Six Nations wake from slumber

As winter turns to Spring

For tribal warfare on the pitch

It’s a Celts and Saxons thing

They’ll be singing hymns and arias

From the Tiber to the Tay

And the week feels that much longer

As we wait for Saturday

And the squads are called together

From places far and wide

There will be sunshine and foul weather

There will be shir...

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One time I went to Italy with my school on a skiing trip

We travelled to Dover on a coach then boarded a big white ship

Across the channel we sailed and even stopped off at France

We arrived at grande Aosta. .. to conquer Italian alps 

I had pink and purple ski attire all ready for the snow

But my favourite things I took were shoes I couldn't wait to show

The best trainers of my ...

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ANOLINI

Anolini – pasta shells stuffed with meat

And cooked in broth, is what we’re eating;

Steam rises from plates but there’s no speaking,

We sip Chianti to moderate the heat

The first to break silence admits defeat;

Parmesan a generous sprinkling,

Grated black pepper our noses crinkling;

Each Christmas a ritual we repeat.

This dish from the mountains of Ital...

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Very surely I’ve been remiss
To imagine you, darling, like this!
Oh, the melded hours have cruelly conspired
To strand me in ecstasies of longing—which I so desired!—
To abandon me to oceans of thoughts of your kiss—
It’s a breathless caress, plunged in the shuddering abyss;
Oh, darling, what bitter elation—what horrible bliss!

I’ve made lists which contain nothing but your name!
And of ...

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I love that they scuff about in sarongs
That their hair is chestnuts and curls
Beads or gold string their necks
And they smell, strong
Of coffee and heat
Their women
Of lemons
Softly baked
Melanzane skin
I love their juggernaut tongue
Unbroken over cards and bambinos
Smoking
All cinnamon eyed
And glitter
They strut taught
Or well met
Farfalle paid gut
I love that only in Italy
Ov...

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                                                     SIDOLO

Spent shell casings everywhere

gleaming in the July sun

bodies of three martyrs lie

victims of a German gun

Italy is crying now

see how fast the tears run.

Three priests in nineteen forty four

slaughtered by the devil’s hand

innocent of all misdeeds

outrage sweeps throughout the land

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   MY FATHER’S WATCH

Almost a year after he died
I’m wearing my father’s watch
Automatic, Swiss, 1947
I looked it up on line
The local old fashioned jeweller
Says it’s a very nice watch
Leave it alone, don’t mess with it
Just wear it all the time
It has old fashioned ways
A turn before bed, another
In the morning and one
Just about midday
Although automatic
It needs the attention
...

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BARDI REVISITED

The road is better now

Climbing from Fornovo

Leaving behind the river

And the valley’s flatness

It’s surface is smoother

Than the winding track

That stirs my memory

At a certain point

The driver pulls over

Waiting for a colleague

To arrive on the down bus

After they exchange places

Our ascent continues

Towards B...

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4CTUrn3LYg

Dream of a nation, they built a big airship for Arctic exploration. Things went so well, taking a plethora of readings and photographs till a head wind sprung up. They used most of the fuel battling the wind. Serious technical trouble followed. This would go downhill, fast.

A crash!

Ripping fabric, torn envelope. Sma...

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Another attempt at my paternal tongue.

Un altro tentativo di mia lingua paterna.

And though I beam with pride as I'm learning.

E anche se mi fascio con orgoglio, come sto imparando.

I'm aware that translated, the metre is wrong.

Sono consapevole del fatto che tradotto, lo strumento è sbagliato.

But this language pulsates to my yearning.

Ma questo linguaggio pu...

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Un café e un limoncello

A coffee and a limoncello

Dopo il pranzo

After dinner

Un café e un limoncello

I am captivated by ritual

For me food and drink

Have to mean something

Dopo il riso , dopo il vino

Per piacere, please

Un café e un limoncello

After the rice, after the wine

There’s plenty of time

For a ...

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The worst of the front was that trickle of rain

down the neck. Wet through, it felt like liberation.

And lice. Home on leave, people shunned him in trains.

Walled, hilltop village of his childhood:

as another war came, he returned to Barga.

Saw himself as immobile, a tree spreading roots.

When the Germans briefly retook his village

one self-portrait was damaged. The ...

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