#sicily
Some sort of checklist people have,
That may be found in a photograph.
It could be a one way ticket to Budapest,
Or scaling the top of Mount Everest.
Seeing the Eiffel Tower and Mona Lisa,
Or a picture with the leaning tower of Pisa.
Swimming with turtles in the Bahamas,
Or exploring Peru in search of llamas.
Lying on white sandy beaches in Sicily,
There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
I travelled the Mediterranean coast
when I was young
Such a beautiful landscape
Carefully carved from stone
Castles and cathedrals
Extravagantly designed
The marriage of man and divinity
In a Jubilee ancient time
Unfortunately
The ghost of my ethnicity
No long prevails
If there’s no forest or rivers
I call that hell
I’ll take the winter
I’ll wait for the season to change
Find me not in any city
Nor any kind of desert terrain
Out here is where I’ll stay!
Jul 14, 2024
Jul 14, 2024 at 12:57 PM UTC
A vintner of aged leaves in the wine-press of the sun,
Thin-skinned like the lucent grapes from the vine-runs
Of the island trellises and teal-cordoned waves, lowest slung
Fruit-laden bough of sky, Sicily, whose ateliers of rolled cigarettes
And uprolled sleeves like tides tease smoke into studio paints,
The black apple wine of storm made into mouthfuls of pulp rain,
Before the sunrise is gathered again in fishing nets and crab pots,
The coastal towns with their salted roofs of pied clay and pigeons
Along the lava stone streets, and night from the chanteuse of Egypt,
Singing her coral to heron, as when her bird-like barefooted slaves
Left tracks across Old Kingdom wastes, so this dreaming old man
Leaves his wrinkles to these grapes and across the sand-island pillow,
Asleep with his fathers, hay-hauling peasants of wandering darkness.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 8:02 PM UTC
Sicily is the golden caesura of history,
Where the human poem is paused to hear
The exalted precipice of its own sigh.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC
The earth-dark octaves of her singing hair,
Sung-circles of campagna, the citadel,
And campanile bells in the Segestano air.
The pail sits like an expectant kiss on the lip of the well.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
a walk of cobble
the sky blue and sunbeams
draping over the scene
through leaves and branches gleam
walls of pure history
the plainest street a dream
class dancing about
thinking thoughts without
a hint of a doubt
that this place would be worthy of a story
in all of its glory
and on the page i'd pour me
and everything i am and everything
that i saw
that i felt
that i touched and smelt
holding and grasping
and clutching and clasping
onto any sensation i could get my hands on
hoping for a memory to last
so i could look onto the past
and remember it clearly
remember it dearly
forget all my worries
and the tears on my face
and my blues
and instead think of all my stories
and the places i've been and this place
well
that's where i got my brown leather shoes
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
I left a part of me along the cobble streets of Sicily.
Somewhere between the night clubs and the beaches I fell in love.
It was all at once, this uncanny emotion welled deep inside of me.
the sun left kisses on my skin by day
kisses on my cheeks by beautiful people at night.
my heart had never felt so light.
I left pieces of me through Italy
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC