Franca Palmieri

Biography

Franca Palmieri (Morolo, FR) lives and works in Aprilia (LT), where she currently teaches and conducts workshops in creative writing, poetry and acting. She holds a degree in Pedagogy and graduated in Pathophysiology; she holds two Qualifications in humanities.

She has taught at primary and secondary schools, where she held organizational assignments in Educational Projects.

She has published the following poetry books: “Arabeschi di luce” (2008), “Quando la vita profuma di nuovo” (2013) and “La coscienza e la vanità” (2015); more recently, the fairy tale “La fiamma del cuore” (Pellicano).

Finalist  in several national and international contests, she has received numerous diplomas and honorable mentions. Many of her aphorisms are included in Giulio Perrone, personal organizers.

She appears in anthologies such as SignorNò (Poems and writings against the war, 2016) and LiberAzionepoEtica (2017) Pellicano. She promotes schools Meetings with poets. (Among these Naim Araidi and Beppe Costa).

She created and is in charge of the National Poetry Prize “Masio Lauretti” reserved for middle and high school students; the first edition was held in may 2016 with considerable success.

 

 

 

I will leave in the summer

 

I will leave in the summer

without clamors,

blended into sunset on the sea,

recumbent on a hill

amid the scent of pine trees,

walking on the top

of a mountain which borders on the sky.

 

I will follow the summer

with life’s enthusiasm,

the joy of the holidays’ end

spent happily.

I will scatter smiles and kind words

among the people I’ve loved.

 

I will dive in the nights’ silence,

in the light of the August stars

changing only perspective.

I will softly blow on autumn’s leaves

I will sleep on beds of untouched snow.

I will fly like a butterfly

letting the wind chase me.

 

I will sail the waves

that embrace the lands.

I will be born again in new Springs

amid newborn leaves.

I will blossom in every flower that surprises.

 

 

 

Wondering

 

Wondering

amid roots and branches

is to seek sharp thorns

stuck in dark corners.

It means shedding light on the nestled pain

abandoned among heavy stones.

My naked skin,

close to the sharp rind

of your scratched soul,

bleeds

inexorably.

 

My face rubs yours,

pitiful tears appear

on the glass of your eyes.

My spirit penetrates slowly

in the neglected crack

in search of lost sufferings

and, catching a glimpse of them, hits

a powerful wall.

Your back

is bottomless layered earth

to my big hug

Your chest tightens

behind an armor

that does not release any pity.

 

 

 

 

Night

 

Night comes when

every word disappears

and leaves the gaze suspended.

With a slow pace

someone walks in the avenue of remembrance

waiting for someone to follow him.

Night listens to breaths

making faces closer

and laying their hands on the skin.

It captivates vanished shadows

at the first moonlight.

 

 

Blind world

 

devouring innocent children

you are not time moving forward

you are time lacking.

Repeated massacres of astonished eyes

that extend their limbs

in wax sculptures

without knowing why.

Bulwarks for us

unable to move

or that do not wish to.

Predatory world

devastator of consciences

without doubt and truth,

full of inflicted pain

in order not to scream its own.

Monstrous world,

when will we stop collecting

drops of innocent blood

that you perpetually shed?

 

 

Alive to free the living

 

I’ll always be

melancholic.

I suffered from hunger and misery.

My unaware feet

have marked

lands bloodstained

in the rush for bread and salt

between impressive requests for help

in the impossibility of giving.

My eyes opened to horror

have closed with bitten lips

in order not to howl to violence.

 

I am dead among the dead

that covered the streets

amid the cries of fear

of those who were beneath the rubble.

Alive to free the living

buried by their own home.

Alive searching for food.

Hunger more than all was pursuing me

together with the shadow of breath

and the mourning of my baby girl

born despite an illogical

brutal moment

kidnapped by a merciless disease.

I always wanted to leave

with

my incurable

sadness.

 

I stayed without ever forgetting.

The forced silences, the cries and the crashes,

the aimed weapons, the gunpowder,

the strained faces, the barred eyes,

the pleas, the tears, the grief.

The war will stay.

Etched in my soul,

engraved in my flesh.

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