*
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
.
*
the great unknown
isn’t death I fear
to do harm to my body
this I fear indeed
to make poor choices
given what others say
not to discern my best
.
yet surrender
like a fish’s body in
stormy waters.
.
⁃ for what I know
.
that may be safe
to let the invisible pull me
while trusting fate
.
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry, Tuesday posts will be in English as usual
*
fende l’aria
il cinguettio
ad ali spiegate
la sterpazzola
isolana mi vede
pronta d’occhi
racconta
tutt’intorno
.
*
the act of poetry
may help to face fear
.
in that willful gaze
to dissolve it in writing
.
in the act of reading
in the sounds severing
the space around us
.
*
I delight in getting lost
in the space within me
.
when I am reminded
of it by my patient soul
.
.
*
approaching the day
with dancing
thoughts
to linger in god’s
presence
light
that stays with me
at night
and in my slumber
.
.
.
This poem is part of the published collection California Notebooks 02
*
I walk around my
small land where trees
abound and I have
a restlessness this year
I never had as if
my garden and I have lost
communication
.
but I attend the land a lot
.
I sit waiting as at
the bed of a sick child to
whom nobody hands
water exhausted
I tighten my hands one
with the other in
silent pain I look down
.
to the aging skin
to the black rim under
my nails its dirt
sticking to me my garden’s
way to hold onto me
.
.
*
the new territory
I found myself on
.
this not knowing
all I could know
.
waiting long days
molding thoughts
.
making the dark
ones captive
.
feeling your body
changing under
your finger tips
.
*
the dismay sinking
me down from other’s
anxieties thrown around
may I find strength to
pull out from under
may I live longer
.
*
let things slip away
so not to sink
let words come out
precise
.
try things out those
that come your way
nothing comes around
twice the same
.
look around now
breathing in awe
.
Sundays Posts are for Italian Poetry once a month.
*
quattro alberi
per modo di dire
quattro passi
per descrivere la fuga
quattro parole
scritte come mappa
io piegata in quattro
per non perdere
i miei sentimenti
.
*
there in the space within me
I hear silence courting me
.
how can I resist it when
.
every thing inside of me longs for
this union to come to pass
.
*
sounds in the background
breaks the silence
so precious it was limpid
.
.
mud foaming floating
all over senseless voices
can’t help themselves
.
*
as I contemplate
morning light peaking
through cold mornings
.
it’s the sound of the wind
running low on the streets
that gets my attention
.
getting distracted
following fast
moving
.
dried leaves
rustling through
disappearing
.
as dawn catches
up with me
behind my back
.
annamosca 