*
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
*
I satisfy myself
in circles of light
stillness and dances
it’s the music
within that slows
us down and we
wonder and return
to these lovely
planes
a step or two
to understanding
the sound
silence broken
by golden lights
we curl up
we are being
picked up
.
.
.
.
“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.
.
.
*
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.
.
.
*
I do less I know
I travel more the spirit’s
paths than collect good deeds
I sit and think what
a sea my life has been
stretched between lands
under tempests or requited
as oil on hot days he was
above all looking down
pouring rain to add to me
when I felt deserted
hands cupped to
collect me
.
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop up here, for a maximum count of seven, in July of each year. This one overlaps into August. The older poems of the collection can be found and read using the Search Window.
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.
.
*
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
.
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop 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.
.
.
.
*
I was taken
behind the altar
to the choir seats
even behind that
past locked doors
to private rooms
beautifully adorned walls
filled with secrets doors
compartments carved
floors long planned
huge desks to think at
pondering villagers’ lives
I could not stop filling
the spaces looking
around feeling everything
under my fingertips
the wood and marble
the walls encrusted
–
–
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop 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.
.
.
.
*
decades later I would
get the privilege to enter
a catholic church at night
overseeing the sea on
top of a hill beautifully
decorated dark inside
after hours I felt
honored to be able to
observe and absorb
what really that was all
about to walk by the votive
candles pick up the consumed
ones and replace them
my new unlit ones such
beautiful neatness
to read the album of
prayers just before
the altar and wish
each one to be met
faithfulness fulfilled
people to be elevated
–
–
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop 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.
.
.
.
*
votive candles
were there for us
a wonder to look at
they didn’t smell good
then – they just burn
and piss the melted
nor small or round – they
pushed themselves up
as we peeled off excesses
we sat quietly enchanted
they made great shadows
calling us up in and out
.
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop up here, for a maximum count of seven, in July of each year. The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window.
.
.
.
*
it was long gone
from my memory
the times of confession
long penalty prayers
counting the rounds
impatient to get
to the candles
before the priest
try with friends to
turn off
the flame with bare
fingers to pour the
wax on our hands
to measure resistance
and daring pulses
to learn novelties
.
.
.
.
.“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop up here, for a maximum count of seven, in July of each year. The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window....
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.
,
*
in darkness I gathered
knowledge success and fame
they spell as bulimia none filling
as far as I let the ego talk louder
it forged my thoughts I was right
of course everyone else wrong
gently I was allowed to run
kindly led to a revelation’s
my own throne was darkness
I had no power to leave
blindness bounded me
I was out of touch but for him
.
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. The poems, about a spiritual journey, have the habit to pop up here, for a maximum count of seven, in July of each year. This one overlaps into August. The older poems of the collection can be found and read using the Search Window to the right.
.
.
*
each day I forged
a mantra to change
ordinary life into bad
it was freedom
I searched for the most
while sinking behind bars
the harder my heart
the farther the key
the darker the vision
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started last year on July 2013.
The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window.
.
.
.
*
god is dead was my
victor’s cry I had books
proving that and a pencil
never anger was fiercer
nor larger memory loss
I had taken on a mission
not to miss on any
transgression many
doors were there to bust
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started last year on July 2013.
The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window.
.
.
.
.
*
Easter ceased to exist
I didn’t even realize
but it was gone
I went on a battle
field and inhabited
a barrack there
it moved with me
across the world I had
plenty of ammunitions
each moving object
was my target I had
no more spirituality
my religion was survival
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started last year on July 2013.
The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window.
.
.
*
after my first
kiss I entered a
world of enchantment
started to feel
ready for sisterhood
to fight for women’s right
this was the epitome
I really should not attend
rebellious I was marked
the worst were the looks
I gathered as dandelions
transmuting in spring
jagged as their leaves
.
.
.
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started last year on July 2013.
The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window.
.
.
,
.
*
it appears as if
a candle can
initiate a prayer
shun away
darkness warming
near the ice of fear
a soft walk in
pitch darkness
afraid of vibrations
creepiness of the night
of the deep unknown
black out enforced
the bands of sleep
to fall upon my eyes
slumber on the eyelids
I never felt this way
.
.
..
.
“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started last year on July 2013.
The other poems of the collections can be found and read using the search window.
.
.
annamosca 