Some in Israel feel they’re quite grand
Only they can hear god’s command
They often recite
Commandments at night
Yet kill and steal Palestine's land
Palestinian piazza
Includes the West Bank and Gaza
Israel's ethnic purge
Might let these sites merge
At fine hotels like the Plaza!
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.
Is it the fog or is it just the steam
That's rising from Italian coffee cups?
Today I wonder if the sunlight beam
Was ever cherished by the grownups.
The fog makes blurry things that once were clear
And make us doubt in clarity of mind
Of humans who left sunlight way behind,
Replacing emptiness of heart with fear.
On foggy day you spot the silhouettes
Of ones you love, though they are far away
And that reminds you how sunbeam reflects
In loving eyes. Thus, silently you pray
That this damn fog will dissipate one day.
Especially in the heads of those
Who mistook thistle for some kind of rose.
Kind wind will blow away the nasty fog,
For kindness is the strongest driving force
That powers sun and every mind agog
In never-ending quest to find its source.
And loving eyes will sit with you on day off
On some Italian piazza in the sun
And there'll be nothing more to be afraid of
But maybe pizza slightly overdone.
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.
Giant poet gem, Tagore’s story-poem: NISKRITI,
Is a piazza perched paved and perfectly paced beauty;
Scale model of a castle of vast poetic kingdom,
That has spread into an empire of Indian wisdom!
Manjulika is a dew-drop in the mighty ocean,
Of the land of Bay of Bengal where feminine gender;
Fulfills wants of men as mother, wife, daughter and labors,
Less fulfilled of subtle cravings, in her heart she harbors!
Nucleus firm; Malabika has solemnly sung it,
Narration, like roots, stems, leafs, flowers, fruits of plants well-knit!
Images complex extract emotions, expose like day light,
Questions of destiny hang, like stars in dense dark sky, bright!
Figures of speech, like hand-picked coffee-seeds, well chosen,
And like gems and pearls in an ornament, fairly woven;
With stones of words and verses flat, oval, blunt, round, pear, square,
The edifice erected here is stern, solemn and somber!
05 December 2021
Inspired By A Translation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
They wait perfumed in fresh clothes,
The kids, at the top of the stairs;
We’ll be back by evening Auntie, says the mother,
C’mon or we’ll miss the corriera.
They troop off down the stairs,
Cross a courtyard into the whining of
A carpenters lathe,
And crunching of gravel,
Past Mr.B’s house, with his collection of
Rare coins;
Exit a dank passage and enter a warm
Ochre world.
They greet C in his grocery, which
Smells of cinnamon and washing powder;
Pass the old mill, where legend said
Ghosts roam at night,
Finally reaching the bubbling piazza.
The corriera announces its arrival,
The kids don’t care, they’ve got their Spiderman
Comics to think about.
By sundown they were back, weary,
Sleeping on each others shoulder,
Pity it was all over;
And the kids dream of Spiderman.
Busy piazza,
Amidst angry sun
And cacophonous sounds such as,
"pipipi peepee" and "bonanza! bonanza!!",
Calling all to answer,
Nagging market women,
Causing palaver.
Pedestrians roaming.
Every man to his own
Yet who knows who?
CHARLESMELODY
(Lightning Ink).
A sculpture by Cellini*
Stands in Florence in a square.
Since 1554 you can find
Perseus still there.
He holds Medusa's head aloft
Triumphantly to show
All comers of his deed,
The head the proof they'd need to know.
Commissioned by a duke, Cellini
Worked for nine long years,
Resulting in a masterpiece
As great as it appears.
How magical to gaze at something
Made in ancient times.
No words can quite convey that feeling;
Neither can my rhymes.
*Benvenuto Cellini
Bathory, Bathory
Come take a bath with me
I hear it's a cure for asthma.
Bathory, Bathory
Please scrub my back for me
And do not pee in the plasma.
Bathory, Bathory
Take off your hat for me
Hang out with me on the piazza.
Bathory, Bathory
Lay down and nap with me
That might erase my miasma.
Chartreuse tassels hang quiet, still
Birds joyfully sing love's song
Roosters' melodies fill the hollow
Each greet spring gone so long
Charcoal clouds ruffled across blue
Cobalt could bring a shower
Wash golden forsythia's blooms
Loaded with blossom power
The still air loaded with pollen
Each plant seeking a mate
Some falling upon car and barn
Missed wind's transport to date
An egg yolk sun peeks through cobalt
Will it shine the whole day
Is there rain in those early clouds
Let joy exude come what may
Everywhere and nowhere
or a bit to the left
in the yellow bending of the fall.
Along the street of the lost
leaves which ever led us
to the Piazza Navona...
The dark star entered my eye
it and the song of a real cricket.
Alone and waiting in a corner of the piazzA
I can feel my heart race and throB
The night is warm and the mood is romantiC
Sweet scents of flowers wafteD
In the evening breezE
I close my eyes and allow myselF
To him a tune from a lively sonG
From my lips escape a soft and contented sigH
As my fingers tap loudly to make a TimpanI
I remember my old friend RaJ
My mind wandered and drifted bacK
To the sea of memories in a saiL
Images on my mind unfold as in a dreaM
Like a song that plays a sad refraiN
The sound of the past lingered like echO
As I open my eyes to the present and woke uP
To the chiming of the clock tower so antiQ
As it strike to tell the hour, my mind bluR
The memories fade leaving me with feelings of happinesS
So fleeting that I lost myself for a momenT
Reality set in as I search the milieU
Hoping to find the familiar face of my luV
I wonder if he would show up somehow
My heart longs to see him and I feel vex
As the night progress, making my head tipsY
From wine and the ringing of slaughters in my ears buzZ
AND PASSING INTO HOLY SOULSFROM AGE TO AGE
SHE PRODUCES FRIENDS OF GOD
PROPHETS
WISDOM 7:27
IF YOU GO TO MILAN in northern Italy
You probably head first to the Duomo
The massive Gothic Cathedral in the center
After you tour it and walk amid the spires on its roof
You might sit on the piazza steps eating gelato with scores of others
Then you might descend to the subway, ready for another adventure
As you hurry through the hallway to catch a train
You’ll pass a locked door with a small window
If you look
You’ll see mounds of dirt and stones
But if you return to the church
You can visit that underground space by going down some steps in the back
Amid the excavations is an octagonal-darkness
Alone
Contemplate the font where St. Ambrose washed
St. Augustine in the living waters of baptism
Then you can return to the bustling
Brightness, centuries later
But still held in the e3mbrace of the same Wisdom they sought
Found
Lord, open my soul to your wisdom and truth
Readings and Gospel
Wisdom 7:22, 8:1 * Psalm 119:89-91, 130, 135, 175
Luke 17:20-25
Sticky, humid, skin
Sweltering inferno blaze
Summer has no wind
The flies are dizzy
Joy hums from each piazza
Two views of day's rot
The hydrant founts glee
No rain promised in the sky
Water is respite here.
The tongue flakes songs
Lovers returned to the parks
Love sparks a new flame
Dreams burn in desire
The heart pants for new friendships
Pale male on his spire.
Summer has no wind
The city swelters without rain
And love blooms again.
Sweet titters hang as she dances
Spinning and prancing down the stairs
Puddled footprints where she danced
In avarice as she eyes her dripping path
As mother grips her hand ever tighter
Awash with sadness I felt the protection
And how I have none from you
You burned white hot across my soul
Leaving a soft ash that slowly petrified
And as I watched mother and daughter
I could feel your fingers slipping away
Catching your glance as you walked away
I hoped there would be a lone tear for me
Yet finding only a hint of regret.
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