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TIP
OF THE PENINSULA
Bordering
the basilicata
Between seas of Tyrrhenian and Ionan
An isolated individuality
With two million souls alive in the cols and
valleys.
Land
of treed mountains massif
Pollino and the Botte Donato
The chestnuts and the beechwoods
The evergreens of pines and spruces.
The
deer, the boar
The woodpecker and the martin
Some of the wildlife most attractive
Did I fail to mention the peregrine
falcon?
Still
mysterious and unexplored wetlands
A flourish of vegetation
The magnificent yellow flowers
And the colorful iris.
Languages
of Cosenza and Catenzaro
Albanian and Greek in the Bova
The forsaken peoples
Living at unjust and tragic standards
Ancient
and modern Romans
Policies of exploitation leading to authority
mistrust
Eternal resistance on subsistence farming
Thank heaven for the olives in
abundance.
A
land of splendor
Endless variety of panorama
Majestic blue and green beaches
The Mediterranean haven of Calabria,
Italia.
©D.S.
2002
--
Submitted by David Soriano from Bradford, PA
e-mail: soriano@pitt.edu
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PRAGUE
AT DUSK
Prague
lays over its inhabitants in shades of grey.
Oppressively close
to the surface, some of us duck, others simply walk
carefully, our
shoulders stooped, trying to avoid the monochrome
rainbow at the end of
the hesitant rain. Prague rains itself on us,
impaled on one hundreds
towers, on a thousand immolated golden domes. We
pretend not to see it
bleeding to the river. We just cross each other in
ornate street
corners, from behind exquisite palaces. We don't
shake heads politely
anymore. We are not sure whether they will stay
connected if we do.
It
is in such times that I remember an especially sad
song, Arabic
sounds interlaced with Jewish wailing. Wall after
wall, turret after
turret, I re-visit my homeland. It is there, in
that city, which is not
Arab, nor Jewish, not entirely modern, nor
decidedly antique that I met
her.
And
the pain was strong.
--
Submitted by Sam Vaknin from Skopje, Macedonia
e-mail: palma@unet.com.mk
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CRUISIN'
All
aboard the Fantasy M/S of Carnival
For half a week's vacation time of fun and
falderal.
Hear greetings from your captain, his director and
the crew.
Ready, set, get going. The Bahamas wait for
you.
Bon Voyage to Reggae being played upon the
Lido.
Dinner is at 6 or 8. (Hold off on that tuxedo.)
You could eat a pizza by the Windows On The Sea
Or go beneath to dine on shrimp and meet the maitre
d'.
Stay up late for comedy or reflect upon the
ocean.
Go to bed, relax your head, sense the soothing
motion.
Rise and shine in Freeport where the ship will dock
all day.
You can disembark to take a tour or you can
stay
Lounging
on the deck or take a dip or dance calypso,
Go below and have massage, shop, or play some
bingo.
The second day when you awake, you'll find yourself
in Nassau.
Take the kiddies, take a friend, take your gramps
or grandma.
Little ones can stay behind. There's folks to
entertain them,
Or they can tag along with you to see the sights.
No problem!
I'm not into nature. I prefer the funny things:
The contests for the men with hairy chests or
knobby knees.
But if you like adventure, visit lovely Blue
Lagoon.
Swim with sting rays (they won't bite). The boat
leaves right at noon.
Venture into town. You may be nabbed by a "plaza
beautician."
Getting braids is all the rage, so people have
their hair done.
Be sure you're back to the gangway before the ship
sets sail.
If nothing suits you up to now, you're deader than
a doornail!
Day
At Sea arrivies as your trip is winding down,
But the biggest night is coming. Time for formal
dress or gown.
That final evening dining at your table with new
friends,
You'll wish instead of ending, it were starting all
again.
Gals and guys with braided scalps; everyone looks
nice.
Ah, the midnight feast divine with sculptures
carved in ice.
One last time enjoy the karaoke or the disco,
the lounge's show, the bistro, or the gambling in
the casino.
The ultimate for leisure if you're after more than
snoozin'.
In lingo of the laid-back natives, "Mon, you best
be cruisin'"
--
Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove,
Utah
e-mail: Pandie55@hotmail.com
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RETURNING
TO IBERIA
Returning
to Iberia, where lies enchanting Spain,
First I'll fly to the core of her, Madrid upon her
plain.
After a day at the Prado Museum, I'll stroll by
Retiro's lake,
Nodding to friendly passers-by, and then for old
times' sake,
Find a glass of iced "horchata," go neath Alcala
Gate,
Where shops are open nights when folks themselves
reanimate.
Last, I'll watch flamenco while I eat my dinner
late
and wake to fresh baked bread. Then I'll
reinvestigate
The other outer regions of the land they call
Castile.
I'll pack potato omelets placed in french loaves
for a meal.
You
can tag along, my friend. Come ride here next to
me.
View valleys, winding rivers and the Mediterranean
Sea.
In any one direction, heading north, east, south or
west
Is something quite amazing for your senses to
digest.
First, a cross upon a peak near the great
Escorial.
Then the mighty Avila, encircled by a wall.
A central tourist spot steeped in history is
Toledo
With its finest of cathedrals and house of the late
"El Greco."
Let's not forget Segovia, where a fortress castle
stands
And its rather sturdy aqueduct built by Roman
hands.
East, cut deep by ravines, is a city I find
quaint.
Houses hug the cliff so steep and its bridge can
make you faint.
After
leaving Cuenca, we shall travel to the coast.
Much there is to see of which Valencia can
boast.
Try the "calamares" (squid); for me it's best when
fried.
Oranges abound here and the paella's bona fide!
In March, throughout the city, many floats of
papier mache
Are set to fire simultaneously, a marvelous
display.
Northward are the Pyrenees, rugged, vast and
green,
Sheep in fields, refreshing clime, and villages
serene.
There's bustling Barcelona when we've journeyed up
the coast.
Farther west along a bay in Galicia I like most
A place named San Sebastian, a very lovely
town;
Some little trees have tops like strange umbrellas'
upside down.
Also near this area is a prehistoric cave
With drawings on its walls that its dwellers did
engrave.
Last,
to Don Quixote's Andalucia--south we'll drive
Where for centuries as beacons of enlightenment did
thrive
Cordoba, Granada and Seville (we must these
visit)
The mosque with marbled columns at Cordoba is
exquisite!
With its charming personality, Sevilla leads the
pack.
Once you've been to her fairgrounds, you'll be
clamoring to go back.
The last of these three cities I'm revisiting with
you
Is Granada, home to gypsies; the Alhambra is their
view.
It's a palace of magnificence like none you've ever
seen,
With ornate rooms and gardens fair which pleasured
once a queen.
Malaga, I've yet to know, but this time I'll not
falter
To stay there, and I have to look again on the Rock
of Gibralter!
So many different nations have arrived on Spanish
shores:
Greeks, Phoenicians, Visigoths, Carthaginians,
Celts, Moors . . .
I hope that you, like me, can appreciate what they
left.
Dear Iberia, "patria chica," on our parting, I'm
bereft.
--
Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove,
Utah
e-mail: Pandie55@hotmail.com
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AMAZING
RIO
Rio
de Janeiro, city by the shore.
Home to Ipanema, Carnival and dance folklore.
As a child, of you I read from a book that showed
your Christ,
With arms outstretched, who guards your days and
lights your sky by night.
And now I've stood beneath his feet and breathed
the air you breathe.
I've viewed the illustrious Sugar Loaf, seen
monkeys play in trees.
I've visited your fruit stands and drunk from a
coconut shell,
and searched for birds hewn from pretty stones that
midnight vendors sell.
And lying on soft and clinging sand, I thrust my
toes deep in.
I glisten below your winter sun, brown sugar on my
skin.
Later,
I hurdle waves tossed on Copacabana's beach,
a site by which crossing an avenue, each resident
can reach.
On weekends and on holidays, your several sea
fronts teem
with hundreds, maybe thousands of individuals who
seem
content to chat 'neath umbrellas or lounge on
towels in the sun
while on a road closed to all traffic, others go
for a run.
And on the winding promenade are folks, most clad
in shorts,
thong-bikinied women, sundry shapes and shades all
sorts!
Kids whiz by on roller blades; old or young may
ride a bike.
Many merely merrily stroll though dressed as for a
hike.
And
in the whole of your city, countless cars and
bodies stream.
Pedestrians and doorless shops are props in your
waking dream.
With taxis veering left and right, people catching
buses;
a cacophony of crowded life the subway and streets
encompass.
children on their mothers' hands; boys in soccer
shirts.
Men sipping beers at sidewalk bars;
girls that scurry in pants or tight skirts.
Portuguese artisans laid the paths your citizens
walk.
What tales immersed in history if cobblestones
could talk!
More than a metropolis, you are yourself,
unique.
And I have had the pleasure to have tasted your
mystique.
--
Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove,
Utah
e-mail: Pandie55@hotmail.com
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WOOD
FENCES OF KENTUCKY
In
the heartland of Kentucky, in the bluegrass
countryside
Below the winding Elkhorn lie the jewels of
southern pride
On the outer fringe of Lexington, white pillars and
black gates
Mark aristocratic realms of equestrian
estates
Like
serpents along the country roads, weaving to and
fro
Wood fences zigzag as they did a hundred years
ago
Defining thoroughbred pastures, delineating
space
Encasing stately grandeur of the acreage they
grace
The
wood and limestone fences hold the cherished
legacy
Of horses crowned with roses in simplistic
pageantry
Of chestnut stallions duly bred and bound for
Churchill Downs
And supple young Trakehners gently floating 'cross
the ground
They
house farriers and stables, grand and splendid
barns
The stately mansion houses of the old Kentucky
farms
The simple pure and wondrous beauty of a mare and
foal
Which represent the very essence of Kentucky's
soul
The
fences that encircle the horse farms that
abound
Are deeply steeped in heritage and wonder they
surround
The Bluegrass Country glistens still in glory that
it yields
And the fences of Kentucky still meander through
the fields
--
Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown,
PA
e-mail: escheffey@aol.com
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FLAMES
OF LIFE
The
fiery ball of flames
Burning, with the oxygen of life
Tanning the horizon
With it's amber glow
Another
summer's morning
Sweet, with the scent of Arabia
And the fire of ambition
That in every spirit grows
This
crown that heralds the day
With it's luminous brilliance
Raging with vivacity and verve
The jewel of the desert sky
This
day we offer up to Him
He who sanctifies us all
Behold the sacred desert sands
On the call of the mullah's cry
--
Submitted by Nicole Anne Braganza
from Rak, United Arab Emirates
EMAIL: jbragan@emirates.net.ae
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