Poetry Competition Entries

Alessandro Benedetto Ciampi

Untitled

"And if I did, what then?
Are you aggriev'd therefore?
The sea hath fish for every man,
And what would you have more?"

Thus did my mistress once,
Amaze my mind with doubt;
And popp'd a question for the nonce
To beat my brains about.

Whereto I thus replied:
"Each fisherman can wish
That all the seas at every tide
Were his alone to fish.

"And so did I (in vain)
But since it may not be,
Let such fish there as find the gain,
And leave the loss for me.

"And with such luck and loss
I will content myself,
Till tides of turning time may toss
Such fishers on the shelf.

"And when they stick on sands,
That every man may see,
Then will I laugh and clap my hands,
As they do now at me."

Arturo Negri

Verses on the Vision of Saint Emilia of Arbes

Simple, honest soul,
How could you have known?
At a moment's turn your life transformed.
Where once His basest creatures roamed,
The ox, a goat, a chicken there,
A blast of Holy light revealed,
The Angels descended from Heaven.

They carry forth their precious stones,
More bright than any mortals find,
And blessed candles held on high,
Illuminate the midday sky.
Their message should assuage your fear,
For devotion now will surely bear,
His divine protection.

Bartolomeo Gagliardi

A Novice's lament on attending his lessons (Humorous Poetry Prize)

Two cardinals to my regret arrived,
Intent each one on that for which he strived;
The one with ardour burning in his heart,
Or if not there, at least some other part;
The other preached that duty did reside,
In obedience and not resistant pride;
And I, with such stern masters did espy,
From their demands I could not lightly fly.

My lot it is to serve their eminence,
Most mindful of their rightful prominence;
I can not balk and may not cry a tear,
Should quibble not nor neither show them fear;
For life is short and full of obligation,
Unpleasant tasks best met with resignation;
The time will come, my service it will end,
And who knows when I shall need an older friend.

Firm service now is oft rewarded after,
And so I meet my fate with feigned laughter;
As I am now so they were once before,
Where I have served no doubt shall many more;
Their demands met each one did seem repleted,
Of that which filled them each was most depleted;
Dull lessons can but be a heavy yoke,
Why, what else was it of which you thought I spoke?

And so I say to those who hear my tale,
Heed well my words and they shall keep you hale;
When unpleasantness or grief with you does stay,
And harsh requirement enters too the fray;
Offer up most freely what you must freely give,
We each must do what needs we must to live;
If God's decree is that you be a novice,
At least be cheerful in your present service.

Domenico Facente

Lament for a Lute

How my body does tremble,
a rabbit I resemble,
fearful in the hunter's snare,
my fragile heart full of care.
Where is my pine-wood comrade?
A comfort when one is sad,
its agile voice full of joy,
a subtle shield I employ.
Where is my fickle friend,
Frets and courses I may bend
to suit the mood of this night,
allow a song to take flight?
But a lute is not allowed,
I must speak alone, aloud.
Who can know the dread I feel?
My fear I cannot conceal.
But courage is to prevail,
even if my tongue may fail.
I ask my heart to be calm,
let Thalia be my balm.
In this place I am a guest,
my lute must now lay at rest.

Untitled

When David heard that Absalom was slain,
He went up to his chamber and he wept.
Long and fam-ed had been the great king's reign,
But into his household discord had crept.
His sinful lust for Bathsheba, so fair,
His cold envy of Uriah, laid bare,
Prideful acts and lying convolution,
How just was the Lord's just retribution?
When David heard that Absalom was slain,
He went up to his chamber and sighed,
As a father struck down by guilt and pain,
He grieved for the traitorous son who died.
Thus, he mourned aloud: "Absalom, my son,
would I had died for Thee, my dearest one.
O Absalom, my son, would I have died
for Thee, my son." lamenting David cried.

Untitled

The moonlight reflected,
on the clean white washed walls,
with my wounds collected,
I sit and still recall,
the sound of your laughter,
as I sang foolish songs,
and the kisses after,
you forgave all my wrongs.
Your complexion too dark,
your black hair unadorned,
your green eyes, oh, so stark,
Beauty not to be scorned.
Fashion does not understand,
"Nigra sum sed formosa"
I still reach for your soft hand,
my love, my pearl, my dear Rosa.

The Arno

As the Arno flowed to the sea
what did the dawn whisper to me?
No, it was my love's soft, warm voice,
that caused my own heart to rejoice.
She was grace and philosophy,
speaking of love's mystery.
With each sweet kiss, with each caress,
with each embrace, I will confess,
I saw my own soul in her eyes,
such a gift no one may despise.

As the Arno flowed to the sea,
Fate stole all that was dear to me.
even as I kissed her last breath
her beauty was untouched by Death.
She that gave me her soul and heart,
from my life never shall depart.
Although this wound will not heal,
my love for her, Death cannot steal.
So, I shall hold her memory,
while the Arno flows to the sea.

The Raven

I have a raven, who has made a nest,
it has made a home, deep within my breast.
He wakes while I sleep, swiftly taking flight,
plucking a small piece, of my soul each night.
It visits that house, where a rosebush blooms,
it waits patiently, in those empty rooms.
Hoping to give you another fresh part,
of what yet remains of my beating heart.
Vainly it searches for your gentle face,
until it tires, and returning to its place
deep within my breast, it sleeps when I wake.
Its nightly duty it will not forsake.
It balances on the blade of a knife,
all that remains of my love an my life.
It feeds upon my own fear and distress.
I have a raven, its name: loneliness.

For Claudia

Love has more than one shining face,
My fair friend, my Muse of such grace.
I cannot change our river's course,
But, there is no need for remorse.
You see past my imperfection,
accept me, without rejection.
We share a truth few understand,
to give to each, without demand.
Your honour I will never stain,
Yet in my heart you will remain.

Untitled (Honourable Mention Awarded)

(Allegro)
This is not the Carnevale,
I shall not sing "Palle, Palle"
People may know how I stutter,
but I will try not to mutter,
nor lose the rhythm of the verse,
forgive me if the rhyme is terse.
And if this poem lacks elegance,
its author does lack eloquence.
I know you will all comprehend,
that at some point the poem will end.

(Vivace)
Give me a subject,
Give me a theme,
I'll pluck on my lute,
I'll spin you a dream.
what is your preference?
Give me a reference!
Shall I extemporize?
What may I satirize?
How will I improvise?
Whom should I criticize?
NO!

(Presto)
Perhaps a tale of terror and fright?
But that may provoke a sleepless night.
What of the myths of Rome and Greece,
Or a plaintive song of Peace?
A lament of Cupid's darts,
wounding foolish lover' hearts?
If my offers you disdain,
this is now the last refrain.

(Moderato)
This is not the Carnevale,
I will not sing "Palle, Palle".
In God's good Grace I leave you all.
to another I cede the hall.

Enzo di Vitelli

Untitled

With sleepless eyes I wake,
Hoping for the sight I take.
A vision perhaps,
Or even a dream,
But it is all gone a now,
For all time's sake.

Guido d'Aosta

Untitled

Great are the lands of Italia,
the cradle of civilization!
Here the Romans were born,
conquerors, fierce men, great nation!

Great are our majestic mountains,
the snowed Alpi, the fierce Appenini.
Delightful also our rivers,
the Po, the Arno, the Tiber.

Great are the lands of Italia,
from north to south, from east to west.
Great are our so savvy merchants,
that ply the seas, and bring us wealth.

Great is Savoia and its Duke,
their House much respected by all.
Great is Milano their neighbour,
with their mountains thrusting to the sky.

Great are Modena, Ferrara, Mantova,
their peoples tall, their rulers proud.
Great is Venezia and her waterways,
that are so gracious and fair.

Great is Genova who bore a son
that gave us all a new world.
Great is Firenze and her artists,
renowned in all of the land.

Great the Patrimonio di San Pietro,
the Seat of the Santo Padre.
Great the Republic of Siena,
the land of this humble speaker.

But above all, standing proud,
standing tall among much lesser mortals,
stands Leo Decimo, who was born Giovanni,
the jewel and crown on Italia's head!

Iacopo di Rossi

Untitled

Among the discord, God holds the enemies at bay:
With a Pope, he opens the doors to the throne of thrones
This one won't flee the sword,
This one, as strong as God, will face the sword!
The world is dust.

The flood of worshipers will grow and will follow the light in which God resides
He will clean the wounds of the world from all its vermins
He will clean the sanctuaries of the churches and wipe their floors.
HE will show the true God as clear as daylight.

We need great strength to keep God in this world of ours
Here he comes, The Pope, the brother of the people

Lucio Malvezzo

Untitled

My true love, I yearn
to see your fresh face
My breast beats fast when
your footfalls thither,
But I dare not o'
-penly make my case
Lest my voice tremble
and mine hand quiver
Dost thou know that
I e'en exist?
& wouldst thou take
the time of day
To determine both
between and twixt
The highborn prince
and doughty drey
Like the saint I
resist temptation
and hope for a glance
to bring my
salvation

Rinaldo Leonardo Amadeo de Gregori

The Gauntlet Cast Down

"Oh fellow scribes, of talents not contested,
"It is but fair to try, to win, or-- bested--
"Cede the field to one whose words have proved
"His heart is passionate, his spirit moved

"To cast the gauntlet poesy, words his sword.
"He seeks to please the Chosen of our Lord,
"Who inspir's all our hearts to do great deeds.
"Let now these meagre efforts be the seeds

"Of greater musing, very oaks of phrase
"Who branches lift in eager praise
"To Him we serve. His glory bright
"Inspires my muse, my heart, my quill to write.

On a Seed (Fine Poetry Prize)

Drifting, blowing, whither going?
"Dande de lion", whitely showing
All the method of his journey.
Knowing not which way to turn, he.

Fate his steersman, winds his pilot:
Could a man's life be thus? My lot
Like the seed's, to wander, wond'ring
In the darkness blindly blund'ring?

Yet the seed of love grows swiftly
And the light of God shall gift thee:
With its rays benignly beaming,
Heaven's glories sweetly streaming.

Ev'ry seed shall find its place of
Growth, and rest, in our God's love.

A Sonnet upon the Luminosity of our Papal Court And the Pope's Gracious Patronage of the Arts (Topical Poetry Prize)

Though Science be the new toy of the noble mind
And debate rage o'er energies and alchemies sublime,
I make bold now, in scientific-poesy-kind,
To put forth my treatise in chimeric rhyme.

What body luminous, what planet, moon or star
Could with our own divinely-granted Pope compare?
Whose radiancy us doth illume from afar,
Beyond the mount of our esteem, with grace most fair.

The Pontifex, our glorious Sun, its place doth take
That Patron of Science and Art, of gracious mien,
Now given to rule by benison for our sake
By Him who rules us all, high, low and in between.

And so, let Poets, Sculptors, Composers and Painters all
Find solace in the thought: the Divine's Leo cares for all.

A Reflection on Patriotism and the Swiss Guards, And an Allegory About Oratorical Truths.

Trumpets sounding, hearts enfurl-ed
By the stirring, martial, theme-songs,
To the danse macabre whirl-ed,
Go the patr'ot regiments' throngs.

Let no lip be meanly curl-ed.
Let no voice cry meal-mouth'd. Truth longs
To be enemyward hurl-ed.
Our dear Factions must bear no wrongs.

Lest my reader think me plaintive,
Lest my words cloud o'er my true heart,
Lest it seem my tongue be set so:

Rinaldo will all he can, give;
Rinaldo will do his best part;
de' Gregori: to Missions go!

Reflecting on the Summer Past

In the sanguine dawn reflecting on months past,
What tempests oratorial the mind bedizen:
From reputation's mount have been downcast
So many, and so many new have risen.

Let ancient praise and ancient mourning intertwine.
The clouds "Mercurial" in unknowing clothed
The minds, who, sipping at the heady wine
Found that, once loved, their names must be now loathed.

Yet wisdom sits on him that sits astride the throne
Of Solomon, great Peter's sacrament.
Our Leo knew how best their skills to hone
And straitways his great plans they implement.

And so to him must go the final praise of we,
Who, actors on his stage did play
Our parts in Oratoric mummery
And so, at summer's end, carried the day.

Yet perfidy was hid 'neath words and gestures fine
And through Two-Doors only Janus can look,
While Angouleme the careless Fates entwine,
We look to find no happy ending to that book.

So let us gird our loins and gird our festive minds
For our great Patron's service is our joy.
While yet we celebrate in many kinds,
We look to greater trials, our talents to employ.

Vittorio Gregorio Magliano

Untitled

My life is pledged to another,
In spite of Father, mother, brother.
From the beginning of life through to the end,
His people are mine to gather and tend.
I serve the master and the lord,
Spreading his message without the sword.
The word is spread, the word is preached,
Throughout the ages his wisdom is teached.
He is our saviour, our heavenly father,
My life is pledged to another.