Author Archives: anna mosca

About anna mosca

Artist, poet, photographer, reader, lover, walker, traveler. Feeling in wilderness. Been writing lots of poetry, taking less pictures, teaching a whole lot, traveling less than usual, loving more than allowed, riding public city bikes and not planes, puzzled over paintings. Beside all those forms I am.

Dedicated To Generation Female



lead me my heart

where I am welcomed


with joy and gratitude

hold me there with laughter


pin me with sweet thoughts

of greatness so that I may


shine forever not lamenting

nor lacking lead me


to my own



The poem, written in August, I dedicate to all the people participating to the Generation Female Global Summit where I will be one of the speakers! I hope to see you there, tomorrow, where you can ask me questions or hear my story, it would be lovely. Please click here to enroll.

Il posto giusto


Sundays are dedicated to Italian Poetry.

Vi invito a vedere e ad ascoltare questa poesia, Il posto giusto tratta dal libro bilingue California Notebooks 02 cliccando qui. Questa è la poesia di pagina 50.

Sì, la domenica le poesie sono in italiano e il martedì in inglese.

Tuesday poems will be published in English as usual.

If you own the bilingual book I wrote, California Notebooks 02, this poem in on page 50.

Come With Me


Come with me today to my poetry reading in the Coachella Valley in California!

It will take you only 3’09” to be with me and virtually fly there as I introduce you to my poems.

The book I’m reading from, California Notebooks 01 was written there. I wanted to give back to the desert, with this reading, the inspiration it bestowed on me.

This book is dedicated

to those souls whose flesh is too tight

to those whose dreams are real and reality seems

to be a dream

Poetry Reading Here

Do subscribe to my YouTube channel too, please, as there will be more poetic work posted there as well. I will appreciate that as well as you comments here below or on youtube.

Together we rock!

Thank you 🙏

Agosto inedito


Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry


il sole agostano


penetra il fogliame


di ombre sulla terra



Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano.

In Spite Of Me



when my words
surfacing out of
poetry define
who am I
I cry

I also
rejoice and
stand still as
if suspended
all at the same

time holding
that tiny particle
of truth inside me
that shining in spite
of me






I end up at times

visiting old friends

dinners stretching


over time feeding

our souls

the privilege


of recalling

the spirit’s



our hearts

a candle burning



steadily shaking

in the evening

breeze leaves


we are made to fall

and to die

full of colors


when it’s season



“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. This poem comes from that collection.





life as a bird

an egg in a nest

in unexpected


places hidden

cared for and guarded

with parental


love cracking to

the first light revelation

being fed and


taught to sing

before I could fly out

into everlasting




Come muore un cane


Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry


come muore un cane

rannicchiato sempre

più stretto tra lunghi sonni

camminando a malapena

su due gambe quelle davanti

tremando quando mangia

sempre più stanco sempre

più piccolo che quasi

lo puoi prendere in braccio

dolcemente ti cerca

con gli occhi per un bacio

in più e la tua fronte sul suo naso

e per quell’attimo fermo silenzioso

prima dei miei complimenti

che incartano il magone

quella certezza che ogni

giorno insieme sia un dono

quel suo muoversi poco

sempre meno anche per

raggiungere il sole che scalda

le ossa storte doloranti

quel sospirare a fondo

quando racconta al gatto

qualcosa mentre lo segue

con gli occhi io cerco lui

e lo osservo immobile

per scovare il prossimo

respiro nella cassa toracica

ben delineata dalla magrezza

in mezzo a questa dolcezza

tra sorrisi mesti e lacrime

trattenute dentro come i fiori

che si chiudono la sera

come muore un cane

di vecchiaia




Ho scritto questa poesia a Giugno e la mia cagnolina fedele è morta l’11 Luglio 2020, ieri, dentro un corpo vecchio ma mi ha voluto, fino al suo ultimo respiro vicino a lei, tra carezze e sussurri e quello stupore immobile finale.