Long Gondolier Poems
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The house is asleep
I'm left awake
A rumble shakes the rafters loose
I start to quake
I push the curtain lace aside
I crawl onto the window ledge
and poke my head and look about
A train is coming! Whizzing by !!
Is this a scheme to steal my dreams?
A train is speeding across the lawn
Through pillow down, and through the mist
I stretch my arm, with sleepy yawns
Reach out my hand and I latch on
A whistle blares, I feel the air
that rushes by, drifts over me
The engine steam, has taken me
into a cloud and I can see
a gondolier..., and heaping cars
of gold, and stacks of shining stars
The sleeper car has followed close
I close my eyes, and I am prone
We sail right up, into the stars
It takes me where the sky is clear
I hold onto a shooting star
Far past the moon and planet Mars
At speed of light, I have no fright
The track leads through the pitch of night
I travel on a the "Starlight Dream"
The clock ticks on, the track is long
Tomorrow's track will lead me back
And I will wake at crack of dawn
Back in my bed, where I belong
_________________
8/6/15 For Mystic Rose's Contest: "Trains and Fantasy"
Moonlight was the only light to make streaks across
a sky full of suspense which even a thief was afraid of;
and as I dragged you along lamp-lit, narrows streets,
we seemed two ghosts wearing human masks...
but what was on our delirious minds, if not love?
Your wish was to be on the Ponte Dei Respiri to sigh and dream...
while viewing that moon with new eyes to catch that rare gleam,
but the quickest way to get there was to wave down a gondolier! But there was
no space as thousands of people, wearing masks, were riding in those gondolas...
without despairing, we stopped on the nearest bridge and passionately kissed!
I resembled the Phantom of the Opera without that disfigured face;
you seemed like the seductive Dodge's wife so glamorous and gleeful,
and your mask was of the loveliest blue as the sky over the Adriatic Sea...
when Saint Mark's bells rang and doves flew to revive their past glory.
Oh, darkness endure more to let our memory always be a night in Venice!
Entered in Nette Onclaud's contest,
" It's Mask Time "
Written by Andrew Crisci
The setting sun urged holiday makers
To roam around the Venice canals.
A thousand and one lamps helped
The gondoliers to find their way
As he sang a lovely love song
And pleased the lovers as they sat
On comfy cushions on the boat
Occasionally stealing a kind kiss.
Stare at the twinkling beautiful stars
Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes,
List and learn, ye dainty roses
We're called the gondoliers
And this is our song of love.
Venice knew what love meant,
Even when they traverse the bridge of sighs.
They wondered how many crossed
To their doom. But that was ages ago.
Now the bridge was decorated with lamps.
Oh, what a beautiful sight it was.
Solitary gulls lead all to Piazza San Marco.
The lovers looked in awe at the tourists.
They paid the gondolier handsomely
And descended on to the vast square.
They found a table and ordered
An espresso and a tasty pizza.
It was expensive but worth it.
O Serenissima,*fabled city
guarding the bluest lagoon, remain
the Queen of the Adriatic Sea;
on a gondola I glide while
the gondolier sings to luminous stars.
Under bridges of moonlight,
mysteries increase by the dozen;
standing on the Bridge Of Sighs,
a fair-haired girl leans forward
blowing kisses to a gorgeous boy
who stops and smiles back tenderly.
On the topmast he awaits early daylight,
unfurled sails excite his spirit never
fraught. He looks back for a last time,
surroundings whet his curiosity;
behind him stand buildings of break
and stone that have endured time's fury.
The eastern sun comes up slowly,
he rubs his moist eyes and sighs;
his tall ship is ready to depart
for lands rich of exotic spices;
they will be traded for linen
textiles and beautiful glassware.
Months will pass, probably years,
a wrinkle or two will appear
on his sun-tanned forehead
beneath his fluttering red velvet hat;
he will think of Venice before sleep-
the sublime dream of a wealthy merchant.
* Serenissima: The most serene
Spellbound by the shimmering moonlight by the silent lagoon,
the oldest witness to every lover's secrets in enchanted Venice,
whispering soft words, afraid of being stolen by that stranger
who could be a wanderer or an intruder...
the dry leaves, beneath the drooping pine trees,
will crackle if he attempts to hear them too soon!
Moments lived into a silver night,
when the narrow streets are empty and dark
and the gondolas rest at the quite docks,
are as magical as the warm glow in these cheerful eyes;
and if our hands seem so frantic,
our quick thougths may be less romantic!
Following the trail of the ascending moon,
how loneliness is detected in her glance...
if we stare at her melancholic face!
And should we bring her a little comfort
by singing her the tune of a lovely song,
but how long will her presence loom?
Moments lived into a silver night...
are wonderfully remembered through a lifetime,
even more than that one unforgettable kiss...
while the gondolier rows the gondola through the canals
of a city that still withstands the fury of tides;
will another city be as beautiful as this?
We'll die before Venice will completely
disappear into the Adriatic Sea...
so let's cherish these moments of ecstasy,
and leave something to remember us by;
I'll write the words and the melody,
and you will sing it to her sweetly!
Moments lived into a silver night...
linger among these strong and old walls of Venice:
where the legendary Marco Polo slept,
where ordinary and famous people wept;
fall asleep on my chest and feel the sea-breeze,
by morning we'll be awaked by a brilliant light!
they told me
in my dream of Venice
last night
when I was sweating
and striving
to see your exclusive
city, from my redundant life
of tedious happenings
and responsibility.
Crowds with nicer
suitcases, women with
beautiful beige clothes
and effortless
beauty are whisked
aboard without a blink
of hesitation.
The river welcomed them
and flowed back
from me.
My bags were heavy,
awkward to carry
and torn from uncompleted
travels.
I wanted to see more
than the limits
of accessibility.
I remember scuba diving
in the Dominican Republic.
The fish still swim for me
in my imagination,
quietly and vividly.
I thought that if I smiled,
the gondolier would consider
not poverty, but my modest
and honest acknowledgement,
and there would be room
for one more little lady.
He might wave away the payment
for charity,
and hold out a hand
to steady my boarding.
There are many
quiet, good women
in your loud and rushing world.
I was merely hungry
for Italian food
in a bloated sphere
of burgeoning vanity.
I just want to see
what makes your city
extraordinarily rich
in history and exclusive love.
Some heavens
are inaccessible
to people like me
and the last boat left
ten minutes before
my rushing arrival
to the next gondolier. .
Save a scoop
of melting gelato for me
to taste in better dreams
tomorrow.
I was always
"a mental traveler."
At least my distant relative
once said so, and I admire
her travels.
This summer's evening still echoes
with the distinguishable city' noises:
the screams of adolescents,
the cranking of cars and motor-bikes
the loud rotating blades of helicopters,
and the blasting music
from luxurious convertibles
that unawarely tranfix...
We can get away
from this madness,
and find a silent,
infrequent place
where nothing has to be hushed;
where the firmament
emanates a perfect peace
to submerge us by awe
as we coalesce
in a lascivious wish...
We can return to be innocent,
and lean over blue waters
to cover the still lake
with beautiful,velvety roses
as the gondolier enthralls us
with his poignant vocals...
The quite geese float
in the aromatic lake of flowers,
inperplexed by our presence
as we lean over blue waters,
so intoxicated by the balsamy air,
to invoke and inflame
an incessant desire
and incur no regrettable fault...
I'd like to see Venice,
the city of eternal peace
to which poets and painters flock;
the sunset' hues are impressive at dusk.
I'd like to ride in a gondola,
and admire La Serenissima
while the venetian gondolier sings a familiar song
that everybody loves...row gentler as you sing!
I'd like to join the Venice Carnival, and be somebody's handsome groom,
on the most eerie night, when there's a crowd in the Marco Polo ballroom...
in the palace everybody wears a vague mask and a bizarre costume;
be aware of the friendly ones who, with charm, have the intention to lure.
I'd like to watch the luminiscent moon
rise over the Dome of Saint Mark's Basilica at night;
and for once without a visible, depressing spot...
it should smile at me while I croon.
I'd like to embrace that lovely woman
with eyes as green as the grass of a meadow;
and will she recognize me and forgive me again,
or sadly remain a broken-winged sparrow?
I'd like to bask in the warm sunshine
as the huge Adriatic sky becomes a real light blue;
and under Il Ponte dei Respiri I will glide
in that gondola as she lies next to me with a smile so true.
Translation: La Serenissima ( The Most Serene ),
Il Ponte dei Respiri ( Bridge Of Sighs ).
Entered in Linda-Marie Bariana's contest,
" Viva Vacation "
What do I resolve for the coming new year?
time just to myself, have I made myself clear?
It's a matter of choice, well, and my career
and I mean to do it without any fear.
No more overtime work, I'll not volunteer.
No breaks, no gossip, is that too cavalier?
I'll leave work early, come in late, oh my dear,
by now you realize; I'm less than sincere.
I could give up moonlighting as a cashier,
focus on being a fine financier.
Or should I turn down gigs as a gondolier?
Time for me, a resolution too severe.
It's not gonna happen, I am happy here.
written December 30, 2016
Resolutions contest
About Venetian charms I heard a lot -
City on the water, how cool, I thought.
I hoped I would explore that unique place
And chat up the gondolier, face-to-face.
The one, who holds the most amorous job
(No wonder, he could pass for a heartthrob),
Rowing for couples in love does impart
On his demeanour if not on his heart.
In middle age crisis I finally did!
Travelled to Venice, dreamt of as a kid -
Not as a girlfriend, or lover, or bride -
A wife who wished for a gondola ride.
My hubby, my old shoe, who tagged along,
Hummed sweetly to « Besame Mucho » song;
It felt we were on a perfect first date,
Visiting Venice is never too late.
Sweet memories, perhaps not quite discreet,
Enthroned forever on our toilet seat.
March 5, 2022
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Contest: My Dream Vacation