Category Archives: Poems

My eyes were riveted On the refulgent screen With letters morphing into words As fingers tapped the keys. Suddenly, Out of the corner of my eye An emerald gleam Distracted me. A creature of some kind Was perched On the dark oak desk, Abdomen and thorax Glowing brilliant green. Behind two jointed stick-like legs  BentContinue reading “Distraction”

I always had trouble remembering how to spell his name. Beppe. Actually, of course, it was Giuseppe. But was it with one p or two? Did I stress that p sound enough?  It really didn’t matter.  Not that we would discuss philosophy or anything, but I might have to ask him not to give my small sonContinue reading “The Witch Doctor and the Rosary”

March 29, 1994 Amaryllis. corollas of blood-red petals flaring out immense from deeper darker throats moving out in waves of deepest scarlet lake alizarin and crimson madder. Menacing threatening to draw you in drown drag you down into those vast voracious mouths. From deep within each silken heart seven slender snaking tentacles searching heads upraisedContinue reading “Homage to Georgia O’Keeffe”

Vetralla, though, was on the other side of Orvieto, not far from Viterbo and the lake of Bolsena, on the Via Francigena, the pilgrimage route from France to Rome. We had been told there was a potter in Vetralla, who made traditional red ware, rather coarse, but beloved by the German tourists who come toContinue reading “Vetralla II”

October 17, 2013  Two small grey plastic clogs abandoned helter-skelter on the wet grey sand kicked off by the little boy who couldn’t wait to run into the water. A bolder wave arrives taking one in tow as it retreats. In that decisive pause  when gathering swell and outbound wave must come to terms,  IContinue reading “Tarquinia”

A brown earthenware cylinder, 9 inches high, 4 inches across. An opening cut into one side, all the way down to the bottom. Small triangular holes on either side – most still holding white clay rods, an inch or so long, that protrude towards the inside where shadows reign. It bears the signs of itsContinue reading “Vetralla”

June 14th, 1994 Upupa – hoopoe bird. A flash of orange barred with brown and beige darts up from the road. Disturbed but not afraid. A sudden glimpse of joy, untamed and fearless. Too fearless, for now I find you amongst the rocks and weeds cradling the scraggly rosemary outside my door. I pick youContinue reading “Upupa”

I have a dog. Supposedly she was a guard dog. It started when they broke into the house – it was mid morning and I had gone with my friend to get some supplies at the supermarket in the valley. Coming back, I didn’t notice anything right away but when I tried to open andContinue reading “Teah”

We are all kaleidoscopes, cubist compositions, the sum of our reflections in the eyes of others. We are as others see us. Instant snapshots. Time exposures. Double exposures. All – and none – not one but all. Reflections in the eye of a passerby, reflections in the inner eye of those who know us. StillContinue reading “Kaleidoscopes”

June 11th, 2021 A bit over a year ago, I walked the streets of Orvieto and glass doors slid open as I passed, to let in —ghosts of the years before. Outside, tables were stacked up, or were simply non-existent. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Now glass doors still slide openContinue reading “Then and Now”

Four boots set on the cobblestones Outside the shoemaker’s shop. Four boots turned into flower pots. A small shop, full of shoes, piled up everywhere. Boots, sandals, ballerinas, heels, for dancing, or for walking. In the back a woman, hair pulled back, attaching the sole of a well-worn shoe. Years ago, she said, her father died.Continue reading “Flower Pot Shoes”

I don’t go there any more. Sure, it was cheap and the location handy, but the food was never very good. I guess I only went because of Belle. And Belle isn’t there any more. Where is she now? Nobody seems to know. She’s just gone. The day I first happened to wander in itContinue reading “The Coffee Pot”

A PAIR OF WORN-OUT SHOES They were sitting on the windowsill in the old house. Honey colored, rather battered, worn-down heels. Soft, misshapen. One lace skipping an eyehole. Still she remembered them as comfortable which was what she now needed in a shoe. A day or two they would still serve her to walk alongContinue reading “Shoes”

The first thing you see when you come in the side door of my house in the country is the madia. A waist-high box, over a meter long, it’s more elegant than the usual kitchen type for beading frames the front panel and the drawer at the bottom. The hinged top can be raised, revealingContinue reading “Madia”

Alone. I draw the curtains to shut out the light of a night that refuses to be night. I’ll wake up to what might still be night, or dawn, with time, the hours and the days, always the same.  Alone in the country. The night is black. No city lights. No distant mountains. Just theContinue reading “Nostalgia”

ION BUCUR A poet I was told you are a poet. A poet slowly fading away in a clinic in Rome. But that was years ago, in 1941 or perhaps 1954.  Your portrait, swiftly drawn with brush and ink,  speaks to me out of the past  – and I would surely have fallen in love with you –Continue reading “Ion Bucur”

The old address book seems to be full. We did once use address books Written on paper, adding and crossing out Our daily contacts. A Royal Horticultural Address Book With a rock rose on the cover. Year after year, names added, names removed. Fingermarks on the cover Cleaned with a soft eraser more than onceContinue reading “Address Book”

A chip-carved wooden box, a pin with one blue stone, gifts to hold and touch, evoking a name, a time, a feeling. Other more ephemeral gifts, a poem, a word, a gesture, somehow exquisitely private, live on in memory alone. This is for you, he said, handing me half of his orange. More could notContinue reading “Gifts”

We’re on a boat in a pond. My father and me. He says I have to learn to swim and pushes me over the side into the water.  (He was like that. My aunt, his sister, remembers how he made her jump off a high diving board, or maybe pushed her,  even though she wasContinue reading “Virtual Photos III”

My basil seedlings Lie askew Their spindly thread-like stems White against the moist black earth Dislodged Disturbed By something. The stick I poke into the pot Grazes A speckled yellowish mound. Some kind of fungus? Warily I brush away more earth. Suddenly Two great dark hooded eyes Are blinking in the light. A golden toadContinue reading “Golden Toad”