Amore mio

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Selected poems


Amore mio

The neighbour says, So sorry. And sir,

you are the last paesano on this street.

Maria you promised me. I could go first.

Ti perdono, I forgive you, amore mio.


I sit in our backyard under lemon shade, amongst

the hens tomato plants and capsicums. I fall into each

wishful memory. We danced, those ad-hoc strolls

and laughter, you hummed our favourite songs.


I doze and dream you back to me,

remembering when there was no time

between us. All I want is for you to guide

me home. Please.



username:  detective


Yet it’s there, this desire

to please whoever he may be, to often

forget what’s meant to be known,

probe as far as the eye can see 

and search for whatever remains.


(the comfort zone)

There was a time when each choice

had its own destiny,

regrets few and far between,

when the way we were was known to everyone

and make believe here to stay.



Remember this, he wants to hear what you

mustn’t say to him, a sequel to his

show and tell. He tries to live a memory

of the heart, to submit facts about

those rumours of his fall from grace,


and take his truth back to where it all began.



Mary whispers,

Stay out of trouble if you can,

I worry that you may not cope with fame.

And when you talk please don’t

exaggerate. They’ll say it’s fake news and not

worth the effort to believe in you.


Though the poor man makes the world

seem so intense and paralysed,

let Peter read your eulogy, quote Psalm 46:10

perhaps. I know it comforts you.


One last thing, Will you let me care for you

until it’s time to go? I would like that very much.




Let others do the worrying,

his vendetta for a history that came too close

for comfort.

Even now,  after so long,

he hates it when people take. him. for. granted.

and needs to be sure of what will happen next.


No what if, regrets, comma, if only, yes but


He repeats the obvious told you so

and dreams each day into the world,

for real. This familiar stranger with the grey

heart.                                    To be continued . . .




Born in Italy, Ugo Rotellini lives in Adelaide. He worked in social welfare with recently arrived migrants and refugees. He has poems and short stories published in a variety of Australian journals.

Topic tags: Ugo Rotellini, poetry



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Existing comments

Ugo, you convey beautifully in "Amore mio" the poignancy of loneliness and grief at losing one's beloved. And in "Mary whispers" your imaginative construction of Mary's maternal advice to Jesus before he embarks on his public ministry rings very true. Thank you.

John RD | 13 October 2021  

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