Workshop Six

Colour metaphor poem

Red is a St. Valentine’s Day card
bursting with kisses, hugs and
sweet nothings.
Red is anger
exploding inside your head
spreading out and overwhelming your existence.
Red is the cracking of logs in a sparkling fireplace
in a cabin in the mountains.
Red is the cloak of Little Red Riding Hood
pacing up and down the wood
as if she were an out-of-control dart.
Red is a teacher’s pen
crawling over piles of tests waiting to be checked
yelling and twirling at each red mark left on them.
Red is the blood
gushing out of unhealed wounds
howling at the unquenchable pain of existence.

Being Young, Being Old

I’m old enough to fart in public without feeling embarrassed.
I’m young enough to sing while taking a shower, sing while cycling to school, hum while cooking, dance while doing the chores.
I’m too young to think about death or worry about choosing my burial place.
I’m too old to drink milk from a bottle or suck a pacifier, thought I wish I could still do both of them.
When I am forty I will throw an unforgettable party.
When I am fifty I will go on holiday more often.
When I am sixty I will retire and spend six months in Canada and six in Italy.
When I am not here anylonger I will be dancing with a semi-god in Heaven.

My Memory Poem

We used to laugh and have fun togehter
but now we live in two different worlds. I’m here among living beings, you are there among only God knows whom.
We used to make crostoli together and sfuff our faces with them
but now we do not have the chence to be physically together.
You used to cook a special rice soup for me whenever I was feeling blue
but now you are far away cooking for somebody I don’t know. 
I’m just left with the memories of your laugher, of your voice, of your smudged lipstick, of your backcombed hair, of your sparkling intelligence, of your biting irony, of your crafty hands, capable of making beautiful fancy dresses.  Once you turned me into a fairy.
Once you turned my into a gypsy.
Once you turned me into an icecream.
Once you turned me into an Indian.
Carnival was longed for, now it is not anylonger.

If love was…

If love was a pair of ice-skates
I would move soflty on frozen lakes.
If love was a sailing boat
I would be crossing the oceans.
If love was a pari of sneakers
I would be fit 24 hours a day.
If love was an Emily Dickinson’s poem
I would never stop reading it.
If love was a bright red Ferrari
I would be fined for speeding every day.
If love was a fridge I would stack it up with sparkling wine.
If love was a book of blank pages
I would fill them in with words of ever tender sweetness.
If love was free merchandise
people would not appreciate it.
If love had no barriers
it would bless our day.

Childhood memories

I remember the sound of your chuckles when bursting out laughing.
I remember the fragrance of daisies dotting the lawn where I crawled in search of LIFE.
I remember the wagging tail of my dong, fanning my face, caressing my cheecks, tickling my nose and making me sneeze.
I remember the tingy taste of frozen ice-cream on my parching tongue.
I remember my spinning top, twirling colours, dashing images, making my head spin along.
I remember feeling part of the cosmos when I ran in open fields.
I remember I felt sad when I was away from my pets.
I remember that I was very sad when my donkey Linda ate a piece of wire hidden in the hay and had to be put to sleep to stop her pain.