"buongiorno" poems
Bodies soar through Outerpace
Kissing their stars though a little too far to Taste
The Milky Way fell like Silk waterfalling down our Shoulders
Delicate, Light, and Slick
We are in our own Solar System
Flying circles around our Radiating Sun
As we whisper Buonanotte to that Eternal Night
We shout Buongiorno to the Beautiful new Day.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
He weaves slowly between the tables
at Buongiorno's
stooping over each diner's ear
close and intimate as a lover
He asks if they can spare a little
money for his lunch
He's gaunt each cheek shadowed hollow
his skin bleached white as bone
Each vertebrae is marked prominent
Each finger skeltonic thin
Unsocked, in shoes laced with knots of string
leather uppers baked, cracked and crazy creased
His hair is dry-straggle stalks of corn
Eyes hold a stare that fixes fast the lies
He cuts a powerful figure under that cosy awning
though some name him worthless beggar
Fearless of taunts and titles offered from shamemongers
and well-respected-men-about-town
there is no guilt in asking for your basic needs
from the latte-ccino mob who have so much to spare.
© M.L.Emmett
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Gathered daily along Via Longura
Over antipasto and a deck of fifty-two,
Surly men conspire with
The **** barista in Café Settimane
And the neighborhood nonna cursing from a window,
Even the resident pigeon lady
Atop her cobblestone perch,
But not with me, una ragazza Americana
On the 98th of a hundred day stay, and unprepared
For the faint buongiorno that came out of no where
Or the dealer who winked at me
I swear—And I settled in as a regular
With a smile on my lips, a grunt from Nonna,
My standard espresso waiting for me on the counter.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
Aloha!
Buongiorno, uomo
Hola
Hi Hey
Hello
How does the devil say hello?
Goodbye!
With death.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 7:40 PM UTC
Chandeliers and trimmed trees bring
tears like an ever flowing stream.
Igniting the path to a tragic past
where the moon ceases to beam.
Delicately carving the lines on the
hands that once fed a deal of pleasure
that is of no longer use to me, thank you, my treasure.
Tiptoed to a monastery, with a familiar face
that exceeded my momentum
whom withheld a coin on a string from his septum.
"Buongiorno, buongiorno! From warm descendants!"
treated me with a surplus of respect.
Time will speak, and time has said,
the archangels have failed to resurrect.
Funerals for tales of a tragic past in full cortège, my forever white gold,
Believing time will remain my loyal friend
as long as my foe is the old
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 3:49 AM UTC
but why, oh angel,
why do i lack the courage
to say buongiorno?
May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
We talk about breakfast
We talk about lunch
We talk about dinner
Sometimes "¿como estás?"
Or "buongiorno" "obrigado"
Even "aisiteru"
We fight with each other even when we speak the same language
We don't understand each other even when we share the same culture backgrounds
We hurt each other even when we live under the same roof
But most of the time,
We help each other even if we don't know the one who is in need
We offer comfort to each other even if the one who is suffering is not from our family
We hold hands with each other even if there is a war going on between our countries
Let's just forget about the differences we hold from each other
Let's learn to embrace the diversities we have against each other
Let's just make peace possible in this falling-apart world
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC