siblings are quite a thing
bewing the older of the two
the change in life happens before you
yet you blink and its over
the innosense from boy
or girl to man and woman
all along you remain
an observer in the change
obvious yet quiet
in your mind the snapshots
are aged 5
though now the phone rings
talking about boys
and he’s surfing chicks
tracksuits to boob tubes
piercings and tattoos
happens to everyone
but you never notice yourself
just blink and its been done
grown up just like the other one
a slight tinge of unreality hits
gasp for air
it happened to me
nostalgia sets to pictures old and blue
how it used to be remember that bbq?
when you were so worried cause you shat red?
hardly see each other nowadays
but random or not
when I see your face
my heart warms
the good old days

at the moment before
I put my pen to the paper
who knows what’s gonna come out
not even I will know the subject sometimes
a particular mood
may set me along the way
like rage anger fear loss pain
sometimes smiles or butterflies
the way the yerllow moon large
rises above the beginning of a long
evening’s work for the fisherman
outside the bay
shimmering the light
choppy not calm
not rough
to the weathered face
of the sicillian
dragging his net
raping the coast
its only business
he leans over the bow
tar tobacco yellow his spits
nothing personal
he’d rather sit with the rod
searching awaiting exciting duels
man versus the unknown
mystery fish dark sitting
jagged coastline
for the big one
will it come
tonight?
in his life time?
or a tale to be passed
with the rod to the next in line
having more faith
than a saint
with every cast.

by the blue pool surrounded by red ceramic
the lifeguard more interested in the shade
even if it means standing on the wrong side
of the fence near the animator
what marks my eye
adults not able to swim
children not able to go under
without a hand clenching
their nose for life
if the noise of the speakers were
directly proportional to the animation
then not even the pool’d be needed
for entertainment
loves to hear the sound of his voice
death grip on the mic, not even a dj
rambeling on and on
like a radio channel you always switch through
chimpanzees in the water like
trying to cross an ocean
looking like monkeys
prefer to be on tip toes walkin, wading, bathing
if you were never taught how
you would simply do it too
like th shit music the poor dj plays

A year later and our canvas dwelling
Shows battle scars
The rest quite the same
Except the neon tube
Prefers to blink than light
The 5 mattresses feel about
A years use worse
Mine bedded a sumo and his wife
My back would tell you
The dark aluminium green shed still houses
The shitter and the kitchen
the latter behind the other
some kind of rage the wrestler had
if the canvas could talk
Awake we’d remain all night
we did for a while
but now the loud car
of the fucker took flight
with him gone our neighbour
can sneeze 3 times in peace again
under our breathe we laugh
siesta over and the camping awakens
drone of music by the pool
and administrative information in Italian
only for those who understand
going to swim now with my dad

Cigarette, aqua, karta
and a pen in my left hand
dodgy as it scrolls along
faster than I am able to think
sometimes
that’s why so untidy at times
if ever I publicise my crimes
we will have to transcribe
these characters into straight lines
crossed neatly out with respective dots
commas where they belong along the ends
so much work for a bunch of nonsense
probably only I understand and true
friends and family just nod and smile
nice work
no body’s got time for prose
as its too strenuous to think after work
maybe that’s why im unemployed
hollywood’s taken over
voices of dun karm muted
only annoyed the children in the exam
trying to conjure what he meant
too busy watchin tv in bed instead
and the dedicated few
thank you
people like you
my holiday
time well spent
or should I have gone to bed
my mind doesn’t let me
so I write
not to be read again
but it would be nice

The perfect time to write
time slows that you could almost see
each flutter of a flies wing
200 from here due south
are you thinking of me my dear
just heard from someone its windy
the bellows that wave our towels
are they the same ones in your hair
covering your face as you stare north to me
did this very rustle in the tree travel
all the way rocking boats
it seems that you are a world away
yet a gadget draws you near
New times roman
and in the data you appear
I could see your lips whisper
as your finger tells me
what your heart tells you
I could picture you as you concentrate
on that screen small
i nod off with a smile from ear to ear
a thump in my heart that sooths
just like the toxins that paralyze
the needle a highway open
a race to the black tar pain

The ascent steep and long
hairpins and tight corners
looking at black boulders
as we neared
clouds at our feet
the sun shone bright
the island underneath
ride was steep never above 30
at 15hunderd not a tree
fine black dust
and sharp pebbles king
we could see the sea
touristic square
nick knacks on offer
each with the same stock
just re-arranged
thin the wind through my "crocs"
even with 2 pairs of socks
a touristic bite
price steep as the ravine hills
4 smiles as we sat
then a walk along the 1986 crater
some snaps for proof
no molten to be seen
just on television sets
displayed eternally on loop
back at the sea wind still blows
followed us
cold from the etna high
now warmer slower
natures sigh