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Best Poems Written by Carlo Lazzari

Below are the all-time best Carlo Lazzari poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Child Refugee

War and violence push you so moderate
Through deserts of horror and desolation
Your innocence of tortured and desperate
Child deprived of any play and consolation

Limited plays have now been stopped by your tears
Wounded by snares of atrocities and fears
Afraid you rushed to your mother always near
But one day you no longer found her hug here

Unknown designs of wickedness and death
Carved in your young mind with undefined depth
To lead your innocence of child in despair
Towards tears nobody seems to be aware

Seas separate your solitary soul
From innocence and joy yet to extol 
Joy and hope unaware to play a role 
Forget the restless war hard to control

Gunfire around taking lives as a knife
Menacing the refugee camps and life
One day you wanted to leave the damned strife
Joining a refugee caravan at the age of five

Waiting for you an unknown and blue sea
Shouting from children aiming to be free
On a boat overcrowded to an extreme degree
Desperate cries of babies who disagree

The stench of a lifeboat burnt by the hot sun
Flooded with moisture and pierced by a gun
Floating on desperation from shores to shun
Hope of elsewhere alive through bites of a bun

Now the cool breeze of present and peaceful countries
Framed by courteous horizons and olive trees
Scented by flowers and designed by flies of bees
Seagulls floating on peaceful and emerald seas

The peace of skies and the landed queue
Disembark on shores here to welcome you
As a child who is worth of caring eyes
And a warming love which has full supplies

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Humiliation: Children Soldiers

A crystal drop on the child face
who left the shack where mum would hide.
Alone in the streets of guns and race, 
nowhere to go amidst the smog of pride.

The dust of a land with thorns and sun,
along the routes to chase the kites.
The thunder tone of a tank and gun,
no milk no hug but hunger bites.

Go fast, go fast the soldiers come!
No joy, no play in their mental array.
Your age, you pale, the bush as home
to hide from those who’ll make you prey.

And when the darkness veils your sorrow eyes,
the trees will move and the shadow will fright.
The village has stars from nauseating fires,
a woman and her child forever immobile and tight.

Your dream of a milk and of a lullaby
soon red of fire and of greed for a peace.
A butterfly on your hand to dry
the tears of dread and the hug of a disease.

A thud in your heart as a van approaches,
your friends are there captive and beaten.
The lion got them as it fiercely encroaches, 
the chevron commands to seize and to listen.

Your feet to fly from the lion’s cage,
he puts  guns  in hands of tremulous leaves.
Your glance on the land of your early age,
your friends now transformed in life thieves.

An when the glance melts into dreams,
there they come the roaring lions.
The beasts and their breed to chase you along streams,
to bring your limbs into deadly riots.

Hiding is now avoiding the open meadows,
taking your life away from guns and slaughter.
A frighten child in the forest shadows,
when the silence is broken by a shot and a order.

Life has gone. It has gone forever,
a bullet has trespassed your chest and your bones.
“Mum please take me! Take me in the Heaven!
To hear from your mouth your heavenly tones”.

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Wheelchair

Blond girl on a wheelchair
Eleanor. Motor Neurone her destiny
Purple eyes looking up to the hill terrain
From the shade of her preferred tree

Immobile limbs, travelling dreams
Silent thoughts flowing with the east wind
Up to the peaks scented of amber beams
Pine trees’ branches caressing her forefront rim

Silver rivers from the hill cuddling 
Her naked feet into watery whirls 
Perfumed petals from sycamores enfolding 
A pale and dreaming face of brave dreams

Eleanor. The storyteller, the princess of visions
Impossible to grasp the wind with aching hands
Mind flying to a remote story of Fairy Zinc and Elf Arians
Fiddlers playing with the branches of the Sycamores’ band 

Notes dropping as roses on Eleanor’s knees
Now singing to the sparrows her torment 
Of inelastic limbs and the joy of her free spirits
Finally galloping on the veil of Fairy Zinc fervent

While Elf Arians was inebriating her senses with spices 
Fairy Zinc brought her to a castle of dances and songs and doves
Eleanor’s melody was heard by the trees and sparrows and dragonflies
And by her mother from behind with tearful and silent love

Finally, the last sunbeam, and her flight, higher and higher
Reaching clouds, joining birds, galloping hills, swimming rivers
Walking proudly into woods, mountain peaks, cuckoo birds, 
The fairy, and the elf, and the vanishing sun 

And then… the deep sleep… her deep sleeps
A pinecone dropping into her basket of crayons 
For her friends, a case of drawings and heartily rhymes 
Mom pushing the wheelchair of the princess of dreams 

“Good night my dear. Sleep well for mom Zinc.
Dad Arians will cuddle your legs and stretch your arms
As the doc said, I have a warm soup for your pain.
Don’t be sad, all your beloved are here”

Eleanor. The princess of dreams
Storyteller, with a basket of poetries and birds
Immobile limbs, mobile spirit and wits 
Joy of mom Zinc and dad Arians

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Words On the Sand-Part 3

WORDS ON THE SAND (Part 3)

Not distant a young girl watching silent
On her wheelchair. No writing from a limited body
The sand waiting from her what in life is more salient
After she saw the old man, the woman and the boy

Holding in her hands a bunch of ginger flowers
An Atlas Moth Butterfly flew on her bush.
"Don't you ask anything for yourself? Your words are diamond ores".
She whispered like her mother when cuddling her blush

"Nothing I ask for myself. I want to give
My word for the old man, woman and young boy
Only for them my heart can live. I can't them forget.
They deserve more than my limited body.

"What is then that you want more?
That you want to write on the leaf of a Sycamore?
That will be chanted for ever by Homer?
That will be casted in the seas as golden ore?

"I want to write it for them all
On the sands and on waves
On the wings of the sea awls
On the tides hold by alabaster vases"

"The word I want to cast to all humans
Is "Hope". No more I want on this humid sand"
"Hope" she wrote striving with her weak hands
No force of nature could hold that brand

A silence wrapped the whole shore
The sky turned into a deep blue and dark brown
No tide, no wind, not even a glimpse of bodily sore
Nothing she asked to keep for her own

And all in a sudden a thunder broke the immense bay
On the two sides of the Ocean water falls as ascending alabasters
Leaving the abysses open to winds and to sky
Roman vessels appearing with replenished golden caskets

From the horizon four thousand white stallions
Galloping over the sea beds from the centre to the bays
From the right, sea lions directing waves' rebellions
From the left two legions of mermaids riding blue Wales

From Greece Eolous blowing his trumpets for winds to bend
From Crete Minerva came to heal the girl's legs
From Rome Hermes to write poetries about her strength
Finally the Almighty Atlas to lift her from her binding beds

Then silence, peace and a marine scent from the sea
No tide, no bird, no foam, no wind, as it has never been
Only a small bush of ginger flowers under the sycamore tree
Caressing an empty wheelchair cherished by dropping leaves

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

The Homeless Girl

Young and solitary homeless girl
With sky-colour eyes
Wearing a haggard 
And consumed makeup

The blond hair that betrays 
Your young age
Melted like golden filaments
On minute shoulders

Soon you were taken 
From the jigs
With your friends
That now share with you
Only a hellish destiny

Deaf to the pedestrian who
Gives you a few coins
Remnants of a long night
In a sumptuous restaurant

Your childhood has been 
Stolen from you
By a violent father and his
Evil companions

Now you have flashbacks 
And nightmares
Of your past life
That chains your mind 
While you try to soothe it by self-harm
In the long nights
Under the stars

No more love and friendship
But only the annoying attentions
Of the drunk man
Or the blasphemers 
Or the unknown chap

In the stench of an abandoned house
You find your modern slavery
A meagre plate of soup
Oat but no treats

The cold of the night
Looking through the window a
Distant Moon
A nude and worn out mattress
As couch and agony
And some change
To continue singing
A distant litany

But from a few days
Your hope has strengthened
As lightning
After that in tears
You rushed into a nearby chapel

They have returned
You a solar white
And the desired love
Your faith, evening Vespers
And your alms in a
Wooden chest

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Abandoned Child

Your walk 
Through the wild urban path 
Under lampposts trees.
In vain you travel questioning 
The meanders of your grief.

The slimy paving 
Of a deserted gallery 
Echoes your steps of suffering 
On the silent columns 
Of a gothic front.

Slow the foot 
That pain has bound.
Languid the eye. 

But the mind is attentive 
To an unreal carousel 
Of sounds and lights 
That has always taken 
The place of boyish diversions.

What is formless confuses the spirit 
While the deformed nightmare 
Captures the deepest essence
Of a solitary and loveless child.

Lonely spirit of a consuming pain. 
You drag yourself with the steps 
Of the dreamlike nightmare 
And you rest in the arms 
Of the missing hope.

Never mother held you 
Between herself and her heart
Neither father told you 
Of his certain love.

Your breath is slow 
But rejoices and agonises 
To the scents of highway cuisine. 
Hunger echoes inside your empty guts
And the food of other 
Luckiest children 
For you are part 
Of dreams now gone.

All at once, you heart rejoices 
And gives you back the hope 
While your ears perceiving 
The distant chimes that announce joy.

Your thought is now led 
By the spirit-mother 
That every child has nearby
As a glimmer companion,
Behind the cold corner
Of the building in winter,
Amid the landfills
Of a smoky town,
At the queue for the food bank.

Now your spirit is cast away 
Escaping a land 
Of desolation
Of night horrors.

Too much for you
To grasp
From the lone
Lamppost and
Cardboard house
And the fire in the bin

You leave life forever 
Freed from a world of atrocities.
Towed in your last pilgrimage
By the heart 
Of a mother who never had 
Offspring of her. 

You are now led along 
The green meadows 
Of a boundless Eden.

There, finally, you find refreshment, 
Love, and the house 
That you have always dreamed of 
From your terrestrial shelter.

Your body now gradually 
Frees your spirit 
That retraces your streets 
Of loneliness and suffering, 
Of violent adults and absent friends.

What remains is now a small 
And a cold little body 
In front of an abandoned portal 
And the pity of a pilgrim 
Leaving a glance 
And a slender flower.

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Sick Child

Child lying
In a deep pallor
Looking out of a balcony
The last greeting
To island nature

Sunset is preparing
To surrender to the darkness
The gloomy and regal laurel
And the flight of the swifts
In the gulf and the plain

Sitting with a hat
On the bald head 
Without the blond hair

The white little legs
Reflecting the rays
Of a summer sun

Your gaze is laying
Now on the surf 
Of the waves that come
To their end

Now on the olive trees 
And on the vines
That from the high cliff 
Leap in the infinite blue

Your silent mother 
From behind sees you 
And sigh to the sky 
To make you a miracle

Her hand reposing
On your heart 
To have you still there 
With her in everlasting love

But you're flying now
With your mind
On white steeds
To places that are 
Forelocked to us

You already turn 
Between the marine phalanges 
With whitish helmets 
And the deafening clang

A castle of solar flames 
Is the fortress 
From which you raise

Leader of your dreamlike armies 
Now there is the oblivion 
Of the mortal enemy 
Who is sieging you

You that your body 
To it g-r-a-d-u-a-l-l-y abandon

And the mirage persists
And it lays thee 
Upon the wings of the sea-hawk

Then to the gallop of the stallion 
That always neighed 
When you came back from school

The last farewell with your mind 
To your little house of red and warm bricks
With the roof of dark beams
To the vases with fragrant oregano
To the geraniums and to the oleander bush

"Goodbye friends 
Yellow ginestra that whistles 
Solitary pine 
Scent of green algae!”

"The pain calls me 
But the feeling of an Infinite 
Fills me with joy 
And gives me oblivion.”

“For a moment I shiver for my fever
But then I am heartened 
By the grassy cliffs
The reddish vines 
And the voice of mum 
Whispering to me ‘My love!’”

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Serenade For Flute

No roof no mood flat affect
Glances empty no space for sorrow
Small rucksack to collect  
No tears to borrow

A sloppy flute
A black and white photo
Of a young boy now mute 
Carpe Diem his motto

Dreamy alone and in despair
Jonny the homeless lives there
By the Post Office stair
Some bags and a few rugs to wear

Ask for him and give him a penny
To play ‘Serenade’ by his son Tony
Died three years ago leaving alone Amy
If you aim to know a romantic story

“General Hospital, Leigh Valley
Room Number Five, Head Nurse Sally
Hippocastanum Alley
Floor 2, could remember hardly” 

Tony could gather 
His tunes from the storm
From the sun and from his father
Feverish nights since he was born

Holding dad’s hands 
To cope with his pain
Plagued by swollen glands 
Now saluted by a brittle rain

One night Darkness
Scuffling his noisy leaves 
Waving his branches
Knocked on his windows rims

It craved Tony during Fall 
Tormented by pain torn by malaise
Dad Jonny couldn’t hold him whole
Asking to docs for some delays

Then a cessation rainbow
A leaf fell with no array
Onto Tony’s window
It took him while floating away

 “Tony my Tony”…
Talented flautist with poisoned blood

It was when leaves are yellow and brown
General Hospital alley season’s stylish
Hippocastanum wrapping the road gown
You can hear leaves swish

Now Jonny plays Tony’s last tune
‘Serenade for flute’ by a leaf that has gone
Playing it for the kids that gather there in turn 
Rehearsing it whenever alone

He plays it for a few pennies 
To buy some food and cardboard beds
A lively melody in subways galleries
All he owned gone for staminal cells

Jonny the homeless in his little tent 
No tears to spend
Asking for a penny to lend
For some stars and for a grief to bend

At night he can hear the breeze
No one to talk no one to say
He looks at the stars and hears
Tony’s tunes sent for his dismay

Looking at the sky at South-South East
On Orion Belt the first three notes 
Serenade the only reason to feast
And the kids asking for Tony’s quotes

Fall again in the road
Breeze playing Serenade
To the trees by the wind towed
To the stars in a melodic cascade

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Alzheimer

There is a wind on South-East Essex
Blowing today and also tomorrow
Cuddling seagulls white like Tipex
Beating the ears of the old-age sparrow

Alzheimer is like yellow leaves
Detached from their own trees
Spinning the mind in the air like bees
Forgetful of you forgetful of me

Alzheimer's body bents like the dwarf pine trees
On the East cost of the South Essex rim
Old age ward. They can no longer knee
To pick up the shells from the oceanic dim

Seagulls calling their chicks at home
Alzheimer checking for a toy that's gone
For a hand to hold not to feel alone
A memory of a youth no longer borne

An when the wind blows into the town
Alzheimer dances with the invisible match
Seeking a light and a reason to know
What is this place that confuses so much

The old sparrow flies with no wings to flap
In the celestial depth mirrored on this long tide
Recent memories no longer accessible to dad
Fleeting love for his wife to share what is left of life

This sun that bends through the contrite flower
Dementia mind living in the sparrow’s tower
To swim into remote glories of power
Now lead by the help of a nurse to have a shower

Moon mirrors itself on South Essex sea
Cuddling the Alzheimer's glimpse
Chasing the light of a silent nil
Aiming to a watch that’s in a reverse tic

Brittle glimpse looking at the juniper scene
Aiming to that flight that nobody can see
Alzheimer's life where else can he dream
Of returning at home no longer there for him?

Details | Carlo Lazzari Poem

Word On the Sand - Part 2

WORDS ON THE SAND (Part 2)

A young boy then came to the shore
Abandoned since birth. No father no mother to adore
To write on the sand words of a golden ore
In the casket of his heart he cherished them more

"Forgiveness" he wrote with his pale finger
The whole ocean stood still. Not even a noise
No sound no bird no fish no tide no whisper
The anima of the waters was turning turquoise

Poseidon in person came out in a fall of waters and foams
Escorted by an army of wales, dolphins and seals
Sitting on a coral throne while surfing the oceanic roars
With a translucent trident casting waters and streams

"Young boy" Poseidon's voice sounded like a storm
"I came to you to offer my perennial alliance
All the oceans I command have not such a strength and hold
I will engrave your words on the pillars of Atlantis for its own radiance

Then 'Forgiveness' vanished under seagulls beaks
The young boy with his pale finger
Smiling under his reddish lips and white cheeks
Looking at life with no fear to hinder