Friday, June 28, 2013


I have tried to take some notes this time
waiting for my turn to ask my questions,
I found myself in the usual jumble of thoughts and reflections
typical of those moments in which nothing happens,
“When time stops and time is never ending” came too on my mind,
but as ever, lines like these sound too solemn in these moments,
the same as many other quotes, quotes, a lot of other quotes
that look for a rhythm, a reason; I think that most of the time
we all are in this In-between in which infinite fingers
drum on infinite tables and window-sills waiting for
a shape, a result, a proposition, a proposal, an issue, a sky.
Life can be only an inconclusive and incomplete river,
just this fluctuating thing. It’s when a joke, a smile, a caress, even a bang
can be so welcome because they interrupt the stream of nothing.
The stream no-stream we, subtly but definitely, most fear.
In it the Zen pupil can fall asleep and the Zen master is ready with his cane
on the pupil’s shoulder to wake him up to the nothingness, as if, as if, as if
just this empty, flowing anything were exactly all there is, including the illusion
that one day we can escape from it.
Well, that's it’s my turn, at last I am going to ask my question,
I look at the student, at this eager gaze, this sea of expectations.
My question comes, it wants to be inviting, words devouring stillness.
I don’t mind supposing silence will swallow us all.
Let’s cast out this further spark of syllables, this uttering forwardness.
This bait.
Nonetheless, this hope.
( In the meantime I want to express all my best wishes to David King)

Tuesday, June 18, 2013


Time has come.
In which we let ourselves
sojourn in this bubble of cool.
Outside the heavy lid of air
bogs down silence and sound,
sweat being the warp and woof of any ground.
So, we let hell stay
and take shelter in this mimicry of heaven.
Allow me this reflection
while the gaze of the hot haze
on the still lagoon
reminds so definitely, so soon,
of this inconstant stay.

Monday, June 10, 2013


After so much forgetting
we are glad to sense we need our maze,
the lay of our veins, still closer than ever,
still warm, dark, unexplored
at its innermost core,
in our swishing on we
talk and hush –the same
in the quiet pressure of the oak’s stare,
inner sky arms holding
the squirrel’s stiletto stillness
and on the ground a scurrying, in the old leaves
while the garlic flowers breathe
their own grid of loosened chains
fully stinging and fulfilled, upward
through threading sunbeams.
We are glad to be walking drunk
with sun and shadow, with their
interweaving on each shred path
at the crossroads, on beehives of tracks
testing the heart,
our gaze both straight in front and inward
with its marvelling range of irises,
we are glad to have to make a choice,
glad of the roads not taken
for now, sure that the maze
will wait biding its time, mud sparking
on directions we’ll dig in the undergrowth
of our wish, just needing
this start back, its dark green
and, where knots of sap lure and sting,
the deep fluttering, the call
of barely seen wings.
This poem, written several years ago, has come to my mind reading the latest post in Crafty Green Poet's blog.

Sunday, June 9, 2013


Rain again,
tapping tips of sky.
A longer eternity.


For ages I have tried
to see the light in the rain,
to befriend nemesis.

Friday, June 7, 2013


In the silence of dawn
opening the window
I caught sight of a cat
in a basket I had left,
and forgotten,
on my neglected
balcony floor.
It looked so at home,
snug inside it.
Maybe a glimpse
of a necessary attitude:
settling in what's left
like a curling marvel
and silently, secretly,
trying to be snug
in one's own heart,
while keeping going.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013


Dear blog-friends, the story I am going to tell you is true, I am just going to fictionalize it a bit and change the names of its two protagonists for a matter of discretion, even if I am not sure if, at least one of the two, would deserve that.
Any comment on what I am going to report and reflect upon, any interpretation would be sincerely relished.
Around one month ago this message reached me in my email box: “Myra Windmiller wants to connect with you on Linkedin”. Now, I had stopped contacting and seeing Myra Windmiller for a long time since she was someone who had disgraced me, to use a kind expression, in a traumatic manner. She, on her part, had  never tried to contact me either for at least two years.
I still had her email address and I sent her immediately a brief message, maybe just because I was too puzzled, telling her I do not trust social networks and” please contact me directly via a normal email if you have anything to tell me”, something I strongly doubted and in fact she did not answer, which was, by the way, typical of her.. that brought back to my mind her reactions in the past that consisted in never answering in any possible way, with any possible means.
Now, the problem is I am maybe too curious and I wanted to understand the reasons of that message.
After two days I answered to the message itself asking to the dear Linkedin people whether they had sent me themselves the invitation, by their own choice, without ever being contacted by Myra. For days I didn’t get any answer, checking then my emails I realized that answering Linkedin’s email  and writing my question to them I had in fact sent the message to Myra because the answer button contained no Linkedin’s address but directly Myra’s address!
Vastly disappointed I entered Linkedin’s website, passing through the usual jumble of passwords and tricks and internet paraphernalia I wasn’t in the least enjoying, to find a way to get some information. In Linkedin I found many people, some of them I knew well, others I absolutely did not, I clicked buttons simply to go on and find a space dedicated to enquires about the messages of invitation. Eventually, after ages, two-three days, I found it and wrote the same message of enquiry I had unknowingly sent to Myra. An answer arrived, one week later by someone called Irene, it was a very kind answer in which Irene told me that in no way they “invented” an invitation by someone who hadn’t, through them, clearly expressed the desire to contact someone else.
I at once wrote back to Myra pasting her invitation in my message and reporting Irene’s message.
At the end of my message I typed a big WHY. Did I receive any answer from Myra? Well… you can well imagine!
In the meantime some friends sent me messages telling me that I had invited me to join me on Linkedin! Even an old lady who lived in Malta and who I had seen last time two years before.
In the meantime I kept receiving messages from Linkedin again referring about other people Myra was in contact with. A deluge of messages from Linkedin was getting into my email box. I deleted everything, I deleted my connection, among my favourite sites, with Linkedin.
Now the deluge has stopped at last, or does it lie dormant?
A question, after this, is inevitable, echoing a famous Bob Dylan’s song: are we internet users pawns in which game, in whose game?

Monday, June 3, 2013


Words, just words
and their music that passes,
rivers I keep walking along
or crossing, lying down in them,
trying to be overwhelmed and blessed
by the entanglement of water and weeds,
taking care of losing ground, taking care
of giving in to the streaming details
of water and air.
A dance, like any dance,
against any solid ground.
With your eyes in my memory.
Because eyes sweep up earth
into water and air, memory
that is their stare,
eddies of blue brown green,
ground giving in
to their currents.
I keep your eyes tight
to my heart and mind.
At the point where
there are no other lifelines.
And you can all, or nobody,
stare at me who am nothing,
or just a breath of words stretching
on water and air.

Saturday, June 1, 2013


Rain in May.
The weather sways
far from our wishes.

Throat-breaking, thunderous coughs
from the opposite window.
The day begins.

Pale sun peeping
through the shutters:
no way, decision can't be shy.

June, already June,
green's gold
always too soon.