Black History Month | Event: “Lift Every Voice” (Feb. 27th, 6PM CET)

Image by John Cabot University

I am honoured to have been asked to participate in John Cabot University’s Black History Month 2021 celebration. Many sincere thanks to Alexandria J. Maloney for inviting me to join her esteemed panelists in this discussion on our experiences living and studying in Rome.

Please, join our discussion . You can register by using the following link: Event Registration.

Poetry | Trying #Tanka #Poetry Form

春風が吹く。髪が白くなる。季節を数えることをやめなさい。

The wind tells of spring. My hair is becoming white. This season and next season, I keep on counting. I really ought to stop now.

5/7/5/7/7 Style

The wind tells of spring. 

My hair is becoming white. 

This season and next 

season, I keep on counting.

I really ought to stop now.

Poetry | On Language Learning & Negativity

Itako, Japan

On Language Learning & Negativity.

Listen to me.
Like a child,
my words are misspoken
and my grammar is broken.
But, listen to me anyway.

Hear my words
because they have meaning
and create a connection
between you and me.

I am building a bridge
with a language that isn’t my own.
Won’t you help me?
Or, at least, not demean me?

That I speak your language
in broken sentences
and accented words,
what does it matter?

I am trying to build a bridge,
many bridges, in fact.
I am trying to understand
the world around me,
even if you don’t want
to understand me.

SoCS & #JusJoJan 2021 Daily Prompt – Jan. 30th| The Beginning, The End

In the end

I knew what I needed

to do to move forward–

and

that is really all that matters.

Now I only need to step across

the beginning

of my new path.

Poetry | An old cup

An Old Cup

Shattered,
glass fragments
scattered
like a mind tormented
by irrelevant
matters–
it’s only an empty cup
that was never once
filled up
with anything
particularly wanted.

Poetry | Untitled (Thoughts on Writing)

Tonight, I want
to write freely,

without pretense
or consideration.

I hold in my hand
a book of poetry,

seeking inspiration

or emotions,
long lost and unknown.

In this moment, too,
my hands shake.

yet still,
I reach for my pen.

Poetry | Untitled (Wanting You)

It’s not quite time for Valentine’s Day, but…

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

Untitled
I am wanting you.
Let us move beyond
the child’s play of “like” or “love.”

I am wanting what my eyes can see
and my mind touches daily,
not your title or prestige.

It is vulgar this want of mine.
It makes no space
for the delicacies of dates
with wine by candlelight.

No, I am wanting you.
That is all.

#JusJoJan & #SoCS | Jan. 23rd: Half Not

Many thanks to Ritu from But I Smile Anyway for making me aware of Linda G Hill’s stream of consciousness writing challenge.

-Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “close eyes and point.” When you’re ready to write your post, open a book, a newspaper, or whatever is handy and close your eyes and point.-

Photo by Paula Guerreiro on Unsplash

“…half not–“ I opened my eyes. My fingers gently touched the words in Mary Oliver’s poem “The Winter Wood Arrives.” What do I do with this? The words overwhelmed me yet released me. I feel half not, like some satisfying yet incomplete project. My life is filled with half not moments, things, and people.

I really should do something about this.

I started writing this blog, too, in a half not manner. I am half not dedicated and half not inspired to share my life. Still, I want to find ways to become whole and experience life wholly. Live in some place as a whole being, not halved, divided by countries, things, people, and feelings. I am wanting to bring my halves together to make one whole.

It is possible.

Recently, I realized just how deep my half not-ness roots are. Who knew they could get so far down? In love, in work, in self, just how willing am I to remain satisfied yet incomplete? I look at Oliver’s poem now because, although the use of half not is different, the meaning of the poem seems aligned with my sentiments.

She speaks of the struggle of steps and thoughts, the love that leaves yet never does, the practicality of what it means to live, and yet the need to burn away the things that no longer matter. Of course this is just my interpretation. I am not yet a poet.

Poetry | Nel Silenzio nel Cuore

Stamattina, nella tranquillità dell’alba,
mi sono svegliata.
Non potevo più ascoltare
la tua voce,
sentivo solo le gocce di pioggia
sulla finestra
ed il suono del mio respiro.

Le mie mani toccavano
lo spazio vuoto accanto a me.
Mi sono sentita l’euforia
di essere libera…
di essere senza di te…

Si trova la pace nel silenzio
del cuore.
Domani e dopodomani,
il mio mondo è ancora mio
di creare come desidero.

Comunque
Stamattina ti ricordavo.

——

This morning, in the quiet of dawn, I awoke. I could no longer hear your voice. I listened only to the raindrops against my window and the sound of my breathing.

My hands touched the empty space next to me. And I felt the euphoria of being free and being without you.

One finds peace in the heart’s silence. Tomorrow and the day after, my world is mine to create as I desire.

However, this morning I remembered you.

Poem: Today I long for…

Photo by Fabian Mardi on Unsplash

The quiet of an early morning long ago,

somewhere not too awake,

somewhere a little too cold,

found me dreaming of a faraway place.