*
he sleeps next to me
as sleep avoids me
.
I try to rest one piece
at a time breath after breath
.
he knows best as the moon
rises late behind the roofs
.
me I can’t wait for the sun
to shine on all the seeds
.
I planted in me
and in the dirt
.
*
they don’t tire me
the dead
as the living do
.
Sunday’ posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry. Tuesdays’ poems will be in English, as always.
*
a noi non resta
memoria della neve
del suo cadere silenziosa
del suo coprire e calmare
del suo sciogliersi nutrendo
.
a noi resta
la terra dura dell’inverno
di una siccità sgradita
che porta ad una rigidità
non fertile al fuoco estivo
.
a noi che non badiamo
e nulla ascoltiamo noi
.
.
*
it’s the stall that
makes me nervous
the space between
branches that
.
makes me breath
.
the silent wake up
calls before the
birds sing that
has me pray
.
*
wider are the eyes
as a larger window
neat is the view
I do not feel the acute
angles as I know
I make a difference
.
.
*
winter hides the green
away
no complementary
colors
even at sunsets
winter
hides but those tiny
flowers
that makes me break
into a smile
.
here and there I smile
some
light out of me shines
.
*
I am sweetly stuck
with poetry
that runs around me
.
*
take me tight in
embrace me wholly
let me be still as
serenity enters me
.
a coat of light
a small breeze leads
me to shiver
upon a gentle smile
.
.
*
it’s an afterward
moving
.
this of giving poetry
a way
.
to talk about the beauty
lingering
.
unseen
sensitivity shining
.
bright
in our darker days
.
when we
think there’s little
.
to be seen
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks 02, on sale now for the Holiday Season. Check it out
!
*
our venturesome
walks are the cause
me I can’t stay
put too long
.
walking life barefoot
doesn’t scare me
.
it was probably
because grandpa
.
explained everything
to me then – I got it
.
the habit of asking why
exacting answers
.
even when
the questions
are larger than I
I keep on walking
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks 02, I published in 2016 on sale now for the Holiday Season. Check it out!
*
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
.
.
*
I quiver as the sun
comes back out
from behind the trees
.
I remember being
fifteen drenched in
too many questions
.
boiling over in the
heat of the sunshine
evaporating upward
.
leaving
.
room for silence
to fill each single
gap each crevice
.
.
*
what I miss
is the time moving
slowly creating a still
silence inside
.
watching the clouds
surf slowly and the grass
grow tall when the rain
is done
.
walking uphill
seeing the sea from
afar holding its smell
on my skin
.
my time immersed
in beauty my time
my days my habits
I hold nothing
.
.
This poem is from the collection California Notebooks 01 available on Amazon if you are interested in purchasing your own copy for your own library shelves.
annamosca 