My Miseno

Come, come with me, I will take you with me to discover the magic of Miseno. It starts from …

Marina Piccola (literally “small marina”) at night

Last stop before returning home,

every night you entered the postcard

and took his place on a bench at the edge,

where the noise of the bowls persists.

One last breath of moisture,

with eyes fixed on the horizon

and heavy eyelids.

Rhythmic noise from the sea

of steel wires on the tree

of a few sailboats in the harbor,

under the influence of the slight pitch

sing a lullaby

accompanied by the slow ebb of the waves

and the tolling of a distant bell.

A look to the East

And it’s still early for dawn,

then I turn it listlessly to the North

to look for the parent star

to guide me to the door,

after greeting friends,

and it is peace.

Just a few hours of sleep and even before dawn we go…

Spiaggia Verde (Green Beach)

(Said of lovers)

On a small rowboat

I slipped away, carefree, over

the cliff of the marina.

I caressed the breeze in front of the ancient nymphaeum,

and I breathed magic while I stopped at anchor.

Lush caper plants

hanging on the tuff wall

they were reflected in the waters of the breast

giving emerald reflections.

In front, a rough pumice

saliva bristly, covered, here and there,

of agave and wild ferules

with spectacular floral plumes.

Climbing recklessly,

quivering with life, we dived

in the clear and lonely sea,

and then swim to the small beach

and lie in the sun on coarse sand.

Enchanted by the place, she fell in love with it,

breathing amenity, sense control disappeared,

and prisoners of love we surrendered.

We return to the sea, towards the west to finally arrive in a crossing back in time to…

When … Cala Moresca in summer

I went down the stairs carved in stone

and the dry smell of the tuff was still mixed

to the sweat of so many bony and capable hands.

Down we went, with foresight,

among dry bushes and lizards in the sun

in Dante’s circle,

up to grasp the unrivaled prize.

Only mine and a few close friends, he sets it down,

gave an enchanted backdrop,

white of a thousand venereal valves.

On the unrepeatable transparency of the waters,

I, still a child, watched them pass

the feared Saracen warriors, returning

from bloody raids.

History marveled,

and from Capri, a few strokes,

the air carried,

together with the screech of a gavina,

the melodic song of the Sirens.

Don’t be charmed, I said to myself,

it’s time to go back, and this time as a castaway,

a little Greek, a little Roman, a little Moor,

but still a hero, I swam and beached exhausted.

Instead, we continue on foot, starting the ascent of the promontory to find ourselves …

At the Miseno lighthouse

White clouds,

clouds like souls,

read follow the wind

and human passions.

Sitting on the ridge

dear to me from youth

I wait for the first drops

wet with blue

one with my sea,

my story and the saline

of my knowledge,

I feel soul.

We stop, tired but happy, there is still a lot to discover, maybe we will do it in the future, now, from up here, we can enjoy paradise or something similar!

Written by: Rino Costigliola
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