Day 14: Six years of practice

Today marks the sixth anniversary of my disembarkation on the silver coast of Tuscany. First some early photos from then and next a poem.

Costa d’Argento is the real name of the area around me in the south of Tuscany and you know it’s a good place when you have to reduce the green in your photos.

This is what I saw on my first stroll to the sea six years ago, as yet without the dog because bestia came two months later. Imagine just having moved here.

That Canon, my first digital camera, from the recent poem was not so bad after all, was it. 😉

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  If somebody is curious: such a postbox lasts six year. We had to ditch this one just now.

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  There is still the donkey neighbour, probably not the same though.

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  Plenty of doves mourning or in pairs.

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  This one is still around too.

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  Yield, don’t break. And breathe.

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  Wish to jump in headfirst.

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  I must go see it soon.

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  New growth.

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  Some horses are always nearby.

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  As are these, the Maremma cattle.

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  The road to the beach, less than 2 km from home. I hope the sea doesn’t come closer soon.

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  Stay here, good sea.

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  This photo needed some green removed.

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  So much space.

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  With child.

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  Lucifer and Chloe.

Today’s poem is about word confusions. English is complicated enough but mix it either with amore’s Italian or my Slovenian and you’ve got enough entertainment to last six years. Oh, bestia is fluent in all three, plus dog.

In the course of reading other people’s poems I came across the poem form Shadorma (six lines in a stanza with the syllables in meter of 3/5/3/3/7/5). I liked the idea so here is my first Shadorma chain.

Challenge 14: “Write a poem that incorporates homophones, homographs, and homonyms, or otherwise makes productive use of English’s ridiculously complex spelling rules and opportunities for mis-hearings and mis-readings.”

Six years of practice

 Hard to know
 what he means sometimes
 if a word
 starts with H.
 In his language it’s silent.
 And illarious.

 So we eat  
 the furnace when cold
 and heat fruit
 and salad.  
 At hate o’clock he tells them:
 “I eight mosquitoes.”

 “I’m hangry.”  
 By now I can tell
 which it is.  
 When ungry, he doesn’t speak.
 Six years of practice. 

For Day 14 of NaPoWriMo