful day, come to me, come to me.
Mere mortals. Our need to understand is essential to the purpose of
life itself. And love, is the first understanding to be believed.
Before that, there is only desperation. After it, there is hope.
Lost In Zanzibar
The farce, the tragedy. Slaves. Bearing elephant tusks across central
Africa to the island trading post to sell and be sold. In the colonial
alleyway the old man blows a battered trumpet for the tourists.
Under his fingers, ivory, but the sound is un-deniably black.
He Is Going To The Moon
A mother, attempting to explain to her young child about their father’s
death explains, “He’s going away”. But the child innocently asks,
“Where is he going?” She searches painfully for a philosophical answer.
Can You Hear That Voice?
There are voices that call, voices that shout, voices that cry,
and there are voices never heard at all. These bleed for the
most simple things, even before love. Before love?!
Where does the voice of love hide?
The un-mistakable feeling of returning home after a long and
distant journey. Seeing ones home-town in a new light.
But what of those who have no such home? And those who never see
a new light? Not everything is learned on the journey.
My summer is high, but I am low in autumn for that is where he lives.
And even she is not here. She lives in summer; at least she could help
me to keep warm through his fast-approaching winter.
Fantastic tales from the distant past, across lands, continents and seas
have been carried to our ears. Not all we heed. We profess to know more,
to be more adventurous, more courageous in our times than them.
And as many fools live today as did then.
O Mio Babbino Caro (G.Puccini, arr. C.Antoniolli)
A timeless melody carries a timeless message. My Dear father…
Love is greater than life and certainly of petty inheritances.
Deceit, disguised as a bejeweled fanfare, is easily smothered
by the love carried in a precious melody.
As far as we may be, from the sight of the shiny dance-floor, from the
sound of the most entrancing rhythms. Make my heart sway and pulsate
to the musings from your lips. Let romance be here.
Anywhere we are, anytime we are, together.
Hold Me In Your Tender Arms
Embrace me in your thoughts from afar. Touch me in your distant
dreams. Wrap me in your feelings for love denied.
But when you’re here, please …!
|These prose are the descriptive pieces accompanying
Carlo's compositions for piano, recorded on his demo CD albums.
[ Demo CD Album: 'Piramide' 2007 ]
[ Demo CD Album: 'Believe' 2007 ]
His life ends so soon, with great talents and passions never freed.
They remain there, in-limbo, within him.
Some may say I cannot help him now. Right or wrong, I must try.
Dreams of coolness, the coolness of dreams, dreams that cool,
cool it is to dream, dreamy in your coolness,
cooling off in my dreams … of you, dreaming of me.
When You Give Me Your Hand
I wait, fragile. No props, no face, no yes or no, credibility none.
And wait for what? To be strong again. I am strong …
La Brisa Del Verano
She, like the cool mountain wind blowing tenderly
through the valley, through my soul, and then away.
And the dry wind follows, to fill the hollow.
No more than a pyramid. Upturned, it may become a vessel.
But left alone it is never lonely, for it points and faces all.
Like you, unlike I. And yet, we stand together, I a visiting ball.
Fly To My Heart
Beautiful bird, fly to my heart, unto your wings, lift-up my soul,
into the sky, into the sun, make me your own, beautiful bird.
Where Does A Rose Go?
Un-believable, the beauty of this rose in full bloom.
But now! It fades, it weeps, it leaves me down.
But how could this amazing beauty simply vanish?
It must surely go to some place. There, I’ll see it again.
Sultry By Default
The kind of mood that’s unkind to moving.
I return to my natural slumber-some self.
This may be my only affliction, from birth indeed.
Falling Like Rain
Some things that fall are beautiful, and some things that rise
are not so good. Some are both beautiful and good, others neither.
How thankful I am to be able to see them all.
Sign Your Heart
Is it signed? Is it yours? A heart that beats but has no name.
A name that has a heart but does not beat. Value-less, perhaps.
Let it dance with others to a funky latin beat. Or valse romantique!
[ Demo CD Album: 'Oceans Of Sentiment' 2008 ]
[ Demo CD Album: 'Clouds In Time' 2009 ]
There, I was, waiting. The train came, began to pass me by. And passed, and
passed, and … The passengers waved, the ground rumbled, the air rushed. I
remained defiant. Fears, wonders, excitements, delights, disappointments, all
the colors I felt. I motioned often to step back, step in, to no avail. I was
programmed against such choices. It, infinitely wagon-ed.
Clouds In Time
Whisking, foaming, swirling, streaking, bubbling; a slow-motion film of my life
past, of ours, of theirs… Little-changed patterns over tempus eternus; telling,
defying our embossed collage of desire to be traveling under no less than an
ever-clear, ever-blue canvas. Only in our shameful, mortal minds; the cerulean
How Long Is The Sky?
A child’s question perhaps, yet teeming with wonder. An innocent answer
evades even the wisest adults. Somewhere between a second and eternity, let
your imagination be like that of the child who would float and fly forever in its
vastness. Perhaps the sky takes only as long as we continue to ask ourselves
the innocent question?
Tempo Di Chronos
Cool, collected, the power is all his, it may seem. Yet the Father of Time is laden
with the weight of the world, the universe, indeed the blues of human failings. He
swings the pendulum effortlessly; it appears to us who are un-concerned with
such higher matters. You, like I, hypo-criticize with senseless morals and ethics;
no love, no time, no te’lioma*. ( * Greek: finality )
Hundreds by the day, billions by the lifetime. Yet a mere pittance ever captured;
most lost in a wild orgy of waste and neglect. Today I thought of you a hundred
times, but you failed to materialize, while another solitary thought plagued me
with its hard, tenable reality … so I thought at the time.
Thank God for tomorrow, for yesterday I thought I would do it today, but forgot.
No need to fret, only to remember another minute, then it will be tomorrow.
Yesterday, I did, said and thought many, many things; such an eventful, fulfilling
day in my life. Now? I dream of tomorrows; a pathetic expectation that they
should actually arrive, as indeed did this day which is departing.
Seize The Moment
Mambo? Just a moment while I tell you my life’s story and how are my chickens
and cows. Funny?! Give me your trust and conviction, for nothing more than
money, or even less, some useless artifact or plastic cameo of your face.
No time like now, to know the real you, to say and do everything we should
while it’s hot. So, what’s up? Poa! I’m cool!
Life Beyond This Dream
My study, my work; find contentedness, since you are the only reason worth the
torment of this dream. Others also long for the truth, reason, understanding,
and beg them from me, from you, from the other. Love, if it be the only reason
for everything, but everything, must surely be the master-plan, which bring life;
perhaps sooner, perhaps later, but certainly.
Just One More Hill
Carefree, resigned, trundling, amid the boundless landscape. Peaks,troughs,
narrows, expanses, traps and oasis, flood forth from the un-reachable horizon.
Day and night lessons are learned, missed, forgotten, re-learned, until all seems
known. Yet, one more hill there will always be to climb, to descend. Be strong,
be content, be wary … the possibility of lands’ end is always nigh.
Do not envy, my challenge was far greater. Like the wall which I defeated, the
price has been high, un-counted sacrifices. I may have been the Operatic
conductor, taken the greener valley option, been the traveler over Marco’s
footsteps, have written … my story? These are yours to challenge. But see,
even I have laid for you the platform, set the catapult. From hereon I will follow.
Copyright C.G.Antoniolli 2007-9