Poetry From The California Notebooks 2015


I pick up words
as small daisies
on a spring field

careful to hold them
in small bunches
never as beautiful

as when first spotted
a memory of wonder
blushing as they close

around their meaning
covering the heart
shy of a truth near

enough – our dull spirits
remembering only a note
or two



2014-05-03 18.37.04.




22 responses »

  1. Anna, I hven’t made any comments recently but I often wander through your blog. Tonight I read “About Anna Mosca” again and I immediately thought of Jack Kerouac. If you were a lot older I think you may have liked him.


      • I want more. You can’t just destroy an old man with a “Kerouac is a myth” when that old man has been a kerouacaphile for more years than you have been alive. I need more input. And if I don’t I will stop blogging and die.


        • Sorry, my mistake in the choice of words. I meant he was a legend! I’m bilingual and in current Italian the word myth means legendary… I was flattered by your initial comment and then lost by the reply. Glad I realized my mistake. Thank you for not giving up!


  2. Oh how I wish I could speak Italian. I taught in a school where 25% were of Italian decent and I loved the parents so much. They were so patient with me. “Pardone mi. Si non parlo Italiano.” It was so bad, but it earned me hugs and kisses. I have a whole book to write about that. Thank you so much for the reply. and go and read some more kerouac.


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