A Selection of Short Poems by Matteo F. Ponti

Where is the source?
Is it somewhere for you ?
No source is spilling for you.
It’s never in the same place.
It’s secret, unknown to many.
It’s neither fresh nor salty.
It’s so close by.
To touch it you’ll travel hence you’ll never reach it.
Stop refusing to swim and drown in it.
If you accept the well as something you will never get, you may cross the desert and never feel thirsty.
The well has a door to a lost somewhere, it’s right on the bottom
beyond despair.

I was waiting for you.
It’s cold now,
in my squirrel’s cave I feel safe and dry and warm.
Springtime is already here if you want it.
The candle lights my mind pouring words on paper.
Recovering for the good season,
preparing seeds to make my brothers and sisters smile and sing in joy or

Oral tradition
the last bad version
Bees following sound-waves I can’t hear, among unbearable waves.
Side to winds whispering in my ears.
Noise is a choice, a will to be disturbed.
Noise, I am unable to perceive any purpose.
My legacy is to believe,
I am the son of a mighty God,
all things and creatures and facts, must have a purpose,
this I am doomed to believe.
Purpose is being, becoming, transforming, movement.
That’s all about noise, like the white noise of stars, of ocean waves and blood
in my veins.

Time has come
no more new ideas to spread or to share
Ideas are for doing things
for more power
more money.
Time has come
for words spilling out of my mind.
I am romantic
no romance can ever be a business.
Time has come
for words to flow
into the wind
into the stream.
Words free me up.

Your heart beats by intuition,
feels the harmony of the cosmos and of diversity.
You look in every direction and see the future,
the dive before the jump.
You arrive before you leave