*
we stall through August
aside the rare days
when the sky thundered
the wind hissed and shout
and we run up and down
closing windows pulling
shades and lifting chairs
the following steps
were those of picking up
the tender plants uprooted
from the garden the scattered
tomatoes and plums
august with its singing nights
.
.
.
.
*
summer comes
with invisible mirrors
on which each one stares
poses and eventually
struts away
indifferent are the spaces
on which people pause
I look up at the abundance
of details I look at them
and turn my eyes to
the parching fields
.
.
.
.
*
she huffs and puts her face
down lined up with the concrete
patiently waiting for me
to remember to feed her
as I read and write and forget
the cat comes protesting
instead loud and demanding
until I get up to feed them both
.
.
.
.
*
I dreamed my secret name
yes it was written
on a white stone
everything was crystal
clear then just like
the sky today harmony
coated and I felt so
relaxed so sleepy
.
I fell into another night
when I woke up I could
not make out the writing
and I got news of more
deaths more killings
more drowning crimes
.
if I could if I just could
tell everybody their
secret names
waking them up to life
.
.
.
.
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
la conoscenza non è
l’intuizione della bellezza
non colpisce allo stesso modo
nè affonda come una radice sottile
nutrendo l’anima come
una pupilla dilatata che si apre
alla meraviglia
la bellezza è spontanea
.
.
.
.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
.
*
shy me lord
of what sinks me down
as I fall asleep
let peace wrap me up
my thoughts
lighten my worries
remove just
a timid smile to
welcome you
.
.
*
the volume of the sky
above me and the land
stretching from my feet
.
.
.
.
.
.
*
knowledge is not
the intuition of beauty
it doesn’t strike the same
nor sinks deep as a thin root
nourishing the soul as
a dilated pupil widening
to the wonderful
beauty is spontaneous
.
.
.
.
*
me decorated
with an unexpected smile
.
I now expect little and live the moment
exploring while passing over
.
I’ve quit detaining I let
motion befalling having no
.
more addresses, pinheads or pencils
I found my self delighted
in the last three lines
.
.
.
This poem is part of the first volume of the “California Notebooks”. If you wish to get your own copy click here
.
*
I am a drawing compass
one feet pointed the soft
one bent on a dance to
go from here to there to
close the circles to jump
out to run free today
.
.
.
.
*
I was once
part of my dad
and also part of
my mother
later but not so
literally I was part
of someone else’s
further I will be part
of the trees’ roots
contributing to the
flowers’ beauty
part of water
somewhere in
the sky all along
I was part of god
but here you
stiffen and say
I cannot
prove it
.
.
.
This poem is on page 55 of the published bilingual collection California Notebooks 02.
.
.
*
forever is to renew
what I already have
every day
.
.
.
*
early this morning
the sun kissed
the tips of grass
like light
bulbs turned on
one at a time
to brighten the
soggy meadow
.
.
.
*
to soar up
above all
where stars
wait on the night
to pasture blue
clouds unkempt
where prayers
roam before
finding rest
.
.
.
This poem is part of the selection for the new collection, soon to be published, California Notebooks 03.
.
*
I could just imagine
the stars heaped up
behind the full moon
I could see them
scattered a geography
of the desert sky
some move my eyes
as across a landscape
an imagined horizon
.
.
Anna Mosca dancing in daylight at La Quinta Desert, Coachella Valley, CA
.
.
This poem is part of the published bilingual collection California Notebooks 02. The Italian version of it was just published on this blog last Sunday 19 May 2019.
.
