The Day

This poem was written for dVerse Poets Pub. We were asked to write a poem in a different language so I chose Italian because it is my heritage and I love the language. I wrote a short love poem because it happens to be our 34th wedding anniversary today. To me the poem sounds very romantic in Italian and corny in English. Funny how it can sound so different.

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Image by Bing N. from Pixabay

La giornata è stata piena di promesse.
I ricordi in corso,
nuove avventure in programma.
La luna splendeva.

Tu mi hai amato
come nessun altro –
ancora la luna splende.

———————————–

The day was full of promises.
Memories were made,
new adventures planned.
The moon shone.

You have loved me
like no other –
still the moon shines.

Copyright © 20th January 2013 Norma Martiri

Playtime Echoes

 

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Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

I drove past a playground the other day and was saddened when I noticed that there were no children playing. It was a beautiful day and there was not a child in sight, not even on a bike. It may have been the timing but it made me think of the contrast of my childhood. The first part of this poem are some of my wonderful childhood memories. I don’t believe the last line of my poem but I do worry about future generations.

Heavy wooden swings
sailed above trampled dirt,
and thick metal chains twisted into spirally thrills.
Long silver slides latched on to
Jack and the Bean Stalk ladders
while fearless children climbed up to castles in the air.
Cold grey jungle gyms amused flexible monkeys.
There we viewed our world upside down
entertaining kaleidoscope dreams.
Dragsters wore streamers and colourful flags
as pegged cardboard roared.
Big brothers revelled in building billy carts
from scraps he’d collected from the dump
while little ones watched on in anticipation.
On a good day he’d let you drive his masterwork down the hill
with its wobbly wheels and Fred Flintstone brakes.
Tonka trucks dug up back yards
and Matchbox cars drove on dirt roads made by small hands
as neighbourhood kids joined in.
Long ropes skipped over chants and rhymes
as swift feet mastered hot pepper rhythms.
Hopscotch and stones,
broken bones,
skinned knees.
Cops caught dirty robbers
with plastic guns,
devoid of malice.
What’s the time Mr Wolf
and what did Simon say when
Barbie and Ken threw groovy parties
in a cardboard house?
Miniature houses with chequered tiles
accommodated miniature dolls.
Baby dolls slept peacefully in pretty cradles
as mothers drank sugared water
in pink floral China tea sets.
Home-made mud cakes, a delectable treat
fed innocent fantasies.
Board games ruled and landlords were born
preparing to take on the world.
Twisted manoeuvres sent everyone reeling
until we almost peed our pants.
A ball and a wall entertained a child
and the adventures of The Secret Seven
occupied young imaginations on a rainy day.
Bliss.

Lonely swings sway
in the quiet breeze,
like an apocalypse has changed the world.
Unsunned kids sprawl on unmade beds
experiencing life through a screen –
sharing a soulless future.

Copyright © January 2013 Norma Martiri

Form: Free Verse

Linked to OpenLinkNight – Week 78 at dVerse Poets Pub

dragster bike
I loved my dragster bike

Sounds of Summer

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Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

Animated crickets sing away silence;
kookaburras laugh at the day.
Lorikeets whip round in wondrous brilliance
screeching, announcing dusk.
A cool breeze rustles through full-leaved trees
while wind chimes clang tinny tunes.
Hordes hurry home hooning and booming
like an orchestra producing a cacophony.
The storm bird is out coo-eeing again –
geez I wish it would rain.
Hungry mosquitos buzz about
intent on causing pain.
Steaks stop sizzling – just in time.
Dinner’s on the table.

Copyright © December 2012 Norma Martiri

Form: Free Verse

I Wish

I wish I were a summer chaise
reclining in the cool breeze,
beneath the swaying palm tree,
beside the red hibiscus bush,
next to the rocky pool.
I would be content.

Copyright © 2012 Norma Martiri

Form: Free Verse

The Old Hag

The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli (1781)

The old hag rests upon my breast,
malevolence sent on a quest.
To claim souls in the twilight hour,
demonic beast amassing power.

My muffled pleas lost in the fray,
limbs paralysed there where I lay.
Possessing souls throughout the night,
she won’t take mine without a fight.

New valour pushes fear away,
and silently bids calm to stay.
My twitching limbs regain control,
tonight I’m keeping my own soul.

As glowing eyes glare back at me,
she sears me in her memory.
Reviling as she takes up flight,
surceasing for another night.

Copyright © October 2012 Norma Martiri

Form: Quatrain

Sleep paralysis was once believed to be demonic being described as the Old Hag terrifying victims .

Mother of the Bride

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Image by Mihai Paraschiv from Pixabay

Beaming right there before me,
eyes fixed upon your man.
Dressed in white lace and satin,
an elegant woman.
The first moment I saw you,
I gave you my whole heart.
I loved you and adored you,
tried hard to do my part.
Now at this very moment,
my heart erupts with pride.
I wonder if you realise,
the love I hold inside.
And as your vows are spoken,
I try to stop the tears.
As memories dance before me,
I see you through the years.
God bless you on your journey,
as I have gained a son,
My precious darling daughter,
my child, my cherished one.

Copyright © 2012 Norma Martiri

White Whispers

Summer Night by Albert Bloch 1913

Streams
of white whispers
swirl about.
Listen.
Listen to the night
as waves of pure light
bathe the shadows of the day.
She calls my name,
tempts me
with lazy days
and eternal warmth.
Look.
Look at her grace
as she roams around
in glorious garb,
extending her hand,
reaching out,
reaching out,
to a world lost in its mire.

Copyright © 28/09/12 Norma Martiri

Form: Abstract

This poem was inspired by the painting above, “Summer Nights” by Albert Bloch 1913
I’m not sure what this painting represents but this is what I saw.

 

Broken

Flickr Image by Waleed Alzuhair

Broken pieces
damaged parts
family matters
poisoned hearts.

Daily doses
of reproach
kindled bane
will encroach.

Generations
toxic genes
stop the cycle
any means.

Gather courage
choose your path
find the truth
foster love.

Copyright © June 2012 Norma Martiri