*
to read
to listen
to write
.
three steps
.
to be
to live
to die
.

.
*
to read
to listen
to write
.
three steps
.
to be
to live
to die
.
.
*
waiting for me to stop
to jump on me
poetry leans inside
a fountain
I can drink from it
when I stop
.
.
*
waiting for me to stop
to jump on me
poetry leans inside
a fountain
I can drink from it
when I stop
.
.
*
slowly I breath
slowly I learn to be
myself mobile
in the universe cosmic
light I shine a bit
as I breath slowly as
a pulsating star
.
.
*
I have learned
about richness
.
breath and time
.
I have been made
rich by this knowledge
.
*
my gorgeous shell
is broken
in spite of all my care
attention
in spite of people’s
praises
.
some dark spots
where
found inside spreading
they cut me
to pull all of them out
saw me back
.
I still hurt where they
broke me
I lost that harmonic beauty
I need to heal
time is what I paid all of this for
to have more
.
.
*
I feel the suffering
of my own body
the struggle yet
.
feeling not fighting
.
allows serenity
to surge to grow rich
in pain to rise up
,
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian poetry. Tuesday posts will be in English.
*
1.
l’albero in fondo
alla mia stanza d’ospedale
ha preso la forma
della seta l’acqua non lo raggiungeva
io ignara passeggiavo
fino a che ho visto
.
sembrava
malattia ma penso sia
solo la sete
.
⁃ la vicina strepitava
⁃ insulti verso me a voce altissima
⁃ che non le sono mai piaciuta
.
come anelo a distanze
galattiche dagli esseri umani
preoccupati dal niente
brutti fino in fondo
.
2.
la mia stanza d’ospedale
dove sto avanzando
nella mia convalescenza
è tutta verde e viva
piena di silenzio e voci senza suoni
danza parla e si muove
.
mi accoglie mentre esploro
e mentre verso la poca cura
che posso mentre io abbraccio
con gli occhi e con il cuore
sono con me in questa stanza
chiamata giardino di casa
gatti uccelli ricci e insetti
.
salvo chi posso mentre avanzo
passi nella culla verde
che cammina con me
verso la guarigione o forse
verso la morte ancora non so
.
la pace che colgo
prepara la mia anima
per entrambe
.
*
the June thunderstorms
are a joy for my garden
and I
my body giving in to rest
with the parched trees
.
*
with poems I color
my emotions of new hues
stretch the perimeters
.
grasp a dreamed story
giving it legitimacy
the gifts are shared
.
my soul’s eyes scan
the air around of me
the breath of God
.
the most soft of nests
I am watching myself
growing with as I create
.
*
my mind is resisting
as of now
the good side of this
the pain
only the pain is loud
.
*
right in the middle
someone turned off
—— my light
.
since I have this feeling
.
of disconnect
of not getting what’s going on
of abiding dark
.
can you see please
what
I am going through
.
.
*
what if I told you
to send me water
.
as everyone is
busy sending me light
.
may healing come
without parching
in a bath of light
.
as well as sipping
in all the water
.
I need to stand
tall once more
.
*
in silence
is solace
is healing
.
in silence
sleeps comes
taking me places
.
while my healing
is weaved inside
my wounded body
.
silence is planning
my next steps to
warn off the enemy
.
that came inside
as shift as a thief
the cancerous cells
.
*
how many times
have I tried to
describe the
feeling of
tenderness
arising in me
in a poem
.
as I walked the
garden at night
at dusk or through
cloudy days when
your little heads
are reclined all
closed down as
.
children asleep
.
the daisies would
not hear me
nearing them
a motherless
woman being
the greatest
mother of all
.