*
now I know
it is worries
that separate
me from you
dark lines
in-creasing
may dissipate
as smoke at dusk
.
.
Sep30
Tag Archives: Photography
Sep27
Il mio orto
Sundays’ poems are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
il mio orto a spirale
ha prodotto abbondanza
.
nascondendo la struttura
non percorribile
.
nel suo pieno arrivata
la stagione
.
Se gradite ascoltare la versione audio e video della performance cliccate qui.
If you wish to hear and see the video of the poetic performance click here.
Yes, on Tuesday poems will be in English, as usual!
Sì, il martedì le poesie, come sempre, saranno pubblicate in inglese!
Sep22
Now
*
now it’s my turn
to be sitting on
a park bench
alone listening
something is coming
what is is coming
.
.
This was the only English poem performed on my first poetic reading after the Covid-19 lockdown, last weekend, when asked to do a public reading during the finissage of an art show Called Opulenza Vegetale (Vegetable Opulence). The performance took place in an old site, a church dated 1289, in Italy. If interested in a short video click here, Now.
Aug18
Mornings
*
having infinity
taking over me
that is my practice
in the desert
to rehearse boundless
to have a sip of
eternity once
in a while
.
.
Aug11
The Stroll
*
hearing steps
of life carried out
gasping one day
they will be no more
times rolls away
my finger fail to
halt it to stillness
.
.
Aug4
In Spite Of Me
*
when my words
surfacing out of
poetry define
who am I
I cry
I also
rejoice and
stand still as
if suspended
all at the same
exact
time holding
that tiny particle
of truth inside me
that shining in spite
of me
.
.
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
Jul21
Everlasting
*
life as a bird
an egg in a nest
in unexpected
places hidden
cared for and guarded
with parental
love cracking to
the first light revelation
being fed and
taught to sing
before I could fly out
into everlasting
.
.
.
Jul7
Light
*
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
.
.
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 –
.
.
May20
Solitude Serves Me Well
*
before is the bird’s
song and the occasional
car passing by
then the refrigerator
freezing while shaking
the hot water boiler
or an airplane
far away the mailman
comes dropping
volumes of papers
we need to lift glance
at a minute then dispose
that’s how days roll
away how solitude
serves me well
.
.
.
This poem is from the California Notebook collection, available in paper book and digital format.
May13
The Look My Soul Has
*
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
.
.
This poem is part of the collection Not Rosaries Nor Missals.
–
May6
They
*
they panic no one
around the streets
.
no one in their cars
no noise nor pollution
.
they keep the tv loud
letting anger lash out
.
or let despair cover
their trapped bodies
.
they weep the chance
they resist they curse
.
.
.
May3
Anni fa…
*
Incontro un piccolo cane,
frenetico, affamato.
.
Si affonda nella spazzatura.
.
Disperazione, tenerezza,
pianto, le nostre miserie,
.
che lui incorpora ingoiando
immondizia, impudico.
.
Lui senza vergogna.
.
.
Inedita, Italy, 2011.
Apr26
Orizzonti
*
Ci ascoltavamo
senza parlare.
.
La lentezza
dello sguardo
dava alla
nostra storia
un ritmo lento
diluito.
.
Conoscevamo
orizzonti
fuori
dall’inquadratura.
.
Mettevamo a fuoco
ogni cosa e forse
lì
ci siamo spaventati.
.
.
Tratta da Imputami il peccato di voler sopravvivere – Ottobre 2010.
.
