Category: cityscape

Share the Road

tiny trucks deliver
to tiny shops,

as if there was
room on roads.


pedestrians
learn quickly.

out of the way!


(no suitable
translation
springs to mind.)

everyone moves
aside, quickly.

tiny trucks
go slowly by.


white-painted 
roads in a 
beautiful place.

tiny trucks leave
no dirty tracks
on the streets.


shops sell a few
amazing things:
exquisite art,

a bowl: carved
of ancient olive,
grown thousands
of years ago.

cool shade is
an under-rated
blessing.

just stay cool!

Ruins and Palms

ruins and palms
have little value
      in my daily life.

   in my memories 
they are magical.


stories of ruins,
      of the things
   that happened 
there and there,

well I know that 
      i ought to say:

   something's 
      very special 
   about the stories 
i don't want to hear.

like the palms,
   they are not
related to my
  own stories,

or my life.

   they have a very
different mesage,
      maybe, while i
might have none.

my own stories or my life

nothing important,
because i must be
about as important
   as an ant in a hill.

   would i like to be
more important?

      what kind of 
   responsibility
comes with that?


maybe to be an ant 
      is enough.

   and what about
   the palm and its
      importance?

   and the wall?

Grand Canal

that morning the 
north end of 
the adriatic sea,

looked like a
scene from a 
monster movie, 
after the crowd 
ran away.

venice started 
out that way, 
a barbarian army 
at the edge 
of a swamp. 

nothing much 
has changed


an awful mist 
hung over
the grand canal,

as we looked 
toward a modern 
art museum.

maybe it excited
her to support men
who might some 
day be known 
as greats.

you never know.

a carpenter 
might become 
a fisherman;

a slave might 
become a 
famous sculptor,
a plowman, a poet.


and we had faith
that sunshine
would come back.

Ancient Doorways

through those
ancient doorways

ancestral feet 
wandered in 
through those 
doors, and out.


masons built
such solid walls,

brick and mortar
last so long.

nothing is
forever, it is said.

two thousand years
those bricks 
held strong;

there's little
left of the old town;
the doorways now
are falling down.


through those
ancient doorways

ancestral feet 
wandered in 
through those 
doors, and out.

Wild South Hill

   we watch the
weather roll
      over this hill;

we see mists 
   slide down 
      towards us,

      sometimes
bringing snow.

we run a tab
with nature,
      fools if we 
   forget this.

   when we are 
least prepared, 
      perhaps; it 
will come due.

   mists and clouds
      obscure the
hilltop in autumn.

snow, in winter
   reminds us
we don't go
      up these
hills so well.

these are our
   autumn days.
   it isn't over;
      the view is
fine, from here.