Mother Mine
Nevermore her sweet caresses
Nevermore her soft blue eyes.
Heaven-blown her ebon tresses,
Smiling lips I idolized.
Sing farewell, farewell forever,
Child of the wind-blown sea,
Tender heart and soul unfettered
Garlands in eternity.
Fleeting soul transcends the sparrows,
Soaring with the snow-white dove;
Sad of soul all my tomorrows,
Grieving for her purest love.
Sweetest voice a loving whisper
On the wings of memory.
Tender canticle of sisters,
Song of all maternity.
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poem by Alicia Patti
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Venetian Serenade
One would think purple and green couldn’t
work well together, unless you’re in Venice where,
tucked in at eventide, gondolas slumber in colorful
array, anticipating the new day, while the setting sun,
low on the horizon, lulls the lagoon to sleep,
lapping waves caressing, like the susurrus of
a Venetian lullaby. Royal purple tints the water,
as though The Master had dipped his brush in
Imperial Blue and with broad strokes blessed
the Grand Canal in benediction to the Medici.
But this blessing can’t last - this tribute to the gold
of Italy’s finest hour, this shimmering ideal reposing
in the dusky twilight of an age long past its glory,
hovering on the brink of a long summer day.
Too soon dawn will come clamoring, dragging
along the multitude: buyers and sellers
crashing through the pungent streets, snatching
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poem by Alicia Patti
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