Poems

 more to come...

The Red Scarf

Struts of the bridge over East Harbour,

That ugly beast,

Strings of a harp.

A blue car

A silver one

Waiting at the door of the cafe,

Watching someone approaching in the rain,

A newspaper held over his head

Someone

Wearing a red scarf

At Guillio and Claudio

Under the hundred umbrella sky

In the cafes of town.

Each a living room

(Administrator of my fate

You give me breadcrumbs)

Breadcrumb times

Falling off the family table

Children,

Who’s serious students we are,

Return the days to us

Like they really are:

Without  time.

Don’t forget.

We are guests there

Always on wheels,

Between two gears,

Light of the city

Mud of the forest

Scrawny black twigs

Firethorn

Never-ending rain

Harp at the bridge,

Under the harbour sky,

How would it sound like

A woman, a bouquet of asters,

In between carnations,

But eyes of glass

(Withered leaves are swimming on the water)

Waiting at the door of the the cafe,

Seeing someone coming in the rain

(He holds a newspaper over his head)

Someone

Wearing a red scarf

Tables

Burning stars falling

On bleeding tables

We clear away the dishes

Another eaten-up day

Memories still swimming

In  the last bit of soup

Like a dream stabbed by fish bones

Which childhood builds the chairs

We move to the table

Eating ever new meals

until we finally recognise 

over and over again

With whom did we sit at one table

Sharing sweet and salty