Sitting in my old armchair
By the open loggia door
Am I here, or back there
Where I’ve been before?
In the stilllness of the night
Sounds of racing cars
Mingle with the distant light
Of the faded stars
I look out into the dark
Little lights around
Cannot put on me the mark
Of this foreign bound
Its a saddest joke, this land
Not the thing I own
And I clearly understand
This is not my home
Looking at the trees below
See the branches sway
“Soon to bed we have to go”
Is that what you say?
Categories:
loggia, home, lonely, longing, loss,
Form: Rhyme
Sitting at my secretaire
By the open loggia door
Am I here, or somewhere
I haven’t ever been before?
In the coolness of the night
Distant sounds of cars
Mingle with the flashing light
Of the boulevard
I look out, into the dark
And it’s nothing there
That can leave on me its mark
Because I’m nowhere
It’s a no man’s wasted land
Lies before my eyes
Welcomes me to understand
Takes me by surprise
Looking at the trees below
See their branches sway
“Soon to bed you have to go”
I can hear them say.
Categories:
loggia, depression, heartbroken,
Form: Rhyme
Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have porticos, piazza, loggia,
gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot,
curl
and jut.
A memory rocks me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I also have an interior
that has been crafted
by every branch
of an endless forest.
It is this depth of a life
constructed upon the growing
of one root.
My house, my portico,
piazza, loggia,
gables, and cupola
all reaching
inward
to where this whole earthy planet
is but a single seed.
Categories:
loggia, poetry,
Form: Free verse
It abides in the lintel, leaving only
to hunt in the klong.
It was here when we moved in,
we are the renting guests
living under a large Monitor lizard.
Dawn coffee on the loggia,
the jungle going to sleep.
The movement of rain,
pacing over green canopies.
The wooden house creaks
as the sun floats over blue mountains.
Soon the tiffin carrier will arrive
on her tricycle,
bringing coconut rice
wrapped in banana leaf,
some pork dumplings.
A meal shared
with a cat and a huge reptile
as we watch the hour uncoil.
Categories:
loggia, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have columns and porticos,
piazza, loggia, gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot. curl and jut outward
as the limbs of a still treeing houses.
Once in a house like this,
I recalled the broadleaf woods of my childhood,
a memory that rocked me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I came to know that depth of my life,
its internal architecture
one room grown from another -
the many mansions.
Categories:
loggia, poetry,
Form: Free verse
If you've ever seen Ca' Rezzonico
seeming quite to float
upon the Grand Canal
as you bob in a boat,
or if you've ever eavesdropped
in some Trastevere alley
some golden afternoon
on some tenor's voice a-sobbing
beneath an early moon,
or in Andrea della Valle
breathed in Puccini's subtle chords,
you'll know that life affords
no more sacred boon.
Recondita armonia, literally.
If you've taken in
Albinoni's Adaggio
or gnocchi con formaggio
in a loggia on the Arno
or the slopes of Montepulciano,
or walked in misty thunder
the olive groves of Cennina,
or sat in wordless wonder
in the theater of Taormina,
or witnessed Piero's frescoes
in San Francesco of Arezzo,
or breathed the morning sunlight
or Mascagni's Intermezzo,
seen summer rain in torrents
come laughing down the street,
then you'll know why
or looked down upon fair Florence
like a carpet at your feet,
Italians set at variance
themselves and us,
and call us The Barbarians.
Categories:
loggia, culture,
Form: Rhyme
Let me take you by the hand,
to St.Albans Abbey.
At the far end of the lantern- lit cobbled alley.
There's the Pines and Needles Christmas market,
and a magic garden .
Yuletide trees and Holly Wreaths,
A festive foliage with plenty of treats.
Mixed spiced scents of boiled apples' fruit cider,
A wafting aroma of roasted chestnuts fill the air,
Savoured sweetness of hot red mulled wine
A Christmas Spirit,A Midnight Hymn.
Sizzling sausages on this night of bliss
Beneath a mistletoe, a chocolate-dipped shared kiss.
In each stall, sixty in all,
Hand-made decorations carved on a wooden floor.
A Jesus'Grotto , a reindeer,and santa clause.
Wrought-iron boxes, "Put in a penny
for a good cause."
A carousel, and a merry-go-round,
A giant tea-cup, a trumpeter's sound.
Children singing carols by candlelight ,
in the loggia gallery,a star shines bright.
Skates on ice, a paradise .
Dancing in the late rain,
wearing a hundred smiles.
In the oldest British pub
as the fire dies , last embers glow,
Cheeks touch,lips brush,
The winds softly blow on St.Alban's winter snow.
Categories:
loggia, christmas, happiness,
Form: Lyric
I shall complain about you to a paper,
It will hear all .
I shall tell it, as with loving to you,
I suffer in loneliness.
You are so kind, generous, you are so are lovely,
Everyone looks at you with a smile.
But your silence is too hard for me,
And I feel myself as a mistake by you.
You do not make noise, you are polite and kind with me,
You never regret money.
But I am afraid of your incomprehension-
that you will be tired of my tears.
Forgive this empty delirium, dear paper;
I used you vainly.
Suddenly the wind flew to my loggia.
Stop!!
Where you, dear paper?
It have departed
with the wind.
Categories:
loggia, love, song-
Form: Lyric
The summer has arrived suddenly.
The St.Petersburg White nights
still hug our city gently.
A lilac fog
Fills the atmosphere around,
In spite of the fact that the lilac has already faded,
And sweet aroma of a jasmine
Turns our heads, excites and intoxicates us.
There is Heat, and the thunderstorms with rain here,
Flowers and the charming bumblebees live on my loggia.
But why don't the melancholy and alarms leave me?
I think of the next autumn and winter.
Maybe, they have already started to approach to us.
No! This is wrong!
I shall forget them for a while.
I shall take inspiration from a lilac fog,
I shall be drunk with aroma of jasmine,
I shall have fun, listening to the rain,
I shall write new poems for my friends .
And, maybe, the summer will delay in my soul for a long time.
Categories:
loggia, life, nature, song-summer, autumn,
Form: Lyric