poetry

 keane

Winter

Dark bristles on the light hide of a boar’s back of a mountain side the boar roots through bristles of chestnut hulls and hides Cold leaves me ravenous rootless I bristle and look for sustenance and find it in the mountain sides

 keane

Tiglio Alto to Monte Forato

ancient cart wheels abandoned on their sides on the valley floor their spokes splintered engaged covered in moss and vines and stones the ground is obscured by morning mist in the distance an upturned skull is dormant against the sky as though a step through the fog to the far bank is to leave the […]

 keane

Harvest

In the middle of the night In the middle Of the window Stunned still Its glare floods The furrows Of the pillow Turn There are dreams to reap For the long winter ahead

 keane

The Reckoning

Assiduously avoiding all signs of fall I am savoring every flavor Of this most beautiful summer Hoarding the treasure like a thief Figs bursting like a jewel box Amethyst plums in my pockets Like a party crasher I devour everything at the banquet Warm ruby ripe tomatoes basil and balsamic Salty emerald pesto strands slipping […]

 poetry

Perspective

Looking out Over a vast network Of mountain ridges Covered by dense forest Distant peaks Deep valleys Looking back On unexplored paths Bewildering intersections Irretrievable trails Breath taking climbs To summits Of heart rending beauty And slow arduous descents Looking in To find a vantage point

 keane

Muses

In the just cool Of a late June evening You drive down the long hill They stand on the street Tall, lean, beckoning With long limbs There’s a definite Buzz about them You’re captivated By their intoxicating fragrance Fascinated with Dripping yellow diamond Chandelier earrings And conquered By their ruffled hearts

 keane

Scents and Sensibility

The first hot Summer-like day I walk the Tiglio Road Through dense humid acacia Clover and elderflower air Like stepping into a shower In any one of the many houses In which I have lived Or stayed Full with sense and sensitivity To smell the soapy steam Someone has just left

 poetry

A Flame Within

A blood orange sun hovers Behind  buildings Anchored in an icy sea A boat races through cold air Away from the ancient city Past tall villas Flames engulf interiors Raging window to window A heart races Thumbs part Nostrils flare Soft liquid flesh yields A spritz of bittersweet Blood orange

 poetry

The Italian Lesson, Pt. 2

Piango Piangi Piange Piangiamo Piangete Piangono ……….. Vergemoli 08 March 08

 keane

Horizontal

The staccato Beat Of the strobe Of the light Through the trunks Of the trees On the slope As I drive The winding road The blinding flash Of white When I come To a stop

 keane

Late November

Ground Ginger Cinnamon Dried Parsley Saffron Turmeric Cayenne Nutmeg Ground Pepper Hillsides From ancient kitchens Hot Spots Of savoury light As the glow fades For the winter

 keane

La Vendemmia

Last beads of moisture And hope Have evaporated Sweaters are shed We file with buckets Into the rows One by one