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.

Solitude Serves Me Well



before is the bird’s
song and the occasional
car passing by

then the refrigerator
freezing while shaking
the hot water boiler

or an airplane
far away the mailman
comes dropping

volumes of papers
we need to lift glance
at a minute then dispose

that’s how days roll
away how solitude
serves me well




This poem is from the California Notebook collection, available in paper book and digital format.

The Look My Soul Has


in between loving cats
and feeding elders
roaming paths

it was the caressing
with my eyes of the olive
trees barks twisted by

the winds and the lack
of water – is that the look
my soul has – she had no

idea life was business
to attend same the church
and the cats and the elderly

2013-10-27 13.48.09



This poem is part of the collection Not Rosaries Nor Missals.

Anni fa…



Incontro un piccolo cane,

frenetico, affamato.


Si affonda nella spazzatura.


Disperazione, tenerezza,

pianto, le nostre miserie,


che lui incorpora ingoiando

immondizia, impudico.


Lui senza vergogna.




Inedita, Italy, 2011.




Ci ascoltavamo

senza parlare.


La lentezza

dello sguardo

dava alla

nostra storia

un ritmo lento








Mettevamo a fuoco

ogni cosa e forse

ci siamo spaventati.



Tratta da Imputami il peccato di voler sopravvivere – Ottobre 2010.


I Dare To Hope April Is The Cruelest



I knew the hardest

was not being locked in

but the coming out

the count of the missing

ones their blinders

down as you take your

long missed stroll

that time has not arrived yet

but the count has

started once you get time

at hand the socials

platforms open up some

profiles have black

some tears and weeping

so far is two at day

way too high the number

of my friends who are no more

we are still on lock down

April is the cruelest month

I dare to strongly hope






Il cielo
non lo scorgevamo

gli occhi
chiusi sul desiderio

sdraiati nel cerchio

già odoravamo di pane
occupavamo il tempo

ci riempivamo le mani
di carezze e il corpo

occupato uno con l’altro
credeva d’essere





Tratta da Colori Estivi, Giugno 2012.


Sunny Awakenings



was dreaming of

sunny awakenings

sweet cuddling and words

few – tight together


was getting out to say

good morning – gratitude

will not fail me

a smile in spite

of everything


I will hold



my hands






Esserci (a Pasqua)


Sundays’ posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry


un giorno

dove il suono delle
ali delle farfalle

può essere ascoltato
disteso su un sorriso

vigile ai mutamenti
del mio corpo

stupore della gratitudine
mi incrino un poco

alla volta a vita
più profonda






Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano, in quanto ad oggi, Buona Pasqua!
Questa poesia è pubblicata nel libro California Notebooks 02.

A Place To Be


a place where

is no expectations
from others to be

some kind of perfect
god under sunshine

to relax where

everything in its
natural beauty lines up

me not too big
nor too small

for some people

doors where
my key wasn’t fitting

may be one
of my crazy dreams



2014-02-06 14.13.36


Reverberations, Unpublished, 2013.

Well Defined



I will walk away from
the crowds and their buzz
finding an island to float serene
on way away from cravings
looks and strong odors
to my own shadow
well defined




Poem from the unpublished collection Intertextures – Crossing Rivieras, 2013.


An Upside Down World



the moon is full

emptied from a thousand
engagements I lay in hot
water maybe illuminated

from the sky the silence
repose approaching
hidden from light

an upside down world
a somersault and a wriggle to

find myself wondering star under
inside some lights I turn off
before the thoughts – then the eyes

slightly vibrating
weightless in the space
I found within





Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep…



it is right by the side
of the road the Cathedral
In The Pines Cemetery

as if you could just roll
off the side of the road
dead and ready to lay

where there are no fences
but some more noise to
endure or is it a reminder

when the sun hides
at sunset behind red
blood colored clouds