Poetry- Carla Scarano D’Antonio

Sailing North

We left with cherry trees blossoming,
people arranging polished horns
in a window.
Opposite to south
Vegetation grew rusty,
gold, scarlet red
silver grey, brown.
Inhaling thro,
branches torn bare
frozen. North:
thorn, torn, horn
ton, not.

What the world throws at me

she loses the world in her belly
her thighs are fractions of petals
her face is a riot
rain and smoke smile in a window
wood and sea water listen to the civil war
her hair is a rope out of a refugee camp
old and new things burn cautiously
without breaking anything
nothing that matters
she bends the rake the hook and the shadow
ties continents in small colonies
her body marked by the seasons

In touch with my daughter in Tokyo

I would like to have you near me
to touch you now
to be sure we are part
of the same bond of friendship and care –
a family.
But you are far away –
busy busy, engaged with better chances,
confrontation and confusion,
hard work, swift changes.
Photos on the kitchen shelves beam,
heart-warming smile
in a Howl’s-moving-castle mauve t-shirt,
your favourite movie,
and Italian red pepper earrings
on the V&A background.
When I feel sentimental, ache ticks
spreading under the ribs;
I send you a smile
with hearts instead of eyes
clapping hands
a dancing lady and a hug
a pumpkin for Halloween or a halo for your name day.
The impersonal networking
warms me up, though infertile,
reminds me of the importance of imperfection
in our infernal autonomy.

From dawn to dawn                                                          

Moon at sunrise
fading lamp in pastel sky
birds jet high – dive
Sun rays
hit blanket clouds
hide shyly
wet against leaden heaven
dissolves in haze
Dusk tinges the horizon
air stops breathing
the earth releases its humours
Firefly halos flicker
dust sets quiet
a willow chants its rhymes
When blackout strikes
candle light shrouds
our intimacy
Full moon
casts long shadows
makes day of a night
Gleam filters
the shutters in the morning
blind sleep wakes up

About the contributor

Carla Scarano D’Antonio moved to England (Lancashire then Surrey) in 2007 from Rome (Italy) and started attending creative writing courses. She obtained a Degree of Master of Arts in Creative Writing with Merit at Lancaster University in October 2012. Her work was published in Shipwrights (an online Swedish Review), Purple Patch, First Edition magazine, Northern Life, audio Flax Anthologies: Vanishing Act (Flax 020), Flash Mob (Flax 026), Cake, the Beautiful Dragons Anthologies Heavenly Bodies and My Dear Watson, London Grip, Lighthouse, South and Poetry News. She self-published a poetry pamphlet, A Winding Road, in 2011 and won the First Prize of the John Dryden Translation Competition 2016. The prize was awarded for translation of some poems by Eugenio Montale that Keith Lander and Carla co-translated. She publishes recipes, travel journals and opinions on her blog: carlascarano.blogspot.co.uk/ She is currently working on a PhD on Margaret Atwood’s work at the University of Reading. Website: http://www.carlascaranod.co.uk/

Related Articles

Weightless in San Francisco

Marc Woodward is an Anglo/American poet and musician living in rural South West England

Poetry- Anne McMaster

Lost and Found inspired by Robert MacFarlane’s The Lost Words You might think we lose these words as one may, casually, lose a small cool coin behind the...

Sally McHugh- New Poetry

 Blue Atlas Tracing the grids of the blue atlas my finger runs down the page, charting the north Atlantic ocean, Lisbon, Africa with its Sahara winds blowing, Freetown. Latitude, longitude, lines criss-cross, I...

More Like This

Katrina E. Halfaker- Poems

the midwest one broken white scale on a rubber dumpster lid hints; when opened, within and under peeks a takeout burger bag and styrofoam cup, probably full. last...

Poetry by Guinotte Wise

Guinotte Wise writes and welds steel sculpture on a farm in Resume Speed, Kansas.

The Beautiful Moment and other poems from Rose Lucas

Rose Lucas's first collection, Even in the Dark (UWAP) won the Mary Gilmore award in 2014.

Man Creates Itself – Fiction by John Higgins

It had been a quick death, they assured me. I’m not sure if that was meant as a gesture of consolation, or just a...

Summer Sestina and other poems by Caoimhe McKeogh

IT IS NOT THE TELEPHONE it is not the telephone it is the stove with its timer beeping in that never-ending way...