Day 15 & Friendly Friday beneath our feet

Here is a collection of things under my feet in photos and another of things I don’t care about in the poem. April halfway done!

Prompt 15: “This one may seem counter-intuitive, but today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in. This isn’t quite the same, I think, as something you’re indifferent to.“

No, on the contrary, “no interest in” is a bit too mild for some of these. This list poem was written in bed by 6.05 am. And then I could sleep some more.

Back off

People with big dogs “for protection”.
“Step nearer the edge”.
Breaking a horse.
Guns as problem-solvers.
Authority without a clue.
“Unused potential”.
Ambition (“makes you look really ugly”).
Franz Kafka: “The Castle”.
“Don’t Look Up”.
“La Grande Bellezza”.
Truffles, the mushrooms.
Drugs, unneeded ones.
Aesthetic surgery for kicks.
Invisible art.
Most jazz (I tried).
Organised religion.
Cryptocurrencies.
Moderation.
Heat.

Since Amanda wishes to see what is beneath our feet for her Friendly Friday challenge, here is a compilation of my views through the year.

This is now.

Bursting forth.

Roadside growth, before they cut it for safety.

Not quite yet but soon. May 2013.

End of May. Do you see the remains of the Roman town Cosa on the first peninsula?

This is Cosa. History beneath our feet on every corner of Italy.

La Grande Bellezza (“Big Beauty”) in Rome. (I didn’t love the film of this name though.)

A fishpond in Florence.

In a courtyard nearby.

Cats. Beneath our feet all year long.

As is bestia. In parents’ garden in Piran, Slovenia, when summer comes.

Piran fishermen have these under their feet.

Autumn in Tuscany. Bestia is not a fan of such a bridge but he manages.

Better this way or sand would be a problem.

October under my feet.

January. Humidity is high.

February and the remains of the Carnival.

Once in nine years there was snow for one day: February 26 2018.

And then spring is back with its pretty wildflowers.

And finally, every Thursday is a good day for doors.

For Friendly Friday Challenge hosted by Amanda at Something to Ponder About: Beneath My Feet

The last day in my NaPoWriMo history

2018: Half way!

He was sitting there
alone
eyes glazed over
nursing a litre.
I’m not sure he recognised me
since I withdrew
the moment I saw who he was.
I was tempted to go back
to clear out some mud
but then thought better of it.
Nahhh.
That lonely glass
serves you more right
than I ever could.

(Read all.)

2019: Viciously Delicious

“Here is your granddaughter,
fatten her up a bit.”

“What would you like for dinner?”
“Same again, grandma.”
 
“Ohh, aren’t you cute,
such a healthy, fat child!” 
(Read on.) 

2020: Whack

Not Eyetalian
yet in Toscana,
seem white and yet
I’m from Lublana.
Like what they said for Luka:
He is not white,
he’s from the Ball-kans,
I can tell impressive
from pressing
on and on
like his effortless passing. 
(Read on + more Florence)

2021: Legacy

My father shared the stage with bards most noted
and published poems, but then had to marry. 
His verse is soft, of love, nothing too scary,
romantic without being sugar-coated. 

My mother is a rapper, non-promoted.
When she hits 80: festival, not dairy! 
She writes for those who in her heart she’d carry,
to children’s poems she is most devoted. 
(Read all.)

This day in my blogging history

• 2014: The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry. —Ernest Hemingway

• 2014: The present’s fine. The present’s perfect. The present’s peachy fucking creamy. The only thing wrong with the present is the bastard doesn’t exist… because the present is the future, and the future is the past… and it’s all the same fucking bag of bones anyway. It’s a constant process of coming into being and passing away… coming into being and passing away. The future is now. (…) You can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs… and humanity is just a cracked egg… and the omelet stinks. —From “Naked“, directed by Mike Leigh.

• 

  2014: Giving up but playful, young but cocky, defeated but cute, like the Suns.

• 

  2014: Poppy paste

• 

  2015: Comfort in progress in Orvieto.

• 

  2016: Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you. —Annie Dillard

• 

  2017: A surprising visit to Civitavecchia