A man on Seven Horses

1707, Rosalind lived in a mountain giant foot

The northern suburbs of an extension of a sheltering forest

She hated berries but only berries she had to eat

Such a small and pulpy wild fruit

Rounded and brightly coloured,

Sweet, sour in straw-blue-black

Likely red, for her tastes bad

Mum sang “Blueberries raw or baked in a pie;

Blueberry cobbler, muffins or juice;

It matters not the form I enjoy;

Blueberries keep me from being blue.”

At 17, never saw a man nor a horse

Before she first sang,

“When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the Grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The Gods that wanton in the Air,
Know no such Liberty.”

Cavalier verses inflames her virtues

When a Horseman rode and stood

To adorn her strawberry lips with his sweet song

That bronze young man on a stallion

Three powers in one,

Youth, arch and a horse

a song from the heart

that keeps the oath for more than one life.

2017, Charlotte eats a Mac,

Dates on a machine

Utters erotic syllables for 7 men,

Kisses all of them, only for the 7th day

Loves the man who comes to her on 7 horses.

Berry Forest, cradle of Love
A Man on 7 Horses

Il Marciume

A 16 anni

Sognavo con Anna, Enza e Manel

Un ragazzo snello

Forte con i capelli

Lievemente lunghi

Ma neri

Gli occhi marroni miele

Parla inglese

Canta rock

Teneri labra

Risate rimbalzando dal cuore

Pulito chiaro

Che sogno

Bello e attraente

Luca o Leo

Ma tu sei chiama to il “marciume”

E io sono testarda

Ti amo più

Di Leo, Luca e Aldo

Selvaggio orgoglioso

Forte e gentile

E per te sono il mondo

Soldi non tieni

Promesse mute

E amori senza sillabe






Washed away

Swells wash away

Soul’s agony

Waves blow



A feathered beach

Shelters and soothes


Time waned

As I froze

All that bemused me

Was either to shut my sight

And enhance its hissing

Kissing say

Or lose no sound no sketch

A sweet bemusement

Shining bright Brighton

On my grey canvas

Painted off a British sky.

Real picture
Bewilderment and Peace


300 likes and me

Can make the difference

300 Spartans defeated Persia

Persia came on elephants

Upskilled rhinoceros

Bold black horses

Bronze knights

Gilded armature

Heavily pierced Xerxes

Mythical creatures

On a grey and black canvas

Men in red

300 mighty kings and

Lusty Leonidas together

Erect a peerless wall

Built up in patient

passionate composure

Colours clashed

Les rouges against les noirs

Clung and bunged at odds

Colossal equestrians

Stupendous fiery fighters

Beauty unmatched.

300 of comrades in verse

Similar though diverse

Utter words as swords

Link up in likes

Tacit makers.

300 thanks
Sword guardian
Words sharp as swords

My book

Two Questers in Twentieth-century North Africa: Paul Bowles and Ibrahim Alkoni breaks new ground in its comparative exploration of the work of American expatriate author Paul Bowles and exiled Libyan author Ibrahim Alkoni: it is, to my knowledge, the first full-length comparative treatment of these two authors. The book makes a powerful rebuttal of Western […]

My book

Corro per perdere

Mi alleno

Più di te

Mentre in festa


Corro di notte

Il giorno da solo

Fatto per te

Corro contro il fiume

Corro dentro il mare

Nel deserto

Nel vento dell’impossibile

Corro di fame

Corro da sola

Quello mi tira

Guardandomi tra le gambe

Mi libero di corsa


Salgo le montagne

Corro contro la crudeltà

I limiti

Ma corro svantaggiata.

Tutti partiamo

dalla stessa riga,

Alice corre

Con un padre potente

Non lo vede nessuno

Mentre lei corre

Io lo vedo

Alberto viene dal nord

Quello si vede

Ma lui

nessun’ graffio


Non sa la fame

Figlio della possibilità

Che nessuno vede

Ma tutto era lì

Salvo corre

Da uomo

Forza e rispetto

Parla per dire

Ma tutti ascoltano

Di un martire

Giada porta il nome

Non ha altre qualità

Ma la conducono

Corri col tuo nome

Al di sopra di noi…

Si parte

La gara dell’uguaglianza

Nessuna equità

Loro corrono

Per vincere

Io corro

Per arrivare

Corro per correre

Loro per diventare

Io per essere

Corro preparata

Corro con le mie cicatrici

Quasi senza gambe

Sicuramente senza luci

Ma ho già corso nel buio

E ho imparato

A chiamare il vento

Anche senza gambe

Correrò con le mai

Io corro per vivere

Corro dal nulla

Sarà comunque vincita

Malgrado la partenza

Dalla stessa riga



Corro contro i limiti
Vincite personali

On Grapes and Family

Clinging together

The one looks like the other

The one stands by the other


Exalts that sanctified tie

To an earth

To a space

History and place

You inherit

From a good grape

Efflorishent pleasure

Brittle texture

Ancestral taste

A family alike

Offers shelter

Gives a choice

Genes compete

To resurrect in you

A stamp of thousand years

The hair and eye of Beatrice

Ophelia the seer

Pueblo the speaker

Evan the lunatic

Vinci the poet

All had a choice

All are given

That grape

From their tree

Either or

Lands and names

Nations series A

Vie facile

Not like her

Still got the choice

Maternal cancer

Paternal depression

No paint on a wall

No hies

No hoes

Not a bride’s dress

And she made her way through

Lingering in ire

Bearing a grape

Grapes of choice

Of Cats and Women

Anime Gemelle
Other I Cannot Be

What is in you,






Out of my life labyrinth

Modern tasteless life,

Speaks psyche

In red and black,

Unveils my mystery,

Takes back to a wild state,

From within as

From without?