*
I will walk away from
the crowds and their buzz
finding an island to float serene
on way away from cravings
looks and strong odors
to my own shadow
well defined
.
.
Poem from the unpublished collection Intertextures – Crossing Rivieras, 2013.
*
the sound of my steps
my hills on concrete
early in the morning
resounds in my head
is an internal sound
that echoes all over
when thoughts cease
for a minute or two
when flowers reach
the fullness of my heart
invasive as their perfume
I slow down to inhale
it’s a time warp this one
now suddenly on the
French/Italian Riviera
same me hushed in the
moment of understanding
beauty from within
.
.
.
.
.
*
under or above
removed from usual
grounds from valleys
to enter quieter realms
stillness and marvel
to be marginal
observing whether
with fish or birds
a new silence
lingering in
eternity
.
.
.
.
.
*
time earned to spend
silently in isolation
unseen
to ponder
from afar a gracious
life filled with opportunities
I’m changing vocabulary
words such as trouble
pain and asperity
as an answer on my path
church bells
breaking the stillness
filling the midday air
.
.
.
.
.
*
there’s another wind
below on the sea surface
dotting the vast blue
white crests running
one after another
gulfs and houses
sprinkled nearby
a few birds up here
as intermission to the
patient music of the wind
much grace weaved
a cape on my shoulders
and butterflies following me
.
.
.
.
.
.
*
a minute to sit
on a mountain rock
to breath the pines
perfume moved about
by the wind up high
clouds moving faster
than me walking
swiftly down hill
on myriads of pebbles
gathered a constellation
in the middle of the path
the steps of God
.
.
.
.
.
*
I see them leaving
one by one climbing
the sky over an unsettled
sea many colors intensely
spread among waves
sprays jumping high
crests of foam
the space taken by
the loud sounds
one after another
they turn their backs
flying away
we stay below
a lazy eye to the clock
among pebbles
.
.
.
.
.
*
unexpected gray day
as the bus crosses over
clouds costal shores
occasional ray shining
I try the awakened mode
dreams brought me sweats
somewhere here shall
some rest be found
an island amidst
a calm sea small white
clouds running the sky
a vast prairie to roam
.
.
.
.
.
*
not sure if it’s a song
my ear gathers or a
story gently murmured
out of the blue water
sailing between ridges
innumerable notes
I listen to these secret
codes I lightly stare
at the creases an
opening on the
improvising
.
.
.
.
.
annamosca 