Tuscany

Reading time 4 mins

Some poetry I wrote when in Tuscany between lockdowns in September 2020. We visited Pisa, Lucca, Florence and Siena.

Getting centred in the town of Pisa

Leaning is a state of mind

The summer breeze is losing all its lustre

The shady streets bring goosebumps, chills and shivers

Sun is glistening off the dome behind.

Crumbling architecture washed in umber, shades of ochre, creams and white

The evenings close in, smothering all in darkness

Sighs from long ago cry out into the failing light

All around is silent, of even birdsong

Shadows lengthen across piazzas soaked in ochre wash

Winding streets hum with summer swansong

Pisa’s leaning to the right.

Rattling trains depart to stations distant

Find the platform for your own delight

Sending souls to find their destinations

Karma plenty

Platform 5 is not the place to be.

If only we had stood on Platform 3!

Lucca, standing strong amid the plain

The wall’s protection - defend from tyrants reign

Drenched by sun, it’s shutters holding fast

Green paint flaking, relics of the past

Roman ghosts the winding streets still tread

A plan laid long ago, a vision far ahead.

Sleepy Lucca, slowly comes to life

The osterias begin to breathe the light

Urging on, above the roofs, the sight

Of soaring torres, reaching for the skies.

Rusting bicycles clattering past the cafes

Wrinkled faces nod and smile their greeting

Autumn leaves begin to drift in flurries

The heat of summer now forever fleeting

A sudden invisible burst of music round a corner

Floating out along the narrow passage

The jolly lilting of an accordion spilling out

A man with sparkling hat, shares his soul for your delight

An amphitheatre hidden in the maze of streets

A scream from 2000 years long past

The celebrations of that human misery today are hard to hear

But today it’s bright and tranquil here.

Florence or Firenze, you can choose which version

A muddy river separating the city

Wealth and power, invested in abundance

A bloodline dying out that is Medici

Il Duomo dominates the skyline

A labour of love not easily forgotten

The artist’s skill with brush or chisel lingers

Forgotten masterpieces cling to every surface

Four cardinal points are honoured with their craft

Hidden gems are folded into buildings

Piazzas flooded with awe-inspired sojourners,

Searching for their Michealangelo delight.

The roll call of commissioned works

Sets it’s own history on the record each night.

Church and Politics are torn asunder

Power struggles rip each other’s hearts

Medusa morning, Greek and Roman fables

Forever cut from Marble by skilful hand and eye

Palazzo Di Vecchio’s warm facade enfolds you

Fountains gushing from Neptune into pools

Throw a coin and make a wish between the crowds

See how Firenze will make a change to you

A languid carp swims lazily by

In aquamarine fountain pond

Sparkling with coins of well wishers that go by

Seeking morsels or a resting fly

Neptune statue watches over

Medici’s paradise before his eyes

The watery garden’s manicured vista

A vision created through the years

Cared for by an unseen master

Timeless, rolling, neatly tendered

Somehow fitting for his pride.

Where have you been Muddy river?

Frothing cappuccino past the city

Urgent over race and weir

Cleansing all the lovers tears.

Darkening skies and threatenings of thunder.

Rain in torrents, washing marble floors

Florentina blues hang in the heavy doors

A cyclist holding an umbrella

Faint hope against the drenching he’s receiving

But soon it’s passed and sunshine once again it lures

Dreaming spires soar over terracotta roof tiles

Cooling showers wash them clean again

Overloaded down pipes spout their gurgling smiles

Overflowing, coping with the strain

Modern Firenze has a different story

Roads are clogged with cars of every make

Creeping like beetles, slowly through the masses

As people scurry, barely looking onwards

Faces buried into screens so small

The cars are small too - some not cars at all.

A welcome pitstop in a Trattoria

Chianti burning fiery red like ruby

Simple bread with oil or black balsamic

Revives the spirits, off we go again.

As dusk falls, Firenze comes to life

The city people promenade their style

Imbibe Chianti, linger for a while

Trattoria’s are plying for their coin

Starry skies above il Duomo form

A backdrop for this Tuscan smile

Alive, a vibrant day will dawn

Medici’s influence, present all the while.

Marble hewn into legible form

Graces every ledge in each direction

Excruciating

Painstaking

Accuracy a crucial imitation

Tuscan mist rolls over hills and dales

Breathing depth of character and shades of every hue

A passing cloud leave rainbows in its wake

A splash of colour against the black and blue

Golden vines tumble over hillsides

The fruit, all harvested and safely gathered home

Groves of Olives send the wind so fragrant

Sweet air laden with this powerful aroma

A farmhouse sits on hilltop looking o’er.

Cypress trees stand like sentinels

Guarding ancient routes, to refuges secure

The pilgrims past knew this country well

They trudged the paths seeking immortality divine

And laid their weary heads behind these doors

Siena’s ancient past is ground into these floors

If walls could speak, the tales they would tell

Of ancient times and gatherings round the well.

A throng of revellers cram into the main piazza over there

The volume raises and tension fills the air

10 horsemen with ancient clothes to wear

Guide trusty steeds for twice around square

No saddle or protection, but the horses do not care

They’re off, the crowd goes wild with delight

It’s rough out there, no quarter given in the fight

It’s dog eat dog and round they go again

The steeds race on ignoring any pain

Excitement burns and as they near the line

The winner is of course the best and it’s Equine.

Thank you for reading