Tag: poet

the puddle

Today 

an impassable puddle 

veered us from our path

of happy, habitual loops

of frequent dog-walking tracks

taking us 

toward unused streets

of unseen sights 

and unknown treats

leading us down 

one age-old trail

a forgotten world 

awaiting

a history fading

where tilting quarry towers

whisper colossal tales

like sleeping, sculpted giants

who once built towns of stone

now long silenced 

and overgrown

such novel sights 

inspire us

to seek the zag

instead of zig

go right 

instead of left

shrug off 

the darkening clouds

and slow 

our wandering steps

combing piled and crumbling walls

a horse and cart apart

round age-less, red-soiled fields

ever curious

ever hopeful

– for what treasures 

might they yield?

with every pocket loaded

with fragments of some past

we turn toward home

toward well-walked trails

inclined 

to let them pass

choosing once more 

less rambled streets

with spirits 

like our pockets 

filled

until we’re home at last

The Baroness

I caught a glimpse

through the old green shutters 

of the big stone villa 

just off the piazza

heading to the dusky streets

to join the others

in search of reprieve

from the unyielding sun

from the infernal heat,

with dogs at our feet,

anxious to move.

Maria sat alone

on a comfortless chair

pushed against a tall wall

in one of two rooms 

of the many-roomed villa

where she now resides;

motionless

like loneliness 

perched on a chair

in a small stuffy room

of the once grand manor

all but abandoned

save for Maria.

aware of each other

through the old green shutters

of the big stone villa

just off the piazza

i turned from the scene

an unwitting intruder

as Maria stepped forward

and closed the slats

of the old green shutters

shutting out the street

her neighbors

my notice

the night

relief.

The Baroness

(i heard her called)

in quiet 

cloistered

retreat.

the dark

it swells 

and surges

shrouding all

in sudden gloom

potent

impatient

unforgiving

unyielding

stealing the air

the breath

self-love

the truth

intractable tears

intractable fears

too sad to fight

so far from light

grabs hold

holds tight

dark days

they come

black thoughts

they go

oft powerless

to move them so

await the light

that’s sure to come

accept the murk

be present

be calm

the dark 

is part

of who

I am

from up here

i like to listen

from a comfortable spot

one floor up

above the rituals

convivials

the sounds still strange

against the quiet of the woods

where we long lived

wildlife sounds

now daily drowned

by the buzz and the grind

and the being of humans being

the doing and noisemaking

the taking and giving

the incessant chapters

of our daily living

some days, I like to stay where I am

onlooker

simply listening in

while others, when the heart knows best

to be in some part

part of the rest

of life down there on aged streets

beaten and still beating

yet I prefer the quiet above

where I listen to the rhythm

which begins before dawn

sputtering its first beats

persistant

perpetual

life is so predictable

in this everday town

moving with the light

to find a spot that suits me right

for thinking

for creating

the days of just enduring

connecting times and lives

like single notes

of a singular song

which floats up and in

to the quiet within

to where I sit and wonder

how these daily strains

sound against the tune I sing

the notes I bring

if anything

from living

walks with you

what would I do

without walks with you

where would I be

without you next to me

each step we take

leaves in its wake

the darkness

daily haunting

each fragrant flower

each passing hour

in silence

no words wanting

the air smells sweet

but can’t compete

with walking by your side

the roads are long

stone walls so strong

but not like you and I

when my mood’s black

aches in my back

i take your hand in mine

and head out down

some well-worn path

to find myself again

where would i be

sans you and me

putting miles upon our feet

wondering

wandering

quietly thundering

with you at my side

i’m complete

Salento Skies

the me I see

ever shifting

like a Salento sky

in winter

promising

bright

fair

light

then winds shift

and blue

turns gray

thoughts turn cloudy

rain dismay

the me I feel

ever altered

falters

like an ancient olive tree

sick with disease

yet green

still growing

from gnarled base

willful

to keep living

keep creating

ignore

the ills

outwit self-hating

know that winds

will soon reveal sun

bid fair

clear the air

better days

new ways

to nurture the soul

mend the me

if just for a spell

knowing well

clouds will gather again

time unrelenting

bad stretches ahead

blow winds

blow

bring more good days

instead

enough to yield fruit

from the mind’s

new shoots

arising

from the twisted roots

the glow of grim

the pallid grey glow

makes everyone look sickly

rickety

empty and unnatural

i feel peevish

when it shines on me

and turns my mood irascible

un-affable

as i walk down the streets

whether here

or whether there

i can see its ugly pallor

be a glow too many share

its glare from within

what a sin

to shine upon so many

to light

but then oppress

an artificial beacon

beaming down on all inside

i’d rather hide

within the darkness

most sincere

naught but real

than to feel the ugly glow

fluorescent light

upon my brain

upon my skin

sadness surely made this light

illuminating

grim

luminous

efficient

yet poison for the soul

for the whole

for one’s peace of mind

i long to see fluorescent lights

forever dim

and let the world

glow warm again

Nearness

At our last home, on the side of a hill

the banter of neighbors was sometimes heard

yet dialogues were ever obscured

in mostly muffled, faraway words

Life’s so incredibly different here

in our small Salento town

where mostly open, shuttered doors

carry inside noises out

i’m an accidental eavesdropper

an undercover side-taker

unwittingly impacted

by next-door behaviour

hearing radios and tvs

and whistling when they’re pleased

hearing sobbing, hearing coughing

fret when angry, smile when laughing

happy medleys and cadenced words

a thundering thought, a mournful dirge

conveyed down narrow, cobbled streets

where public and private publicly meet

unwittingly entangled

emotionally ensnared

caught in the middle by an empathetic ear

learning to decipher our new life here

all the strong Italian voices

like a never ending opus

is how each day now greets us

amuses and entreats us

i hear the cafes open up

and people gather round

cafe bottles being rattled

day’s end shutters coming down

i hear dishes being done

and laundry being hung

i hear babies weep for mother

doggies barking at each other

there’s Magda, the parrot, in the center of town

the outdoor mass droning on and on

high heels click-clacking along the street

the town’s eery silence in the mid-day heat

i listen to people returning at night

parents and teens in ubiquitous fights

church bells and car horns, vendors in trucks

scooters and Api and loud motor bikes

i listen to people outside on their phones

as signals are zero inside their old homes

local curmudgeons talk sweet to the strays

old men with walkers bemoan better days

frequent fireworks, far too loud

are also now familiar sounds

though i prefer the young rapper below

filling the air with hip-hop flow

At first, the sounds unsettled me

hearing others’ lives weighed heavily

being covetous of my privacy

the introvert tried to take hold of me

yet I adapt as the weeks depart

the town’s special rhythm now beats in my heart

I’m comforted by a familiar voice

cheered by streets full of music and noise

i like to hear the telephones ring

i love to hear my neighbors’ sing

even the Tom cats’ pre-dawn brawls

seem to offer solace now

the more I listen every day

the strangeness of nearness gets further away

the closer i am and feel i belong

to Castrignano’s close-knit song

The Dance

Hand in hand

they twist and turn

spinning

grinning

circling round

rhythm is of no concern

simple joy

is simply earned

music

make the people twirl

music

disregard the world

music

bring both young and old

music

make the timid bold

hand to shoulder

hand to waist

practiced steps

at practiced pace

bring a smile

to every face

set toes to tap

and minds to peace

music

make the people twirl

music

disregard the world

music

make us feel as one

different notes

for everyone

in a line

they move in sync

in a line

they coexist

let this world

be like a dance

where stepping on toes

is taking a chance

music

make the people twirl

music

reconnect the world

music

make each heart a verse

music

better even worst

let the ryhthm of life

be set to a song

which everyone knows

and dances along

which everyone sings

hitting good notes and bad

and when the tune ends

looking back

being glad

dance

when you don’t know the song

dance

when you don’t get along

dance

when you are down right tired

dance

when stuck fast in the mire

dance

and hold the nearest hand

dance

til legs no longer stand

and dance

dance

dance.

Daughters

My daughters

are my light

they are my day

my daughters

of two lights

that light my way

so very different

in every way

yet much the same

as night turns day

so much my truth

so much that’s right

one pained

but full of light

one old of soul

who seeks what might

one feels

what all should feel

one finds

what finds unreal

so proud

for each diverse

so strong

so much it hurts

I wonder

every day

what life

will bring their way

so proud

of what we made

so proud

of what they say

so deep

is what they feel

such truth

so fucking real

I thank

the skies above

for daughters

made from love

for who

they will become

for lights

they’re destined from

for all

they are right now

for all

they will bestow

my daughters

are my light

who bring me

to full sight

who make my life

seem right

who summon dawn

from my dark nights

whom I love

with all my might

for being all

and all

that’s right.

Grief

It cut through the cool, quiet afternoon

with such intense clarity

that both the dogs and I stopped in our tracks

to look in the direction from where it came.

A woman’s voice

loud

low

anguished

cried out from a big house

down a small street

at the edge of town.

I knew almost instantly

it was not a cry for help

because I had rattled my own walls very recently

with similar sounds

when news of my mother’s death reached me

and I was forced to face it alone

thousands of miles from what once was home.

Instinctively I wanted to move toward her sorrow

offer comfort

offer company

but I knew such new pain

needed to be tempered with solitude

tears

time to process

and purge.

I looked up and down the streets

for someone

anyone

who might have heard her wails

and shared my heartache

as helpless witness

to such profound sadness.

But no one was about

just the dogs and me

and I suddenly felt intrusive

and newly stricken by my recent loss,

so on we moved

each step ushering its own fresh tears

coming stronger and stronger

as the sounds of her fierce despair

faded into the distance.

Her pain

is now entwined with mine

two unacquainted mourners

ever connected in our losses

in our sorrows.

Each time I pass her street

and recall her suffering

I feel her presence

(though a stranger to mine)

and am trusting time

has eased her pain

her tears

the grief.

Sleep

Sleep evades me

sleep can’t save me

toss and turns me

makes me taut

choices made

outcomes shade

any happiness I’ve saught

life has a way

on too many days

of kicking me to the ground

ever impatient

tired of waiting

for all i think I’ve earned

not seeing clearly

what to hold most dearly

is the life already found

but here’s the thing

what nightime brings

is darkness full of doubts

did my impatience

invite trepidation

which attends me all night long

sleep evades me

sleep won’t save me

from this recurring haunt

that my willful, skillful selfness

forces herculean lessons

yet leaves me lonely, feeling helpless

for this false and mean obsession

needing things a certain way

will beat me up day after day

and tear my tender heart in two

keeping me further from the truth

but i keep trying

no more lying

that I’m understanding all

one year older

no more closer

to making the unfettered call

second-guessing

always messing

with the good of status quo

ever searching

ever lurching

toward the things I do not know

sleep evades me

sleep won’t save me

from the choices that I make

so I’ll write it

best not to fight it

take the give

and give the take

Tick

tick

tick

tick

time stands still and I feel sick

tick

tick

tock

will this waiting ever stop

tears

tears

tears

months of realizing fears

so much

on my

own

never felt so all alone

minutes

hours

days

in an unaccustomed place

words

ways

when

can my life begin again

high

low

lone

toughest time I’ve ever known

green

yellow

blue

trying hard to learn things new

thought this all would be a breeze

but it’s brought me to my knees

there’s a lesson to be found

but for now it’s not around

just this feeling of confinement

set adrift with no alignment

it’s just me here when I wake

dogs don’t count ‘cause they can’t speak

I know the end

is in my sight

it’s days away

so hold on tight

take a walk

release self-pity

parla italiano

explore the city

know the clock

continues to click

just be patient

tick

tick

tick

Voices

Such strange, new sounds

that play upon my ears

replacing feral voices

I’d listened to for years

the barking of Coyotes

as they finally made their kill

Horned Owls hoot-hoot-hooting

from a tree just down the hill

Gambel’s Quails whose numbers

cheeped and chittered from the scrub

a conspiracy of Ravens

as they swooped from up above

now it’s mostly voices

of my fellow human beings

such an odd array of noises

and emotions that they bring

voices raised in anger

voices raised in song

cracking voices of the aged

lilting voices of the young

mothers calling children home

neighbors spreading tattle

cafe crowds who raise a cheer

when the local team does battle

men with big loudspeakers

on the roofs of their old cars

pitching their promotions

which I find a bit bizarre

church bells which routinely chime

but never seem to tell the time

motor bikes and beeping horns

barking dogs of every form

those that whistle, those who cry

new voices heard from far and nigh

I often sit and contemplate

this sound-filled world I hear

I find in it some comfort

yet I find it in my fears

of days ahead with noises

most of the peopled kind

when my solace in the past

was saught in nature’s hushed divine

where when I walked I often heard

just footsteps and the wind

now when I walk down ancient streets

I’m forced out from within

adding to the daily noise

that fills the town with sound

greeting my new neighbors

and adapting all around

praying for my writer’s voice

amidst the village chatter

hoping that the noise without

will spur the words that matter

In the Shadows

In the shadows is where you’ll find me

bind me

remind me

of who I am

in the darkness is where you’ll hear me

fear me

wear me

like a heavy cloak of black

all connected

never protected

from the errors I have made

alone and quiet

tears won’t hide it

but I’ll cry them anyway

in a life of always trying

always judging my own ways

I see the shadows lengthen

while my strength they take away

but in between the darkness

I seek light and silhouettes

of what I’ve been

and where to go

outlined by past regrets

ever changing

ever raging

ever set within my mind

always seeking

always dreaming

always trying to be kind

the shadows cast a figure

I don’t like to recognize

when the figure

dim and brooding

casts its dark upon my eyes

I try to keep them moving

toward the light found up ahead

stretching forward

looking awkward

hoping truth lies there instead

and when the light begins to fade

and shadows disappear

I hide within the black of night

I languish in the fear

of one day looking out

to watch my shadow disappear

The Forgotten Man

rusty and neglected

among the thorns

and tall, wild grass

stands the marker of a man

long since passed

a sorrowful reminder

of all life that comes and goes

of the life some might remember

and soon no one will know

no one to tend the marker

none to remember the man

no one to even notice

the monument at hand

I pass it nearly everyday

and wonder who he was

to warrant such an epitaph

to earn such a tribute of love

and then to be forgotten

at a corner where no one stops

in front of an ugly chain link fence

midst trash and weeds and rocks

decomposing a little more each day

like a body in a grave

none to recall the forgotten man

was he good

was he loving

was he brave

what would he think

of his sad, unkempt shrine

and what would I say

if this pillar was mine

such things are for the living

such things not meant to stand

such tokens of such fleeting days

won’t remember the forgotten man

Alone

I always saw myself as an independent soul

always things to do

always somewhere to go

always geared to discover

new people and new places

always eager to see the world

and all its different faces

now once again I find myself

somewhere new and strange

but this time I’m without my love

without my very best friend

and it’s hard

a challenge to be on my own

a problematic time

to have to be alone with me

and the fragility of my mind

but difficult paths are meant to be

are meant to help us grow

so somewhere I must find my strength

and seek what I must know

and know that soon I’ll have my love

back here where he belongs

back in the arms that long for him

back in this home of ours

back to being one of two

but stronger for the time

when being alone meant being with me

and loving the me that is mine

The Whistler

Well before the sun appears

in the dark

in the dew

in the quiet of pre-dawn

I hear a man whistling

a happy tune

as it echoes off the ancient walls.

Who whistles,

I think as I lay in bed,

at such a time of day?

But the happy song

he whistles that morn

blows my question away.

I smile and listen as he makes his way

from bin to bin to bin,

marvelling at his utter joy

for the simple job he’s in.

If only all of us could feel

the happy this fellow seems

each morning that he puckers his lips

and starts his day with a tune.

The Girl in the Red Velvet Hat

I saw a girl in a red velvet hat with feathers to one side.
Meeting her eyes, I smiled.
She grinned, but shyly turned her gaze.
So I studied her young silhouette
and thought of long past days.
Of ladies in fabulous hats and fitted suits,
with cigarettes and smart comebacks
for men in Fedoras, white shirts and ties
who secretly longed for the sassy, young ladies
in red, velvet hats with feathers to one side.