Leslie Dianne is a poet, novelist, screenwriter, playwright and performer whose work has been acclaimed internationally in places such as the Harrogate Fringe Festival in Great Britain, The International Arts Festival in Tuscany, Italy and at La Mama in New York City. Her stage plays have been produced in NYC at The American Theater of Actors, The Raw Space, The Puerto Rican Traveling Theater and The Lamb’s Theater. She holds a BA in French Literature from CUNY and her poems have appeared in The Lake, Ghost City Review, The Literary Yard, About Place Journal and Kairos and are forthcoming in Hawai’i Review. Her poetry was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Our night in Sardegna
a town whose name
I could not pronounce
could not master the
open vowels
in the syllables
so foreign to my tongue
someone carved steps
out of the mountains
with a rough rusty blade
sun bleached stones
took the shape
of galloping horses
hurling themselves
to the shore
sea foam arched
its back, then relaxed
a thumbprint sun
promised that the
rest of the day would
be blessed by a holy hand
we navigated the pebbled beach
the air still as our shadows
that our bodies swallowed
when we lay down
to welcome the night
and offer our dreams
to the Mediterranean moon
On a Sicilian Beach in Milazzo
On this rocky beach
a thousand pebbles
washed white by the waves
are stamped with the memories
of distant soldiers marching
pressing their weight
into the earth after having
whipped the sea
they are ghosts
here beside us
Al Kalbi’s sons
marching on this
beach of Bal’harm
their Moorish sweat
travels in the mist
that conceals the shapes
of dozens of African ships
you offer your brown jacket
and on this spot
where you insist
we stop
and kiss
history watches us
fall in love
Published in Rue Scribe – September 26, 2018
Riviera Day
On the cobble stone road
down to the sea
ten miles from Italy
under a French painter’s sky
at the beginning of spring
I watch the women
going to market
and charming their way
through the morning
The motorbikes speed
and the quick boys
take the dangerous curves
with abandon
to impress the clusters
of girls smiling on the sidelines
As the boys race to the
end of the boulevard
A nod, bonjour
a glance, then Madame
a croissant smile
a heavy accented hello
in a growl filled voice
where if I listen hard I
can hear wine
whiskey and gin
A boat motor revs
a fisherman
lifts his pole and
takes off for the depths
where the fish are
still and the waters
are calm
The sea churns behind him
sending tiny ripples
of froth back to the wharf
where I wait
For the sunlight
to change
and fall just right
so that I can
record on the canvas
of the page
the words that
describe this amazing
Riviera day
Published in Furtive Dalliance – Fall/2018
Poetry in this post: © Leslie Dianne
Published with the permission of Leslie Dianne