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John-Peter Portelli Poem
Like a swallow under the weight of a scorching sun
searching another land where we can stroll
under the shade of the walls of an ancient city
unincumbured by the threats of our own demons;
alas, all is in vain
these cities exist solely in an exhausted mind:
the blood of love is nothing but a fiction.
Maybe one day honey will drip without leaving any stians
Copyright © John-Peter Portelli | Year Posted 2023
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John-Peter Portelli Poem
The in-between
It is hard to live in the in-between
when the in-between cradles the past
which I believed to have been put aside
like a garbage bag in a deserted field
hidden between the cliffs and the sea,
between what you believed to have loved
and what you love today, between here and there,
between ‘how are you?’ and ‘is all well?’,
rocking like a ripe cumin plant
between one bay and another,
moving like the sea between one island and another.
It is tough to live in the in-between
when the in-between is hidden
between what is and fiction,
between the wretched thoughts and the vicious feelings.
Maybe today I will be able to relax
in the water flowing
from one step
to another.
Copyright © John-Peter Portelli | Year Posted 2026
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