*
they don’t tire me
the dead
as the living do
.
Mar28
Ancestors
Tag Archives: death
May10
The Great Unknown
*
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
.
Mar8
May I
*
the dismay sinking
me down from other’s
anxieties thrown around
may I find strength to
pull out from under
may I live longer
.
Jul28
Seasons
*
I end up at times
visiting old friends
dinners stretching
.
over time feeding
our souls
the privilege
.
of recalling
the spirit’s
visitations
.
our hearts
a candle burning
quietly
.
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.
l
Jun16
One More Query
*
while we artists
on earth spend days
hardly making
a living as we struggle
to find the right
hues the precise color
to define a day
to portray time tell me
my dear where
you now indulge beauty
where time is
no more what color is
the forever
.
⁃ To Michelle Pelletier –
.
.
Apr21
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
.
.
Mar17
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
.
Mar5
Being There
*
being there
one day
where the sound
of butterflies wings
could be heard
stretched on a smile
attentive to my
body changes
on the awe of gratitude
cracking away
a bit at a time
to deeper life
.
.
.
This poem is part of the published collection California Notebooks 02
.
Jan22
To Mary Oliver
*
poetry fleets
liquid to the corners
of the eyes laying down
remembrance unable to find
words to wrap up
these feelings
.
.
.
.
Mar13
To The End
*
we all walk
bundled up on
winter days
but the dogs
jump for joy
the old man
will not sit by
his fire he takes
himself out
slowly stretching
his steps next
to the lines
of poplars
he will walk to
the end not
a thought
of surrender
.
.
.
Jan4
Manly’s New Life
*
rest in winter
acceptance
the happy silence
.
feel your roots
dancing slowly
underground
.
stretching
toward the needed
death is but an attire
.
.
.
.
-Dec. 2009-
Nov9
Being, from the California Notebooks 02 (EN/IT)
This poem – from the newly finished collection California Notebooks 02 – is dedicated to my dear friend Anna Maria who just stepped into everlasting life after much suffering due to cancer.
*
being there
one day
where the sound
of butterflies wings
could be heard
stretched on a smile
attentive to my
body changes
on the awe of gratitude
cracking away
a bit at a time
to deeper life
.
.
Questa poesia – tratta dalla nuovissima collezione California Notebooks 02 – è dedicata alla cara, dolcissima, amica Anna Maria, appena passata a vita migliore dopo una lunga sofferenza dovuta al cancro.
.
*
esserci
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
.
.
.
Jul27
Not Rosaries Nor Missals – Evening Breeze, 2016
*
I end up at times
visiting old friends
dinners stretching
over time feeding
our souls
the privilege
of recalling
the spirit’s
visitations
our hearts
a candle burning
quietly
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. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit of popping up here, for a maximum count of seven, in July of each year.
The older poems of the collection can be found, and read, using the search window to the right of this screen.
.
.
Sep19
Hands – Eulogies 2014
*
when dad died they
clothed him for funeral
his hands so beautiful
crossed over his chest
they were the only thing
talking of him to me
I took a picture my
relatives anger rose
I could not avoid that
I haven’t seen it once
that picture it’s hiding
away to be gazed at on
a day when I’ll accept
distance or enjoy
closeness where
will my hands
go when I die
not on my chest
nor on my belly
for that short
time of the viewing
a sense of lack
of no more breath
a heaviness not favoring
digestion nor straight aside
as a soldier of whose army
.
.
.
.
.
Nov25
Poe-m-try, Rest in Winter
***
.
rest in winter
acceptance
in the happy silence
.
feel your roots
dancing slowly
underground
.
stretching
toward the needed
death is but an attire
.
-Dec. 2009-
.
.
annamosca 