Poetry: Claudia Piccinno

Claudia Piccinno

Hypothetical landing

. . Thinking of the Titanic

Jack got and he messed up
days that were always the same
rolling the routes
of mental journeys.
It was not for Rose
wanted meeting
Yet around the walls
He became the ditch,
 her lifeline,
 her bearing breakwater,
an emergency plan,
a solidal interlocutor,
almost a normal man.
Rose can not swim
But she is attracted by the sea,
she's cold inside
and she fears that the fire
could do the center.
Rose is standing on the pole
Of her fears,
she has no more arrival
Nor reliable barycentre
But she wants to believe that
her virtual Jack
could feel a real affection.
Jack and Rose will not meet again
In the daily walk
Of distant planets,
But their pilgrim souls
recognize themselves in a hypothetical landing
At the edge of glittering and shop windows
Unknown to shipwrecks
and to all sailors.

Your voice in countersong

In a song out of time I've heard drafts of you,
And the memories came to me
In the atavic sound of a gong.
On the creaking echo of a metal I stopped
And I recognized your voice in countersong.
They are daughters of the resentment …
our words ...
But they burst
Into my painful and without appeal silences.
Concentric waves in the pond,
irregular acoustic vibrations
They produce tsunamis in my memory.

The Plan b

I shined of autonomous light
Towards the periphery of your gaze,
while I rebelled at the thought
Of an irrational feeling.
I passed trough miles of asphalt
To anchor my footstep on the ground,
Gulping down my doubts not to fly elsewhere
And then crashing into the ground.
Into a creed and a faded color
Suddenly I repaired as they were a shell
Not to give  to the heart
Vain expectations or insidious hopes.
I did not consider the plan b
What the soul pursues according its will,
she sees you as a landing
In the endless meanders of a hug.
In the latitudes of your arms
I will rest.

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