*
nostalgia dei primi
odori americani
.
di teli bianchi perfetti
mossi da un lieve vento
.
noi a ridere nudi
a raccontarci la vita
.
appena iniziata
insieme, non sapevamo quanto
.
.
Un volo oltre, Luglio 2013.
.
*
I will close this page
and put it away
I will have a look
at such light
lingering
I will stand eventually
get up and displace
myself in a busy store
drunk in sounds and souls
I will pick you up
later when this
wind ceases
one more time
running uphill
.
.
From the collection “The London Hours”, 2012.
.
*
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 newly published collection California Notebooks 02
.
.
*
I gather my thoughts
bending a little
away from the wind
that clears skies
from darkness of clouds
the air is gold
colored tiny speckles
dancing away a tip
a tap one tip more
fingers tapping with
closed eyes
a dance suspended
draw me closer
to your rhythm before
the next silence
.
.
.
.
*
I have worn shoes
covered with trails
dust sticking loud
louder than my long
path of silence I
have asked to see
the way I could tread
barefoot as in a dream
where roads aren’t
hard where people
say without speaking
love is reverence
.
.
.
.
*
I’m not knowledgeable
on climatic changes
the way the winds go
on high or low pressure
I didn’t keep my head on books
but clouds those I know
teaching us
how to be in life
the best ones being
those moving fast
giving no resistance
to life happenings
they follow whatever
wind coming their way
you see them glorying
and soon happily gone
busy dancing
life out
no time to pout – others
grow dark and sit dense
giving headaches
to some of us
they build resistance
to any life changes
no escape
the heaviness
they create
will break on us all
.
.
.
.
This poem is in the first volume of “California Notebooks”. To get your own copy click here
.
.
*
a river pouring
you are not rushing
to me poetry flows
out is hard to contain
I’ve no hands for that use
I’ve new eyes to embrace
strong legs clasped around
it’s an odd place wonderful
to be tell me what is
new today with you
.
.
.
Poem from the newly released poetry book “California Notebooks” to get your own copy click here
.
.
*
It’s the beauty we hold
and carelessly wear around
what we’ll be missing more
I’ve been that route
bumps holes crevices
known to me – if you’ll let me
stop the nonsense and hold
dear what we have
.
.
.
Poem from the newly released poetry book “California Notebooks” to get your own copy click here
.
.
*
now I know
it is worries
that separate
me from you
dark lines
in-creasing
may dissipate
as smoke at dusk
.
.
.
.
*
the silence of love
a new blatant silence
crossing my mind
a new way of caring
not aimed at early
years finding strength
in the sweetness
of loss and lack
some shortness of breath
and time while eternity
fills longer days
deafening silence
a new era my life
more precious now
where a thousand suns now
shine into one own eyes
.
.
.
.
.
*
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.
.
.
*
on a Palm Sunday
I was roaming town
offering olives branches
in exchange for funds
to the church when I
found myself face
to face with the boy
I beat on birth place
along cold corridors
we sat on the steps
of the tallest building
to compare depths
colds sand colored
marble steps at
lunch time we
had no appetite
we bore similar hues
mostly our intelligences
bonded
.
.
.
.
“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.
.
.
.
*
time leaving
traces everywhere
victims never
to be avenged
time cannot
be hold it can
be classified
never arrested
and if doing some
serious thinking
we last but the
length of a breath
time shows itself
and swiftly go
.
.
.
.
.
*
till the day
we will be a clumsy
and ill-fated arrangement
of bones held together by love
when gratitude sailed with us
far away deep into the years
past crumbling or lines
holding our days
.
.
.
.
.
*
.
each flower has its own
bee for a time been hugged
and pillaged yet giving
gladly not a flower runs
away some fall in the
ditch where water
slowly runs looking up
sprinklers themselves
start a rainbow in the thin
air for me to see having
a shorter life than theirs
.
.
.
.
