*
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
.
.
*
was dreaming of
sunny awakenings
sweet cuddling and
words few – tight together
was getting out to say
.
good morning – gratitude
will not fail me
a smile in spite
of everything
.
I will hold
happiness
between
my hands
.
.
*
don’t many of us
in this life get the chance
to be human
.
even if for a brief
moment of vulnerability
.
tenderness entwined in
with love and forgiveness
embracing mistakes
.
ours or others
understanding
there are no podiums
.
but one race
just one step
following
the other
.
one person
looking after another
keeping our necks oiled
to turn around
any given time
.
.
.
*
I move a strand of hair
away
from my face hanging there
for too long
as I didn’t want to remove
you when
I found too many bottles
empty
outside in the trash cans your words
lies
crawling up obscuring my
mind
as my heart knew nothing
but love
then
.
Tomorrow is International Day For The Elimination Of Violence Against Women and I won’t forget my yesterday.
*
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 collection California Notebooks 02
.
*
mind not to make
assumptions about
the man you love
not to project on him
the beauty you hold
or wish to be there
.
.
.
*
today too I went
to dig the winter
iced ground I had some
tears I could not let out
they were there like the
worm holes I saw
in the lumps I upturned
there are some things
I do not understand
about mankind
the worms were gone
hiding safe the dirt
just laid there perforated
all its holes not visible
before now looking up
to the sky under my eyes
.
.
.
.
*
the forgotten taste
of bitterness hitting
my tongue again
something
I wasn’t eager
to experience once
again you lash out
anger empowering
you robbing us
of our beauty
.
.
.
*
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
,
*
cultivate love
not for one person
alone distinguish
like from love
choose to love
you will grow the
perfect climate
to rise in beauty
in good company
.
.
–
*
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’ve been sleeping
light lately as
a restless person
going in and out
from one room
into another mirrors
everywhere as I
searched for my
breath the metronome
of my temporary
existence
.
.
.
,
*
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
.
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks
.
October Sundays are dedicated to Italian Poetry.
*
esclamare i propri
sentimenti quando
i giorni si confondono
come gli amanti sognati
come i passi contati
fosse una questione
di singolo o plurale
fosse solo la vocale
finale
una sillabazione invece
una ricerca d’accento
sulle giornate meste
.
.
.
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
.
*
it’s the beauty we hold
and carelessly wear around
what we’ll be missing more
I’ve been that route
bumps holes and crevices
known to me if you’ll let me
stop the nonsense and hold
dear what we have
.
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks
.
.
October Sundays are dedicated to Italian Poetry.
*
posso risalire
senza scivolare
con la poesia
non è ansia ma
parola attenta
precisa nel suono
e nello spazio
mi ferma una mano
.
.
.
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
*
if you do respond
to light innuendos
if you do understand
the spaces within
and the white around
if you say a lot with
your silences then
poetry is light and
simplicity – it’s a gentle
laugh at the scoffing
of the learned – it’s
what lifts you up –
not what shows off
.
.
.
.
October Sundays are dedicated to Italian Poetry.
*
essere senza tempo
così mi sento
impazzisco dentro
i legami forti
di accordi non miei
necessari dicono
perché ci si incontri
perché accada qualcosa
vorrei tornare al tutto
compreso dentro me
vorrei avere il nulla
come ricchezza
conoscere davvero
prima del tic e dopo
il tac noi si girava
comunque intorno
al sole noi si parlava
anche con Dio
.
.
.
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
.
*
driving in the dark
surrounded by fog
better use trust
the season has come
plowing the clouds
to unveil the land
suspended in
to everlasting
radiance
.
.
.
.
.
*
perhaps I live eternally
beyond the world’s borders
without realizing
those limits useless talks
and mean chit-chats
laid out as spider webs
perhaps I fly protected
in the blinding light
and at night I cry
cause I did not grasp it
.
.
.
This poem is part of the newly published collection California Notebooks 02
.
.
*
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 newly published collection California Notebooks 02
.
.
*
I realize we
do not need more
cosmic abstractions
nor painful flights
to the Himalayas tip
for the misty fog
that sometimes
surrounds us in
a cage of boredom
to wane at the sound
of us being liberated
as we simply focus
on what we know
now that we didn’t
know last week
.
.
.
.
*
something to do with measures
unknown
to others the length
of my despair whether is
it by nature, mine
or a not understanding of facts
of the jokes
among men, their secret bets
their sudden shoulders
and all was lived
and built, all that had an essence
to dust them off
to cough them up
it’s all forgotten
at once.
I don’t seem
to understand other’s
measures, the sense of
their steps, it’s long
far from me.
.
.
.
From the collection of The London Hours, 2012.
.
*
routine is good
a shelter to my heart
a time of secret
tenderness
went to swim in the morning
new beauty welcomed me
piercing the sound
underwater
large the company
joyful exile
.
.
.
From the collection The London Hours, 2012.
.
*
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.
.
Categories
*
I’ve seen rain
stepping on the sea
incessantly tapping
not able to carve
ancient holes
as on rocks
because it
was welcomed
it was welcome
.
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks
.
.
annamosca 