All Poems
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"Hope" is the thing with feathers (254)
© Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soulAnd sings the tune without the wordsAnd never stops at all,
"Faith" is fine invention (185)
© Emily Dickinson
"Faith" is a fine inventionFor gentlemen who see,But Microscopes are prudentIn an emergency!
Exclusion
© Emily Dickinson
The soul selects her own society,Then shuts the door;On her divine majorityObtrude no more.
The bustle in the house (1078)
© Emily Dickinson
The bustle in a houseThe morning after deathIs solemnest of industriesEnacted upon earth.
Too Much has Resisted Us
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
i have been thinking of the long arms of peasant girls,of cold streams where the sun washes up on the sand.of far-away places, things i might love,
That First Year
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
i wrote poems mainly that first year,picking garbage, doing dishes, humblingmyself among men who doubted me for having gottenthe world's publicity; what did i want with them, anyway?but after a year they saw my touch and needed an armaround them; men without women can use an italiannow and again to laugh christ off the cross and make him dance;make the devil look a bit foolish
Sherbourne Morning
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
I begin to understand the old men, parked on benchessmoking a bit of July, waiting for the earlybottle; the large tears of the passers-by, wrappedin white cotton, the world bandaged at 7 AM; when the day goes old, they lean overand nod into their arms, lovers, one-time carriersof their separate hearts; their wives, their childrenare glass partitions through which they see themselvescrying
The Most Extraordinary Women in the World
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
These are the most extraordinary women in the world,they do not go to bed at 11 p
Imbiancato
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
A note of thanks to you whenall is said and done, for the little cowboy,for the sonata, for the now and againshimmer of sun that reinstitutes, reinvests
I Want You to See
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
I want you to see the hole in my shirt where yourheart went through like a Colt 45, and openeda dream at the back of the neck
he fell into my arms and said
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
he fell into my arms and said"sometimes god takes what we love most. he knows best".i agree.so I made up something as i buried his grandchildren.
God and the Fifties
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
It was shady deals andConnie Francis on jukeboxjunipers and chevy convertiblesparked outside Dino's restaurant;it was brighter skies, manageableskyscrapers, gang-fights and Kennedy;it was gambling at Atlantic City withthe Four Seasons, it was crabs andJohnny Unitas and Connie Arena whoteased my heart through ten schoolyears, her father practicing race-trackcornet every day driving us nuts onsuch bored summers of tee-shirtswith cigarette packs at the sleeve andBeachboys and weights
Flying Deeper into the Century
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
Flying deeper into the centuryis exhilarating, the faces of loved ones eaten outslowly, the panhandles of flesh warding offthe air, the smiling plots
The Exile
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
It is the place I return to.Lying awake nights I imaginethe wind just back from the cypress treesbrushing me lightly as Istep from the house;
Cowboy on Horse in Desert
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
Little cowboy, painted ona paint-by-numbers picturefound in a junk shop
Brain Litany: Or, Overlooking the Existential Factor
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
"Can it be that any man has the skill to fabricate himself?" -- St. Augustine
