Turn on instantly
your
ancient soul
son
of the gesture never given
while
your step
from the
marked time
he walks mighty
and
graceful
scratch the muse
sleepy
on golden laurels
that in bed
of petals never loved
rests
laid down.
She flies without wings
and
she draws in the sky
your crazy
path
myth
adored
of nights spent
clear
of moon.
Furious awakens
the stars
already turned off
and
give it again
the breath
vital
already sister to her
of many
seasons
and
gentle springs
colored
with a sincere soul
and
from the cold feel.
Wetsuit
the paths already travelled
and
with definite substance
and
armor of iron
dressed
print yours
deep groove
leaving
flourish
to the future to come
that the sign
never given
and
never forgotten
in one breath
of pride
and of
humble passion
show some
enchanted
the true
value!
Mom
whisper of love
silent rustle
in the cradles you love
in the silence of the nights.
Looks
and love songs
those light hands
and the caresses on the faces
of children born in pain.
Mom
they are ointments
those words of yours
whisper in the night
to the chant of the lullaby.
Still your breath
on the skin and lips
pink mom in heart
your every smile
it is a wonderful flower.
The sea of life
It's like the sea
stormy
emotions agitate
confused thoughts
forgotten anchors
backdrops
still invisible
a vast ocean blue
to explore navigate.
We are small boats
the waves of life
they always toast
every moment
to our adversity
shores and hopes
they are landfalls
hoped.
We sail
silently
the storms
the swollen seas
the storms
and storm surges
they sweep like volcanoes
the faint memories
the tides bring us back
back in time.
We smile drowned
in the blues
marine waters
like shipwrecked people
we breathe
life and salt
forgetting
the acrid taste
some blood
that flows
in the sea
of life.
This sea
What is it
this sea
that drowns me
this evening
in this
blue sky
where the waves
and the tides
they caress
still
once
always
mine
emotions.
Ahhh
my life
loved life
how many times
you kissed
these waters
stir
and how many
times
you are
immersed
in the depths
of the backdrops
blue
where
the storm surges
sudden
they exhausted
submerged
drowned
my body
wet
from salt
of the ocean
immense
bed of water
infinite
sometimes
calm
other times
moved
furious
white waves
lapping
of living
daily.
Never
my life
you gave up
furious
and the sands
enlarged
of this sea
so agitated
you were
every time
privateer
pirate
and column
of the east
intrepid life
safe
of the route
tracked
in your heart
lighthouse
motionless
immersed
in the waters
stir
of this ocean
tumultuous sea
always on
never turned off.
Verses of love and poetry
And it's evening
already dampened
the lights
in the silence
of the hearth
the love
without knocking
sneak in
in family homes
everything rests on the lips
like holidays
always love.
They fly in the air
sweet melodies
suspended
in the dark night
verses of love and poetry
singing
the words of life
mute they settle down
on the mouths
still smelling
of smiles and kisses
endless dreams. ###. Little nightingale
As
you flew away
little nightingale
white your flight
and that suffering
a boulder
the words poem
on this night
dark in the heart.
You stole
the weather
you went to Heaven
mom
you are travelling
join dad
towards the stars
next to the memories.
In fate
outside the walls
now the streets
they are closed
mom is you
that book
never written
inside the lines
in the verses
of my thoughts.
Mom
those caresses
to my heart
the notes you love
and happy moments
your arms
welcoming
never tired
on my skin.
Now
mom
your breath
it is broken
broken by memory
and that pain
between the teeth
dampens life
I feel
still tight
to your chest
of infinite love
that he gave me
the life.
The poet Francesco Favetta was born in Sicily in Sciacca, he has always loved poetry, writing verses, but above all culture, food for the soul: culture is Freedom, it is Free Spirit, it is Soul in Movement, not it should never be harnessed!
In 2018 he was awarded by the Accademia di Sicilia, Academician of Sicily.
He has been published in various anthologies and in various magazines, among which, we mention a few:
international magazine The Poet;
Revista Azahar who edited the first Sylloge of Poems in Spanish: Encantamiento y Palabras como Plumas;
Anthology The Silk Road Anthology: Nano Poems for Africa; "Poetic Galaxy Atunis";
WorldSmith International Editorial; OPA The Poetry Journal; Inumbrable magazine; Magazine Polis; rank of minister in the Order of the Titan and publication of a lyric in Octobermania;
international literary magazine Kavya Kishor in Bangladesh;
international journal of language, literature and culture "Petrushka Nastamba" Serbia; international magazine, Namaste India and Certificate of Appreciation;
Different Truths social journalism platform;
Cisne Magazine Digital;
Humanity St. Petersburg magazine; fourth Panorama International Literature Festival Spain, delegate for Italy.
He founded a theater company in Sciacca: "Theatrum Socialis Sciacca", and a Lions Club, the "Sciacca Terme".
Finally, the poet Francesco Favetta is convinced that poetry will be the weapon with which humanity will make their lives free, and furthermore beauty will always be a truth that will never be buried:
from the times and events of daily human life! Francesco Favetta. Sicily (Sciacca )Italy đźđč Sleeping muse
Don’t Be Stubborn tells a tale of five-year-old Sandra’s behavior as reported by her head teacher. She calls the attention of Sandra’s parents only to discover the reason behind Sandra’s stubborn behaviour.
Mr. Ben, as he is called, is a published poet, writer, playwright, essayist, lyricist, spoken words and voice over artiste. He has written a body of works that relates with several interests. His works touch on areas of education, inspiration, sexuality, entertainment, lifestyle and other interests, all with the aim of face-lifting mankind towards greatness . Given his multi-genre approach, Mr. Ben’s acrostic, G.A.N.G.S.T.A.R , which stands for Generally Appreciating Notable Genres by Stating Their Applicable Relevance, has now become his trademark. Based in Lagos, Nigeria, he delights in reading, traveling and meeting people.
+
Even on a Bad Day
Good process teaches
the Heart the way
for none evaporate
the Broth of Gift's
Comforts
Bring me my Love
I know I AM worthy
Even on a Sad Stray
the Left Behind are Lifted
in sight
the Merits of Life
Trust
My Eyes
touch
Fresh
Glances
of Light
for me touch
that I may know
I AM not Separated
Divine Trust
invisible
Yet still on the way
âĄ
............
by John Edward Culp
Morning of August 17, 2023
AFTER DUE DELIBERATION
Judgment's in jeopardy.
Is life's course set by lot
or random liberty?
The witness may be blind,
your expert, a crackpot.
Judge may be enlightened,
the courthouse, a glory;
your lawyer, a prophet--
but trial, a folly.
The plaintiff shows a smile,
and then the posture shifts
and offers up a tail.
That one in the mirror
poses for the verdict
by you, biased juror.
Above becomes below.
As recent as Egypt.
As old as tomorrow.
WHY TROJAN WARS ARE FUTILE
Not every odyssey
ends
with Penelope
or begins
with a Helen.
WHEN I EPITAPHED
The sun rose early
yesterday
but I was desked
already
and was still tasked
long after clockout.
My silver mistress
so patiently
outside waited,
ready
with her scimitar.
At low noon today
I heard the birds roar,
and the sun mooned
then faded,
and I joined the black,
and my lungballoons
outflated.
I realized that
I can glory
in my infirmities
no longer.
My frail shelters
of excuse
and procrastination
collapsed
at last.
Nowandnowandnow
this body of my death
waits
to evacuate.
[S]WORD[S]
Words penetrate my hold.
Can words tarnish my gold?
Words may be truth or not.
They never bruised a rock
or injured a breeze
or fractured a river
or shivered a tree,
But I know words have mocked
thoughts about my needs,
my strength of character,
the essence of Me.
Words have damaged my household
and poisoned my soul.
TONGUE AND THUMB
Weâll lie electric in our own synapses
until the thumb of my soul can feel you
and you taste me with your innermost tongue
Grandmaâs Shoes
My seventy-two-year-old grandma is coming home from the rehab facility today in her terry cloth slippers.
When mom and I arrived at Caring Touch Health & Rehabilitation at ten oâclock on a sunny June morning to pick her up, grandma was sitting in a chair in her room, fully dressed, pocketbook in her lap, and a plastic bag labeled âpatientâs belongingsâ on the floor beside her.
âGrandma, where are your shoes?â I asked, searching through her closet and drawers.
She shrugged and looked down at her pink, open-toed slippers. âI asked two aides,â she said. âThey couldnât find them anywhere.â
I stepped out into the hallway. A few feet from grandmaâs room, an aide was filling a cart with bottles of shampoo and lotions, tubes of toothpaste, and other toiletries. She wore maroon scrubs and white sneakers, and her long black hair was pinned up on top of her head. She had large hoop earrings, a cross on a gold chain around her neck, and long nails painted a dark blue.
âExcuse me, Ruby,â I said, reading from the aideâs name tag. âWould you please bring my grandmother her shoes.â
âThey disappeared,â she said, without looking up from the cart.
âShoes donât disappear,â I said, emphasizing the words âdonâtâ and âdisappear.â âObviously, someone took them.â
âYou can file a lost item report with Patient Services,â Ruby said, still filling the cart.
I glanced over at the nursesâ station. My mother was talking to the discharge nurse, so I went back to grandmaâs room.
âIâm upset about your shoes, grandma. It angers me that someone would take something belonging to a patient.â
âDonât worry about the shoes, Allison. I have others at home.â
âBut they were your favorite. Youâve had them for years. How many times has mom taken them to the shoemaker for repairs? Youâve had the heels replaced, the bottoms resoled, and the stitching resewn, many times.â
Grandma smiled. âI did like them. They were so comfortable. I could walk in them for hours.â
I looked into grandmaâs sparkling blue eyes. âThey were a part of you.â
***
When we got home, my mother made lunch, and then grandma took a nap. An hour later, she awakened, put on her black pumps, and informed us that she was going for a walk. Grandma particularly liked to walk up Sixth Avenue to Bleeker Street and then over to Abington Square Park. Whenever I walked with her, it took us about forty minutes because grandma stopped a few times to rest. Sometimes, she went to the library to view the newly acquired fiction titles and to read magazines. Other times, she stopped in the stores along Sixth Avenue to browse. On those days, she often came home with a surprise for meâa shirt, a pair of jeans, or some earrings. She took the item out of the bag with a dramatic flair and waited to see my expression. If I exclaimed âI love it,â and rushed to try it on, grandma knew Iâd keep it, but if I politely said, âThank you, grandma,â she said, âAllison, Iâll take it back and get you something else.â
***
Later that afternoon, when grandma returned from her walk, she was limping.
âWhat happened?â I asked, taking her arm and helping her to the couch.
âMy feet started to hurt as soon as I got to the corner.â
I removed her shoes and saw that her pinky toes were red and blistered, and there was raw skin on the backs of her heels.
âI havenât worn these shoes in so long. I like them, but I forgot how uncomfortable they are.â
âIâm so sorry,â I said and brought her a basin with warm water and Epsom salts.
***
After breakfast the next morning, grandma put Band-Aids on her toes and the backs of her heels and wore a different pair of shoes. We left together, and she insisted on walking with me a few blocks to the university. She was already limping, even after walking only the short distance. It didnât surprise me that even though her feet ached, grandma would not allow herself to be deterred. As a young child in Hungary, she had walked barefoot for miles on long dirt and pebbled roads every day from her small village to get to the one-room schoolhouse, three villages away. I suspect it was during those years that grandma learned how to withstand pain.
âI can see your feet are hurting,â I said and kissed her goodbye. âMaybe you should go back home.â
âIâll be okay, honey. Iâm not going far.â
***
It was almost five oâclock when I got home from the university, and grandma was sitting in the recliner in the living room, feet up, and stockings off, reading the newspaper.
âHow were your classes?â she asked.
âGood,â I said, and walked over to give her a kiss. I looked at her red and swollen feet.
âThey must hurt a lot,â I said.
âNot as much as yesterday.â
âWalking in those shoes canât be any good on your knees, either.â Grandma had spent six weeks recuperating at the rehab facility after knee replacement surgery and a subsequent infection. At the time of her discharge, the physical therapist had reviewed with her some home exercises, and the doctor had emphasized the importance of walking every day to regain her strength and improve her mobility. It infuriated me that grandma was not able to do what she needed to, to aid her recovery just because an employee at the facility, entrusted with her care, took advantage of her. How could an employee do this? From where did the person get this feeling of entitlement?
âMom said sheâs trying to get you an appointment with a podiatrist. Itâs ridiculous that you canât wear any shoes but the ones that were taken. Iâm sure the podiatrist will be able to suggest the right shoes.â
Grandma stayed home for the next few days to rest her feet.
***
I was in my room studying for a chemistry exam the following Wednesday evening when grandma came home, carrying a shopping bag.
âI had an appointment with the foot doctor,â she said, taking a seat in the kitchen. âHeâs wonderful. Filed down my corns. Then showed me on his computer the styles of shoes I should wear that wonât aggravate my hammertoes and bunions,â she said, bending down and removing the shoes she was wearing. âI was so excited to purchase new shoes that I took the bus to Macyâs. Oh my! So many beautiful shoes⊠And some ugly ones, too.â
âShow me what you bought,â I said, peering into the bag at her feet.
Grandma took out a box and showed me a pair of textured black pumps.
The shoes had a good arch, a low, wide heel, and a non-skid sole. âTheyâre very pretty.â
âAnd so comfortable. Just like my old shoes.â
Then she reached into the bag and removed another box. âI can wear the black ones and these beige ones through the fall,â she said.
âThese are beautiful, too,â I said. The shoes were open-toed, a combination of woven leather and suede, had a strap across the top, and a wedge heel.
âI think Iâll wear these when I go for my walk, tomorrow. At my checkup next month. Iâm
sure the doctor will be surprised at how quickly Iâm recovering.â
***
When I got home the following evening, grandma was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
âYour mother is working late tonight, so I cooked for us,â she said, turning off a burner and placing chicken, broccoli, and roasted potatoes on our plates.
I washed my hands and sat down at the table.
âDid you have the chemistry test today?â grandma asked.
âI did. Lots of formulas and some tough questions, but I think I did well.â
I reached for a roll. âIâve been wondering how you feel about what happened to your shoes.â
Grandma looked up from her plate. âIt would never occur to me to take anything that didnât belong to me. Honestly, Iâm surprised that anyone would do that. Maybe they really did get lost.â
âIâm thinking of telling administration know what happened.â
âDonât make a fuss, Allison. If someone took the shoes, they must have really needed them.â
âMaybe, or maybe not.â
âI have new ones. Itâs just that I really liked those.â
I shook my head. âIt incenses me!â
âEnough of this talk about shoes. I had a wonderful walk this morning. The sun was out, and it was not too hot. I stopped in the bakery and bought two pounds of fancy Italian cookies for the staff at Caring Touch. They were good to me. I want to show my appreciation.â
âThatâs very thoughtful,â I said, lifting the cover and looking inside the box. There were cookies filled with jelly and dusted with confectionerâs sugar, tri-colored and meringue cookies,
dark chocolate covered rolled wafers, and other confectionery delights. I helped myself to a rolled wafer.
âDelicious.â
âIâm going to deliver this tomorrow morning,â grandma said, closing the box and moving the cookies to a nearby counter.
âIâll go with you. I only have one class in the late afternoon.â
***
After breakfast, grandma and I took the bus to the rehab facility. The floor where she had stayed was busy when we arrived. Patients using crutches and rollators walked up and down the floor, aides by their sides. Near the exit, at the end of the hall, a physical therapist supervised a woman with ankle weights who was struggling to lift her legs. At the nursesâ station, two nurses updated patientsâ charts and answered phones that rang incessantly, while a third dispensed medicine into small paper cups. Nearby, Ruby re-stocked a cart with toiletries, and another aide loaded a second cart with folded white towels.
Grandma and I went up to the aides and chatted for a bit, then walked over to the nursesâ station.
One of the nurses looked up when we approached.
âItâs good to see you, Mrs. Sullivan,â she said. âHow are you doing?â
âIâm good. Doing my exercises and walking almost every day.â
âAnd taking your medicine?â
Grandma smiled. âOf course. Iâm an obedient patient.â She placed the box of cookies on the counter. âBrought these for the staff. A little something to thank all of you for everything.â
âHow sweet, Mrs. Sullivan,â the nurse said, opening the box. âOoh. I love these with the
jelly filling. Think Iâll have one right now.â
A few minutes later, Ruby and the other aide scanned the assortment like children in a candy store, trying to decide what to buy. Ruby took a rolled wafer and a tri-colored cookie and then looked to a woman in a floral blouse, navy skirt, and light sweater, and red lipstick whose grey curls peeked out from under a wide- brimmed red hat. The woman appeared to be older than grandma and was sitting alone on a couch near the nursesâ station.
âWant a cookie?â Ruby asked.
The woman nodded. Grandma and I sat down on the couch next to her.
âIâm Margaret Sullivan,â grandma said to the woman, âand this is Allison, my granddaughter.â
âGood to meet you both. My name is Rosemary Cancel.â
Ruby brought the woman some cookies wrapped in a napkin and then turned to address grandma. âMrs. Sullivan, this is my mother, Rosemary,â she said. âShe came to have lunch with me.â
âWe just introduced ourselves,â grandma said, âbut I didnât know you were her daughter.â
I nudged grandma, then moved closer to whisper in her ear. âLook at Rosemaryâs shoes,â
I said.
Grandma glanced at Rosemaryâs feet.
âI like your shoes,â she said.
Rosemary smiled. âThank you. Ruby gave them to me. Theyâre not new, but they are extremely comfortable.â
âWould you mind if I had a look?â I asked and extended my hand.
Rosemary slipped off her right shoe and handed it to me. I looked at the underside of the tongue and saw Margaret Sullivan written with black marker. I had labeled all of grandmaâs clothing and personal items when she was first admitted to the facility. I moved over to show her where I had printed her name and then returned the shoe to Rosemary.
âItâs so important to have shoes that fit well,â I said. âIt looks like these have gotten a lot of wear. I hope you enjoy them.â
I got up and walked over to Ruby who was now standing at the nursesâ station.
âExcuse me, Ruby. I noticed that your mother is wearing my grandmotherâs shoes.â
Ruby said nothing, but the nurses raised their heads, looking first at me and then at Ruby.
âYou stole from my grandmother, and on top of that, you lied to both of us when we asked you about the shoes,â I said, glaring at her. âYou should be ashamed of yourself.â
Ruby was trying to turn away, but my angry stare followed her.
âHave you taken things from other residents? From your colleagues?â I asked. âIâm sure this facility doesnât want a thief working here. Iâm going to report you to the administration.â
Ruby still didnât say anything.
âYou sent an elderly woman home in her slippers! Tell me, donât you feel bad about what you did?â
Ruby nodded, then turned her back to me and walked away.
As grandma and I went to the elevator, grandma said, âDonât report her, Allison. She probably doesnât get paid much, and Iâm sure she needs her job. She might be supporting her mother. I think whatâs important is that you let her know that we know what she did. Maybe thatâs enough to make her think about her actions.â
***
One afternoon, a week later, grandmaâs shoes arrived in the mail with a note from Ruby: âDear Mrs. Sullivan,
I am sorry for taking your shoes. I never did this before. My mother has problems with her feet. It is hard to find shoes. Your shoes were right size and comfortable. Please forgive me.â
I laughed softly. âI guess we got through to Ruby, grandma.â
âItâs amazing. I didnât think Iâd ever see these shoes again,â grandma said, looking them over as if she was considering a potential purchase.
âAnd now you have three pairs of comfortable shoes.â
âLetâs go to Caring Touch on Friday. Iâd like to give one of the new pairs to Ruby, for her mother.â
-end-
Carol Pierce was born and raised in New York City.  She holds a B.A. in English, an M.S.Ed.in Special Education, and a Professional Certificate in Supervision and Administration from Hunter College.  She was a teacher and Assistant Principal with the NYC Department of Education for more than 20 years.An emerging writer, Carol enjoys the power of words and writing short stories that transport readers to other worlds.  Her stories have appeared in Drunk Monkeys, The Write Launch, Griffel, and in Twist & Twain.  In addition to writing, Carol enjoys swimming and researching her Hungarian roots.
