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

Ahhh I remember that - especially the gurgling smiles of the down pipe !
Beautiful imagery through a place I’ve never been.