Passeggiata

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“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
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What is La Passegiata about?
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La Passeggiata is an evening ritual, an Italian tradition, a gentle stroll through the main streets, usually in the pedestrian zones in hours before sunset. Italians tend to dress up for la passeggiata and new romances are on display as well as new dresses or shoes. Passeggiata is especially popular on Sunday evenings. During the summer, some Italians even drive to nearby cities, the coast, or the lakes for a special passeggiata.
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Passeggiata
by David F. Barker and Blaga Todorova
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tonight these grey walls will not hold me.
a strange providence
has given this soft hour to live,
a pale rose for my button hole,
colour of my face, the moon,
who follows me coldly
through silken streets

there are a myriad arches
marked with quietness,
the sleepy waters hum
with the pulse of a sonata
and the glassy surfaces
of man-made stone muses, they call me,
dropping sparkles in the shadows

suddenly I halt by a sober light—
high above in baroque walls
a lone viola is playing
in its darkest flourishes,
muffled by the rolling fog
drifting around me
like a seminal snake

and duets of exploding icons,
sketched in the heart to dazzle the heart,
visions through the sturdy, irregular mist,
turn the gondolas into shelters for lovers
while the reflections of the indigo skies
are drowned in rain and the mind is frozen,
holding the evening stroll alive …

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Thank you David for writing this with me! It was an honor!

Visit David at francisbarkerart.com and enjoy more of his art and poetry.

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'Isola di San Giorgio' by David F. Barker

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles

The road not taken

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The road not taken

He comes in my dreams sometimes,
with eyes matching the background of the sun,
but no, his eyes are not blue and the sun has lost
the amber reflections of the sand,
where we last walked hand by hand.

We used to play scrabble, piles of Arabic letters
that didn’t resemble any meaning in any dictionary
and he knew I was spelling ‘love’ completely wrong,
but he kept smiling, until the birds made
a nest out of the telephone wires.

And I wrote a letter, two, three,
and my words swayed the pink flares
of the Pyramids just before the dawn of summer.
I had a hope for a while, that he will stop by
and read about why we are apart now.

But years from now, I will meet a stranger,
somewhere on a cruise to Panama.
We both will have hearts of travelers
and stories to exchange over the death of waves
and the spell of nymphs.

And there will be a fairytale, fantasies about
flamingos in love and a boy who missed
the last bus from El-Minia to Giza,
because the road was never his to take,
neither mine to offer.

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"Boats off Cromer" by David F. Barker

Visit David Barker at francisbarkerart.com, wonderful poetry and amazing art!

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles

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