poetry pf header


home>poets>Davide Trame>more poems

Davide Trame      about Davide      back to Davide's page

events listing


home button poets button features button

links button shop button about ppf button email ppf button


last update:      

Sirocco               Illusion

         October           Prodigal




Mothers’ silver hair in the evening heat,

a bedchamber visited by waves

and a turquoise bedcover of lace and pearls.

In the day a line of salt on the doorstep,

a trench of whiteness shining on the plaster

as a scar.

Gusts of sea throat on the hot night asphalt;

then, stunned by the noon’s net,

a crab’s gaze is caught,

scraped out of the windy rust.

Africa at your heels, the low pounding of a breath,

the desert sailing up,

invading with shifts of sand the bewildered stages

and dishevelled sunlit curtains

and windows wide open as ages.


Davide Trame

first published in Orbis , Winter 2001






The sea after the storm, a neat, roughed up skin,

that is exactly what your own skin now wishes and gets,

goose-bumps glittering with foam and sunlight

haze-free in the clashing roar, the wave-crests charging upon the shore,

the wilderness’ marrow expanding in the morning.


After bathing in the sizzling frenzy

you sit and shiver and sense the simplicity

of Buddha’s all-is-an-illusion flash,

he must have never left what you are now touching for a moment


the quickness, the quicksilver sweeping strength of things,

he must have felt the utter joy

of sitting still while being swept away


as he had always been, in the park under the banyan tree,

far from the storm, the river flat in the heat.


Davide Trame

first published in Nimrod , Spring/Summer 2005






Dark-blue grapes, the rows of vines,

sky trimmed with cells of earth’s blood.


And stubble on brown-red clay,

sodden and glittering by the river’s run.


The field sunken and steady and straight.


And the slanted afternoon sun, the shadow-line

beaming on the hills’ ruffled old grass.


Red wine, its froth shimmering inside the smudged

shiny barrel, in the cellar echoing steps,

hoards of whispers in beams and plaster.


And mushrooms around tree trunks,

displayed stares, veins of inner plains,

trails of just uncovered hearts.


The wet turf looking always so glossy

with its focused ochre and black universe crumbs,

with horses stamping, eyes entering, drinking ours.


And the elm and the oak, home deep down

breathing upward, steady and tense.


And a gallery of rusty-yellow webbed plane leaves,

large whispers shuffling pregnant with sky seeds.


Then a first fire

crackling, quiet, orange fingers

spread into dusk,

and chestnuts burnt on the edges,

our nether heaven

fierce in the coming dark.


Davide Trame

first published in River Oak Fall, 2005






It’s back, the fiery stripe on your table,

it’s higher now, out early above the opposite roof,

it gives your shoulders, through the window pane,

a foretaste of the luminous time to come.

Despite the promise of a clawing heat

you welcome it, without reserve.

You silently praise the unframed radiant countenance

and can’t feel close

to the Hindu monks who sit cross-legged

in a row on the beach, the reds and yellows

of their vests and faces full bright

in the broad bountiful light,

while they finger the coral beads in front of the sea

whispering their mantras not to be reborn

and trickles of sand stream away in the wind.

No, you can’t understand them at all,

your heart is “fastened to a dying animal”, no doubt,

but you feel healthy with desire

sitting at your warm illuminated table,

your arms settled on the smooth sunlit cherry-wood lines,

on time’s renewed, homecoming complexion.


Davide Trame

first published in Urthona Magazine, 22, 2005


© of all poems featured on this site remains with the poet
site feedback welcome