Introducing … Diane Giardi

Diane Giardi is a member of the  North Shore Poets’ Forum and the Massachusetts State Poetry Society, joining in 2008 after moving with her husband to Annisquam in Gloucester  from Southold, NY.

Diane is an artist, with an MFA in clay. She currently teaches art at Buckingham, Browne & Nichols and Endicott College, and she has  taught in the past at The DeCordova Museum School, Syracuse University and The School of The Museum of Fine Arts. To visit her visual arts/education website, link to: http://campus.digication.com/dianegiardi

Diane has enjoyed writing poems since she was very young.  She is sharing here four poems that won awards in the 2009 Massachusetts State Poetry Society’s annual multi-category national contest.

Hanging on Your Every Line

What you underlined

will keep me sane.

I revisit you.

I know you, why that sentence says it all.

How you connect,

what it means and

I’m back in time.

I love the waviness of your line

from deep red marker, to light charcoal pencil, to faded blue pen.

My eyes rest on the stars you created,

highlighting the paragraphs

that describe what mattered in our lives.

I dive into the pages where you wrapped circles around their numbers,

so many years ago.

You speak to me again as I reread

what fed us.

Reinforcing why I love you,

why life, lonelier now is still worth living.

Lasagna Layers

You laid down the simmered sauce

of elephant garlic and large-leafed basil,

blended with parsley and plum tomatoes,

setting down a strong foundation.

With care you lifted the sheets of

egg-rich pasta

and tucked in the edges neatly

like the corners of a well-made bed.

Next, garden spinach, fennel sausage

and aged Pecorina Romano.

After spices

you paused to set the right temperature.

Gathering shavings of smoked mozzarella

your fingers slowly sprinkled

a very even, ample blanket,

leaving no corner, no section

in need.

It has all it needs.

You have all you need.

It will be delicious.

You are delicious.

Mangia, Figlia Bella

92 Dreams Deferred

Langston knew

In gut, in soul

Feels the bottom

Feels the whole

Wrenching longing

To be

To do

One dream, ten dreams

Ninety-two

Unwrapped talents

Unused skills

Passions passing

Dropped

In sills

Deflate, debunk

Denounce, deprive

Straight-jacketed ambition

Cobwebbed drive

Deaf ears turned

Curtain drawn

Ninety-two dreams

Left unspawned

And We Will Make Silence

The deer outside our bedroom window

is inches from the screen.

We hunch, whispering, close and still.

We have grown on this island

like seeds under cotton mesh,

bulbs under glass.

We play in this terrarium of sun, moisture and heat.

Cycling paths – strengthening our legs.

Rowing creeks – building shoulders.

Strokes in warm ocean waters – stretching our backs.

And hearts coddled with open-ended time we spend together.

We have few amenities,

but all the peace of mind

our creative souls take hold of.

He will make a boat, a graceful chair.

I will make a teabag print, a sculpture from clay.

And we will make dinner.

And we will make silence.

And we will make love.

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