Thursday, August 19

A Poem for Thursday

We had a week in Florence in a mad guest house, where we had to make our own breakfast and sometimes the owner's as well. The lights were off in the evening as we think she didn't pay her bills. But the madness of it all left us with this daft romantic feeling for Florence. And a love for the narrow streets where we got lost.



On the fourth day
A star shone in the midnight sky
above the olive tree.
Red wine and pasta memories,
and I wept.

On the fourth day
We walked the via Proconsole.
An Italian Glaswegian
Kissed my hand
and called me precious,
and I wept

On the fourth day
We lay on crisp white sheets
In an Italian afternoon.
Lovers as always
Whispering memories
and I wept.

On the fourth day
We were lost in a maze
Of dark streets and broken containers.
And love found us
In a room with thread
and compassion
To sew us together.
And I wept.

On the fourth day
Giotto and Duccio painted
With pink and orange
purple and blue.
Covering over eight years
and healing memories.
And I wept.


  1. Thankyou Gina. I think lots about you and how you are coping. Pray that each day will bring a little bit of peace in your lives.

  2. Lovely poem Gerry. Sounds a lovely time in Florence. I was there a few weeks ago and really wished I hadn't gone back as there were so many people it rather shattered my memories of previous visits. Glad yours was more successful.

  3. __Keep these well recorded thoughts; this poem, a collage of tomorrows memories. A fine one, Gerry! _m

  4. Thankyou so much Magyar. We are just back from a week in Cornwall so have only just received your kind message.

  5. That got my memories going too - summer holidays in Italy years ago, long siestas, white sheets, closed shutters, the noise of the street outside, the delicious coolness within - aah!


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