photos and poems in competition publish the photographs and poems that participate in the contest
"Squares, streets, meetings: Milan signs of life that still breathes
23 Sunday at the awards ceremony!
POEMS
1. James Marossietà - 21 years - Milan
Conversation on the outskirts
"What if in Orba with life, and kind of errors
is starless night in mid-winter"
What's not to say and what instead
in contrast that despite the invalidity
we are talking about staring in Ray-ban
remains latent as the reflections of the window
here before: the table in plexiglass
with the glasses on, our elbows
and higher still the trajectory of the gaze
bored but hidden by glasses.
I have it I have not got the figurine
I already know what you're saying, your necklace of colored beads
but always the same as he rattles off a rosary, I do not have and
we exchange words and phrases
and our intrinsic entropy
seems muffled and a bit dismayed
'less than when we are alone.
Do you realize that deep down
so we always tell me nervous: aude
know my love, but do not believe you.
bring us the bill for pleasure,
thanks and goodbye.
(the search of the poetic word
in Milan is not so easy to say that ah
purple sky, M'illumino
of immense starless sky and the romantic
hurts bad for beautiful souls and I'll tell
that there is poetry even in plastic bags filled with
pink underwear and cans of mango juice and yogurt and cheese
cereal dietary
that girl that carries
tripped as a fat cicada
between a milestone and the hysterical after)
and purpose among the many possible and imaginable
for this turn of world maps and things and people and animals
and cities in case ... (A glue
Still, Angela Anaconda, Ancona
close your eyes and take in hand pencil)
is so unthinkable to me.
But ultimately it is for this
that among all the moths
like my sisters and I feel right to swirl around a rowdy
like a sun lamp to shed light
if one be of the usual garden
that mark the periferiatra a parking lot and the next.
2. James Marossietà - 21 years - Milan
Madrigal post-coital
Well let's talk a little bit of sex:
appartarsi bucolic and away
in those empty parking lots that Milan
seems that there is more but too often
there is something hidden.
not there more than once Camporella:
yesterday they have raped two
and now here in the dark is scary, but the yards
already advancing cranes and red-light
reassuring future palaces.
remains a condom on the ground.
3. James Marossietà - 21 years - Milan
Square Sant'Alessandro
to G.
In this small square is summarized
complex cosmology of the earth around us in
saws
beyond the mountains to the east and Grigne
the Himalayas and the monks chant
peeled orange in the words of the world and turn Bobbio
codes were copied thousands of years incense. But this small square
takes upon himself the weight of old, the burden of the sense
despite the uncertainty surrounding domains
and browse all sight of the coast for fear of getting lost in the cosmos
indefinable
the square and the steps of the church and tables
enclosed by the houses that hide the rest.
We are alone in this place and I
the girl behind me arguing with her boyfriend leaving for vacation tomorrow
chissadove and the three Latin
drunk and incravattati sciuri
the tables and chatting with their cotton and potatoes
wedding guests that come from the church right now and pigeons
greasy feeling that maybe
doves from flying
American movie fan in front of the bride in the play of light
choreography at this time of night life clotting.
Children Take buy just suffered
peep around the corner from Via Torino and go from
here ... the album is full of figurines
recent
white holes ... and here we are really brothers
this time sitting on these stairs like to take a break
like to think how to say "but hey ..." and then get up and
put the keys in the ignition and everything
up again and again and if you do not mind that I moved
maneuver ...
4. David Montevecchi - 24 years - Bissa (SV)
Inconsistency
I'm in a room,
'm alone, so I think
.
I look up,
almost wearily and I see other figures.
There are many,
I was not alone then?
The disc goes,
runs on curves melancholic
as I observe those around me.
Each of them has its existence,
his emotions, his problems
;
is amazing how many universes
may contain an enclosed space so small.
Yet it seems to me that nobody
burn from within.
The light shines on them, but
are not stars, are quite
satellites.
Some have their heads bowed, talking to each other
,
pretend to smile, some
staring into space or trying to sleep,
perhaps to avoid thinking.
There is no elevation, no detachment
,
is all flat.
The wheel continues to rotate,
is always the same refrain
nostalgic place that belongs to this antiseptic.
No, it's more for me.
The music ends,
I leave the room, I do not want to join.
5. David Montevecchi - 24 years - Bissa (SV)
gaze
A child looked at me.
The face full of hope and curiosity about
is reflected in my world.
I feel uncomfortable.
A mixture of joy and emotion
you paint in my eye.
he sees it,
from below. I
are higher, but the stature
often confusing (and misleading).
He looks at us from all
;
with his ingenuity,
its simplicity,
likes to see us
so complicated.
Her smile tells us perhaps
a way to be less and less ridiculous
stupid. There is a lack
things simple, the most genuine
to live as citizens of the world.
6. David Montevecchi - 24 years - Bissa (SV)
Reality
interpolation of terrain
manifests itself in my mind:
change, one after another,
evolve and decay.
A triumph of light and sound
danced in my unconscious, I
only the 'I saw
but I know it's real.
No one noticed I was the only spectator,
privileged and excited,
Carousel of my thoughts.
The show was inflamed
It involved the surrounding space
embraced him with explosive force,
a continuous crashing of waves against a cliff. I
I was there
torn by conflicting feelings that I hurt
but shook my safety,
throwing from side to side,
without a destination.
Suddenly everything has fallen.
The curtain fell, I returned to reality
observed that all of you every day. But many were staring
oblong mirrors that distort the truth
reflected in them.
Everything is in error.
entities that are not images I've seen
not crazy,
I have not lost my consciousness,
on the contrary, 'I found, after losing it in your
false reality.
7. Fabrizio imbricate - 23 years - Milan
The garden of stars
A young man is prey to her grief.
A storm that is unable to unleash its fury.
The dry heart, his face bathed.
An incessant conflict, disarming a solitude.
The slow pace, away from the frenzy.
The look of the gardens of Porta Venezia and even nostalgia.
Walk lives surrounded by seeking a sense arbitrary.
But its only meaning was terminated three years prior to the planetarium.
Beyond crowd, the latest star who had contemplated.
Just a rage and went out the 'star that he had always loved.
He looks around as if it were one of the first times.
understands that all that time had not sought any sort.
is approaching the fountain to cool her face.
The timing of the lost time was shared.
Everything is now more transparent.
Her smile is very bright.
Nothing has changed.
Even she has never forgotten.
8. Fabrizio imbricate - 23 years - Milan Milan Underground
Rush Hour, there is no time to lose.
A dull echo power to the usual pace.
D'sequences around a wire capable of conducting souls grinding.
There are too fleeting moments to fill.
stations meticulous advance. With them
travelers unrepentant hound.
For me it's different, I fear what I deserve.
I can not make me driven by fast.
our clothing, maybe it's inappropriate.
I acted, denial, escape, fight.
I want to change, revise, revive.
Too late, my stop signals the time to decide. A few meters
the steeples of the cathedral.
Just fear, I became a man.
Now it's up to me, I no longer fear. Many
go up, I just feel down.
Then I see the chaos, but blinded me a great glow.
I met his eyes and found love.
9. Fabrizio imbricate - 23 years - Milan
The Milanese dialect
A glimmer of hope seems to be coming to the summit.
slice of life are reaching their peak.
few survivors carrying their luggage genuine.
Their life was certainly not a crack.
are moved, remind enthusiasts.
transmit timeless values, antiquated terms.
Young people feel involved in the vortex of sound melancholy. Far from
lie, lie light-years away.
So that time will never die.
will remain in the memories of all of us.
With the sky clear and vivid world. When the little
was hardly any time and under.
In the years when the Martesana arrived in Central Station.
In an age where every street name was a crucial point.
Inside a reality without coming and with only a few companies. For just the smile
Milanese dialect.
10. Mario Moroni - 24 years - Arluno (I)
Milan breathed
light back into the night while the square
quietly shuts
where as a new leap in the dark heart of the city lights
us from gagging admire the peaks of enthusiasm
beyond houses a rainbow fade away like you
king does not want to hesitate and not wait around
still alive in the head and legs
can run again and again in the alleys and streets of downtown
together with women today love to kidnap
young
walk with the people of the world
11. Marcello Restelli - 72 years - Trezzano Sul Naviglio (Mi)
Milan, wonderful city
Averto, and generous s'cètta
ona is the wonderful city
minga governance for
puttòst monument but for SOA gent.
De quand el D'Anzi in the soa song has
gods, No more to put in suddizion:
'Come, you who nummi slongarèmm the man! "On bottles of
in Hinn vegnuu tucci in Milan. If dis
poeu that Milan is on the grand Milan,
that in coeur with nummi ricevom tucci man.
Inscì the vos has run the spread halfway around the world who
hip and a cow bank gh'è de vagabond.
FINALLY Moroccans riven fleets
cont hip with the barges and boat.
Sbarchen the south and slowly poeu an'lor
I wonder why ... who resold to Milan. For
Pode quaicòss put on your teeth if
datten ago to de Tutt naturalment.
Fucking hell, if I understood pù nagòtt, I road
Hinn became on of night shelters.
unfortunately, is too Vess el risultaa de bon:
Propp is the true, the Milan is the boat cojon.
Inscì, well or badly, Tucci gh'hann touch on pan de
thanks to 'is a wonderful city:
.... El nost Milan!
12. Paolo Ornaghi - 35 years - Seregno (I)
Things do not speak
When you call and nobody answers the phone rings When
vacuum
When the road is quiet, silent and nearly empty
Then you realize that things do not speak
not speak
objects marked by time.
Nothing comes from a jar,
from a book, dust,
dall'odoraccio pan burned.
not speak the sunsets lost in things, do not speak
houses.
communicates with his eyes looks
In silence I speak only one finger
slitting the skin. Do not talk about things
not say anything
is the soul that speaks
people's hearts
13. Paolo Ornaghi - 35 years - Seregno (I) Poetry underground
Poetry poetry underground metro
Ah
The ambulance braying away. Ah
poetry
metro police cars, the sound of the siren. Ah
poetry of national
feet that patter, the wrongdoer is nearby. Ah
poetry geek
Nobody can write splashing in the car on the cobblestones
Ah poetry appetizer
monoxide artificial fog in summer. Ah
lyrical inversion U
Why? Why? Why are you? Ah
poetry meetings
Millions of people do not try and I just hated those. Oh
morning breath
Head office, punch. Ah
inspiration of the sclera parking
Rather than fo as best
Ah rhyming dell'acquaplaning
drench you through, gives me a smiling face. Ah
metaphor of the pedestrian
smashed the windscreen are like the cheese on macaroni
Uh hendecasyllable of no parking
The inspiration is no longer where I had parked. Ah, the traffic warden
alliteration insults viveurs his face from plaice. Oh
anaphora of the urban and multi
I salute you with the middle finger
Ah underground poetry
She who gave birth to you was just a bitch ...
14. Paolo Ornaghi - 35 years - Seregno (I) Wayfarer
Now the wanderer is back on the road. Enjoy the music
kidnapped and smells, listens
involved in the clouds and noise.
Wanderer endless because there is only
There is tension in him.
This does not satisfy, the being he refuses,
prefers to wander around a life dumb.
There is no satisfaction, she consumed her soles,
humiliates her feet constantly wandering.
One day intent, provides the love
doubt take a train because he can not hold
the looks that stop him, times and feelings, the smiles that permeate
and thoughts.
E 'own' is tension that does not stop;
is the journey not the destination, and his wanderings.
There is no definition but only truth.
He is, he lives and runs away, it's all free. And if someone
some accused him of anarchy
the quick answer: "And 'this my way."
15. Giancarlo Aosani - 74 years - Milan dangerous encounters on Earth
The greatest Earth scientists around the toast
big car that created a modern-day Switzerland
the party seeks a proton to the poor!
People sketches, someone shouts: - It 's a bad thing -
and everybody knows that we play a quadruplet
the banner of an uncertain surreal!
us ask then: - Who benefits?
Challenging nature seems a game, but game is not
if you try to come to terms with the imponderables.
You remember, Petronzio and brains
distinguished physicists and capacity admirable
that despite your care and full attention
in LEP, who was the grandfather of your big car,
a can of beer, left in the gallery, all
' sent the air - Tour of the Proton -?
Perfection is not of this world,
err is human and we must forgive, but
a repeat of a very risky
to challenge the course of events, becomes evil and dangerous
agir
peace and not to those of us less wise! Of
then please stop.
After a pause for reflection,
back the announced intentions to serve
of your invention,
treat yourself to the evils of the dark
people that are still unresolved. You will then
our compliments!
16. Giancarlo Aosani - 74 years - Milan Tom, the friendly tree
I'm George!
I'm George!
Who are you?
you a tree you have as a friend and confidant?
From the balcony I see Tom.
Tom is the tree I chose
as a friend in the spring.
Yesterday is gone, my friend
of every night I said I'm leaving but I'll let you
with your tree, you
, I leave you with your Tom.
found another woman and she can get back
those meetings under the shade .. .
I spoke to this friend
I loved Tom's trust,
witness of my love,
Maybe one day in spring
that reinforces your lymph
be able to help me.
Maybe give me a sign,
with evergreen foliage
down to earth,
whispering in the wind-
My shadow will be served,
be tired of the hustle and bustle.
Now it's time to stop -
This woman, I say, this is
Claudia, this is the one that you should not ever let
- Thanks
Tom, dear friend.
Thanks Tom ... .. I will stay with Claudia.
17. Giancarlo Aosani - 74 years - Milan Dating liars summer
How much holiday you've been told,
if you think about it,
easily understand that many are lies, lies in the summer.
unplug it, you look around
looking for a company that knows nothing of you and begin. If
Sabrina tells you: - I live in a house - you
v 'invented a two-storey villa.
Even the city changed, and when Guido
asks you where you live,
The name of a village you say yes, but always
is the fraction of a major city! If
Giulia wants to hear where you were born,
say in Italy, but of English parents
and to be a bit 'more envied,
add the Queen of knowing because of the father
courtier. This play, however, becomes a
minidramma,
when someone innocently pretend
make every effort to find out about our age.
The anger is to mount a red tint on the faces
and displease you in the eyes of friends.
understand that things have changed
and then narrated goodbye to love bold,
to the qualifications ever met,
much money in the bank, only dreamed of, the important work
ever, the
boasts of having friends in high places.
He turns the page and the next season since
You will return to normal life, mad ... ... I
18. Tatiana Bargigia - 16 years - Milan road of life
I am surprised at the beauty of these roads
I walk with my heart,
of these lights that adorn
smiles full of joy.
I look at life with wonder
With deep admiration
With eyes that follow the contours of houses
Full of happiness
Flood of suppressed pain rooted in a deep consciousness of a vague tomorrow
E 'already faded the future
Behind incontestable want certainty?
While I await your arrival are on me with waves of infinite space. Among these roads
My life is in collision with Kenwood in perfect balance with the world.
19. Matthew Micati-35 years - Milan
The secular tragedy - Canto 6
Li evils of my country (aspiration on the decline of Milan)
about how I came to be realized for Political Song, I fustigai how the evils of my city, as I was severely taken up by the teacher and the ploy to avoid his criticisms.
so focused and nimble in the landing / not to fall into the filthy swamp / I forget to be part of being in the sixth. / Duke eludes those who did as my / dir but his was not only aware / that to emulate The prelude remembrance. / "My Master, what default / i 'I guilty if caught oblivion, / not with recurrence inveissi / them against the evils of my country / like already made at the Supreme Chaco to the kingdom in which naming can not be God? ". / quell'incipit geezer and hearing / the duke's face became very dejected / but endured while I spill the beans. /" O sad wasteland of a time already Ambrose / only now go to court Letizia / listen to my heartfelt 'Praise'. / Far are the days when justice seemed to dictate Ambrosian law; / reigns at the present day Catholic militia / business that has a novel fold. / St. Raphael is the new patron, / who chooses those who oppose it and s'elegge who, / who has to function as a pastor, s well as the Celtic one day 'so much on / genuflects to the speculator. / Sacred spirit of the great Belloveso / onorasti here that a sow and White soon return to this temple offended / where even the memory of trudging / oblivion and threatening the ancient honor / Virtue of the days when not even tired / city brought two gold medals, / the first for the Austro chased the other for those blacks Friars them. / O holy spirit, returns called here / to start with the whip sword / who has defaced the Po plain. / It's not just who, now in command, / par to be the master of Milan / why does not diminish the envy watching / the ones that we are all ' Opposition / sentivan that smell of victory and already scores s'eran seats. / You could see the DS full of arrogance and aft Ferrante at Palazzo Marino / but then it was a different story / and, frankly, and it was like an idiot / ad accusing palace Isimbardi / at a time when there were still Fassino. / O holy spirit, with lightning darts / spills shit Sempione / and do not have, please, respect of / for Montenapoleone and Brera, / for the Barons in salons, / for the rampant and the lobbyists ". / "I no longer breathe! What are they? All balls? "/ Severe interrupted my master /" give judgments, draw conclusions / is nothing short of arrogant and misguided ". / Dir That essay, stung like a pin / clouding the inspiration that the superego. /" Xavier my, forgive this scream / but I unwholesome m'abbia virus caught ... / That is the sad syndrome Grillo? "/ I said now subsided so upset / afraid of being hurt by that affection / that who takes himself estimate much / And only in the fault arising. / Ere Borrelli else could say / I chose, a coward, a move to effect / and keep silent, I pretended to faint.
20. Matthew Micati - 35 years - San Donato Milanese (Mi) care
Perhaps because new boundaries are pleased / to let me see your eyes, / Maybe because you precious my day / life to giving away chimeras , or because as the beauty of your face / and the memories of pain naked, / I find myself smiling every time / when, sweet, and you welcome me. And like a drowning man without fear / return to sea when the sun its radius / leaves a route essence, / ready to set sail, launching 'The Cure', / I wish you were traveling companion / you that for me you are landing and departure.
21. Matthew Micati - 35 - San Donato Milanese (Mi) time went
When you happen to beg / news at the time went emotions / almost nostalgic are erecting / as bulwarks to the future, put up / sweet hopes in vain illusions / and, in confusing yesterday and tomorrow / denying dreams that do not have, / disillusionment, lying away. / But you know that there is in the memories of the false, / contaminated with time and absences, / close to what the issues are deaf / vague references to of ancient woods. / Alfin waives, your yoke hit / and, restless, lathes used for tasks.
22. Daniel Mangiapane - 26 years - Brienno historical parade
revive Dead Souls / heated in the heart of the country, / and if we could! Chase remains, / costume, ideal. Regina, not / vetarne up, silent. But the Blackbirds / sgreti silent, mute the satyrs. / Skip the last shield pendant: / trapassagli the heart (a simulacrum) / steering wheel impatiently in his haste.
23. Gabriel Borg -18 years - Milan The game
sobs of the fast players on the gray asphalt whizzing, / making arrows of the archer / gladiators in the arena / predator hunting. / Rapid gasps of players to growl enemy / flapping laboriously advancing in the clash, / leaving behind only dust in the darkness. / rapid sobs of the players are alive, / and quiver.
24. Gabriel Borg -18 years - Milan Milan
And when you think of my lips can not but smile, / and my heart pump more strongly through my body / that has been embraced by an invincible passion .
25. Gabriel Borg -18 years - Milan Contemplation
Time and space become one, / the river of pleasure enters into your mind proprompente languid, / ecstatic that can not resistance, / does not want. / Implode the city I in the only existing / ravenous thirst of the soul and uncontrollable grabs / anything that brings a breath of Jupiter, would grow to infinity, you monster! / Yellow becomes blue, red, gray / black white / but you know the poem and yet you proud to Ergi conceivable only god. / slow slide from the cave fire ruby \u200b\u200b/ sweet ignites your limbs and the star that has made lipid the path, / clear destiny. / Together, echoed exceed / merge the nights you want to feel tired so that the street level and paccatrice, to appear. / But you know, / the child grows and the moon dies, / you you know, / and still lose my breath for them, / every time. / Time and space are no longer one, / dark down the blanket that covers everything.
26. Andrea Bottinelli - 31 years - Azzate (Va) The towpath of the Naviglio
The soul of the city, sometimes wakes up without warning.
through the blue lens of my sunglasses also seems to fade away the haze, but then,
lowering them, I realize that now she is really beautiful, incredibly beautiful.
And it really is.
teems with sights and sounds, food for my mind.
A girl sitting on the edge dell'alzaia, seems lost in a melancholy reflection and daffodils.
In reality, not least because they groped to steal some sunshine, a relative and son last summer.
foreign words and accents come and go, giving, along with a few shows a bit 'naive, a special gift of internationality.
In a small courtyard of the artists, a sly cat lying on a wisteria takes two mock occasional admirers. And then ...
horses on the walls ... businessmen mixed with boys ... drains labeled. As I walk
overflow with the finger on my left hand rail.
I admire my index.
pitch black.
The ships, today, has left a mark on my finger, and also inside me.
Sometimes just a small selection, left or right ... and a little empyrean unfolds behind us. Small
fly, fly away with me. It 's time to discover new small paradise.
Second Prize: Michael Jourdan - 29 - Milan, with the photograph "The Parasite" - REASON: This image is simply beautiful, great and rare gift. Plasticity has a pictorial elements that compose it give us a harmony that comes from the scene simply poor. Show a moment of beauty where there is not usually see it, poverty and loneliness. 
