Best Italy Poems
Reincarnated, I will come back as a mustached and bearded Italian organ grinder,
I will live in Rome, Italy and play my home-made barrel organ in the streets,
My pet spider monkey, Shark, will happily grab up silver coins, as a reminder.
And we will make the beautifully-dressed Roma gypsies jump and laugh and squeak.
I will grind out the best songs, and Ellen will discover us and want to put us on TV.
Shark and I will be flown to America, where we will be applauded and approved.
We will play romantic music for everyone, and be as obnoxious as we can be.
We will be a hit with no one on that plane, people who are boring, and not easily moved.
We will be offered millions of dollars, to leave our wonderful streets of Rome.
But we will make our escape, not caring about the fame or the money,
For spider monkeys and organ grinders know the beauty of being in their home,
And we have a cozy nest, with our llamas and our elephant, named Honey.
The blonde went down
with not must resistance
shunning off a stressful afternoon
the scene played of society, high
as I peered at all the pretense
and pretend of an I want to be
better than you and me
old men with young jewelry
cradling arms and new cufflinks
with crosses that will never be blessed
but undressed with tightly shut eyes
Cubans smoked, killing air
drifting from an aging beat
chords crafted with ease
toes tapped on the edge of my seat
the moon peeks and says goodnight
the chair nods off unaccompanied
the grifters scrounge for a dollar
I stand up, it's time to go eat
I stood on top the leaning tower of Pisa
And watched as the tourists walked by.
I felt just a little bit closer to heaven
When surrounded by her bells in the sky.
I visited Rome in the springtime,
With its colorful flowers galore.
Seeing Saint Peters sparkle in sunlight,
You couldn't ask for much more.
I have ventured down and around
A narrow cobblestone street,
And marveled at ruins near the edge of the city
Where the old and new come to meet.
While viewing the beautiful fountain of Trevi
And watching as young lovers kissed,
I could feel the cool breezes blowing
As the fountain caressed my face with its mist.
I remember the wonder of Michelangelo's David
And the pigeons that flocked to his arms.
How proudly he stands in the city of Florence
With her glorious art that defines her charms.
Beautiful Italy, where rolling hills of
Vineyards produce the finest wine,
And its grapes so plump and juicy
Can withstand the test of time.
In Venice, the city of romance,
Where lights in the evening dance on the sea;
Where all of one's cares seem to vanish,
And all of your worries will flee.
Oh beautiful Italy,
Where lover’s dreams come true.
A land of love and romance
Where I fell in love with you.
1-13-22
~First Place Trophy~
MY FAVORITE VACATION IN RHYME Premiere Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
This Christmas started out just the same
as all thee other one's I mean mom
baking her famous fruit cake
while my two aunt argue back and forth
over my uncle Paulie being late with the turkey again
spending hours on his famous meatball sauce
quite the ritual as everyone does their part
about midday thee sorting of Christmas lights
awaiting aunt sister Mary Agnes to come
strolling in with a fresh cut tree
she finds every year at Our lady of Mount Carmel
faithfully father carmine always picks the wreath
bringing a bottle of Russo to enhance the mood
but what did i know soon pop rushes to the cellar
retrieving his state of thee art
phonographic record player way before our time
he would say struggling with the cords of an old RCA
clutching his 78 record collection of frank Sinatra
Mario Lanza Nat King Cole the Andrew sisters Lawrence welk
by now i had drifted into stage four of boredom
when the annual box of ornaments pass by
being carried by my clumsy brother Anthony
tangled in the cords of pop's record player again
he chuckles at the busy lad the song began to sound
my Nona and uncle Luigi start arranging the chairs
making a dance floor Italian pastries are being served
with long belly laughs forcefully bringing them all to tears
year after year my aunts began to cry with happiness
pinching cheeks when everyone stop's what they were doing
to join in a tarantella dance pop catches me pouting
he began to sing along chanting his favorite song capturing
my smile with what's a matter you hey what are gonna say hey
don't you like a this place hey shut up a your face
Anthony and Yolanda Nicholsen Catholic war veterans
Demitrios the golden Spartan captain sets sail for Italy
against the western wind; he will certainly mourn Piraeus,
and with sorrow-striken eyes, he'll invoke Poseidon.
Then he'll depart carrying the long hunting horn.
The small vessel will hold out and he won't fear waves,
but he laughs at Ares--who despises all kinds of irony.
Occasional gusts soothe the skin on his noble face,
unwrinkled and unrugged. Spring water should
quench his dry tongue; it's too warm and tasteless.
Stored in a huge amphora which depicts faces
of gods and warriors engaged in warfare,
it has the same warmth of the sweat that drips
from his hot forehead that has turned red.
Ahead, wisps of fog arise--an imagery whale.
Beyond there are perils and certain delights;
thoughts of danger will perturb him, thoughts
of discovery will enthrall him. He will be experiencing
them on his voyage--what he desires is smooth sailing.
He has heard of sirens and cyclops,
of fertile valleys and fields of yellow wheat;
of buffalos that roam, of goats and sheep that bleat.
How amazed he will be to find rocks
to build the New City*on that pristine shore--
he will declare his Queen sitting in the marble throne!
Demitrios the golden Spartan captain sets sail for Italy
to escape Achille's curse; he refuses to hide in the wooden horse,
he will never return to Greece. Athens and Sparta will not fight
with swords and arrows; their grand plan is to win war by deceit.
Cleverness will defeat the Trojans. Only Helena foresees the worse;
they don't heed her words--Troy will fall to the enemy.
* The New City: Neapolis ( Naples ).
I wish to share a
secret about a
landmark I've
just viewed -
the tower of
pisa doesn't
lean it's the
world that's
sadly skewed.
Waves crash down each day by day
As fishing boats dare make their way
The village square, by dawn, now quiet
as endless waves, with rocks, play riot
Then hustle and bustle, taunting streets
With men and boys from fishing fleets
Children scamper, scurrying, scream
While women weighing fish they clean
When midday sun offers no retreat
And cobblestones lie hushed with heat
Siesta silence creeps into town
Except where waves come crashing down
Hello my name is Pizza
It's me you wants tuh eatsa
You want with lotsa meatsa?
The fave of the Tsaritza!
Wandering on timeworn cobbled streets,
seeking the mysteries of medieval places
revered through the passing of time
and antiquities graces;
A labyrinth of undulating faded frescoed walls,
cloistered shrines with secrets to tell, sprawling palaces,
monuments in memoriam and the cathedrals
towering centurion bell;
Rugged mountains glazed in a crown of luminous snow
ascend over beaches, kissed by the sapphire sea that
ebbs and flows below.
Spiraling roadways lead to fortified cities,
emerging from phantom clouds, hovering over
orchards and groves, the fruits of the earth,
dangling from lofty boughs
January 7, 2017
A port in Italy
Livorno was a dark town with sparse light that appeared Russian
at an open place with many trucks and many women milling about
I paid one she bent over the bonnet of a car
did this to relieve the boredom and the onset of depression.
When the deed was done, I walked to a restaurant and bought
a bottle of wine, it was surprisingly good, probably Russian
I do not care for Italian wine.
The woman followed me, wanted wine also, said I was gentle.
After two bottles, she said she loved me.
When she went into the loo. I jumped into a taxi and drove
back to the ship feeling annoyed.
What has love got to do with this?
All over Italy north and south
Cows and goats and their cheeses
Corn polenta, mid-land pastas
There white and red wine always pleases
Beans and cabbages poor man’s wishes
Folded with tomatoes and onions
Add broth, and eatable Allium that helps the best dishes
That strong flavored bulb even illnesses eases
Ah Italy the chefs and mothers have such genius
The country endowed with uncommon vigor of mind
There you will find versions of dishes of every kind
And though the Nazis were there people still dined
Many sent their meats and cheeses to barns and homes
Where people would run and hide leaving the worse behind
Reminding us Bologna gave us sauce, pasta and pears
In remembrance still everyone gathers and shares
Ah Italy how I wish I could again be there
But tonight in Santa Cruz there will be —
Still be tomatoes, cheeses, pasta and pears
Capri
roofless cubes, spidery with wire,
cakes of azure and enzian;
above at the Villa San Michele
Rilke smiles down at the broken beaches,
at coves of defiant waves, compacted sea
Pompeii
a chessboard of honest stones
open to a sky of hushed shouts;
we huddle in a boned frame
of another life, a stopped day
Napoli
warm and secret, olive-eyed
an infinite beauty makes a new face
as we gaze ape-like from our bus;
an act of moment
I remember it as if were yesterday
VE Day...well, not exactly
but, close enough for me
The actual surrender of Italy
May 2, 1945....but the damn Americans
Always the Americans wanted May 8
So, it's May 8th, but I'll always remember the second
We were in Milan...I love Milan
Hitler was dead, Mussolini was dead
I was alive, and in Milan
Rumours were out that the war in Europe was almost done
Nobody had told the Gerry's that though
Word came from Lubeck that they'd surrendered
I was twenty one years old, going on 50
War ages you...and not in a good way
I was in 6th Airborne and ready to go back
When the word came down
I remember kissing the waitress at our cafe
I kissed her hard, and with as much passion as a 21 yr. old can have
I didn't want to let her go
It was over
I kissed her for myself, and everyone in Milan
I kissed her for my folks in Clapham
I kissed her for her folks, wherever they were
I kissed her because we were free, they were free
I kissed her for my Uncle, who we lost early in 1941
Lost him during the blitz in London
England lost 430 people, we lost Uncle Cyril
That was enough, I was signing up
Now, it was over and I was moving on
I kissed her for everyone still waiting for the news
But, most of all, I kissed her for Leslie Testro, Rfn (18yrs)
Lance Cpl Thomas Wray (22 yrs), Lt. Dennis Edmonds (21 yrs)
and all the others attached to 6th Airborne
Who wouldn't know it was Victory in Italy
They were lost, not forgotten, never forgotten
Forever in our minds, our roll of honour
We celebrate them annualy
Few of us left now, but, those that are
go back to Italy every two or three years
back to Milan, and we toast them all
My waitress, Rosa Testrini
She was there as well, every year
Until five years back, we lost her
Now we toast her as well
We all have our honour roll
She was on mine
I found her again in 1950
We were on our second trip back
She met my wife, and I her husband
He's still there, and we talk
My Italian is better than his English
But, we talk as well as we can
I miss her, and the others
But that day, that glorious day in May
I've never kissed like that since
And my wife knows it
Sometimes she reminds me...
I laugh, and remind her....
What that day means...if it hadn't happened
We may not be kissing now
so, she'll never get that kiss
Only Rosa
Rest In Peace my waitress
Nothing can dim the glow of my joy
Those meaningful moments which I still recall.
I find certain happiness yet silence in time
With occupying thoughts that always cross my mind.
Along the stream of consciousness, there’s a hidden message
I may be attentive, yet time creeps so fast.
There’s difficulty that hampers me though
A busload of burdens that wrap me till night.
On and off, I turn to gaze at these things
Wholly appreciative that counts twice as much.
The richness in spirit opens my heart to beat
Like a dancing note that jumps over the keyboard.
I look at the beauty of Verona in its history
With great admiration to highlight its civilisation
The arena for instance that shows an immense performance
Of Shakespearean plays so romantic but tragic ones.
Moving back and fro, I see the rhythm and sign
Of our very lives so unique to confront
It is our attitude to bring the gifts of ourselves
In this present life where we struggle and live our faith.
The place where i once dewelled,
The place where my mother and father honey mooned,
the place where i was created,
the place where i now face hardships.
the place now where i only see and visit graves of those i have lost.
the place where i have dreamed many dreams.
Now the place i will never see.
Please people in Italy dream big dreams for me.
Even though I am afraid of what those dreams might be.
I know one day I have to face my destiny,
But I am afraid of what I might become and what I might bring,
upon myself.
so i have to stay out of the rain,
and thank mother earth
that i have not become,
insane.