*
just before
I breathed in I was
breathing out
I run to this
place to be with you
you seem aloof
to life or to give
anything out afraid
even to receive
I play with the birds
trills as people rush
home from work
.
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks 02
.
*
let’s sow kindness
even if we no more
like people let’s
.
.
.
*
I write
a ladder
to heaven
upward
I hold
as seen
in my morning
dream
.
.
.
*
mind not to make
assumptions about
the man you love
not to project on him
the beauty you hold
or wish to be there
.
.
.
*
the light will hit you
gloriously when in the midst
of nothing you’ll see
everything
.
.
*
to know the weight
of my heart through
my eyes you can see
.
how it makes my life
difficult the flight over
troubled landscapes
.
I’ve that anchor inside
that sinks me like a spade
deep into the human
.
.
.
*
my feelings this time
don’t want to stay on
paper or even reach it
there’s is a modesty
to them as they rise
from my aging family
I move from pangs
of anxious pain to
serenity as giving
honor to vulnerability
brought forth a new
sweetness to be
savored alone
.
.
.
*
learn not to judge
just look at things
let them sink in as
images in a mirror
.
.
.
*
quanto stancano
i discorsi inutili
spesi per conoscersi
coscienze ubriache
addormentate
anche in sogno
.
.
.
*
awakening to
having no
choice that
to have a job
that holds me
between the earth
and the sky
*
dry leaves scattered
on the summer tall grass
unable to move
.
dead to
themselves ready
to mulch
.
withal giving
.
.
.
.
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
manco
nel narrare la bellezza
un attributo divino
.
le parole allineate come perle
.
pronte per essere collana
e io che non trovo
il filo
.
.
.
.
If you wish to read the English Version click here.
Sì, la domeninca le poesie saranno in italiano!
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
*
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
.
.
.
.
