Thursday, July 1, 2021





A Hanging Wish


I would like an illusion to explain the way

a course of light flashing in the dark

the arc of a dream hoped for it to be

the prayer of an idea, in flash

and a thought that comes to mind:

to ask you what, oh shooting star?


I would like to find in the August’ night

luck, destiny, broken memories

a scream never born, hidden and occult

that leads my way away

far from here, from what I am.

To say to the soul that looks surrendered:

they are questions for help to the waiting light.


I have a wish hanging in the sky

on the tip of a fallen star.



Elegy Of A Love


On this silent page

I trace the signs of a love

that cannot exist

out of dreams and words.

I nourish semblance

silent notes


that we have not lived

that we will not live

we will not know.

Poets sing the feeling

wandering among deserts, in time

they ask the moon to give sense

they cannot know

that I would fly to you now

to catch the distant tear

the kiss I never gave you

the caress that I await

vagueness, in the imagined touch.

So I deceive the beating of this heart of mine

and on the paper I paint what remains

of an impossible love

I leave the longed-for existence

to the only oblivion of pain:

make of your absence

the elegy of a love.



So That There Is Still Sound


Walk with me, silence

to this breeze

in the breath of a storm

in the light that announces the day

in the darkness that annihilates life.

Walk with me

when I become a thief

and, barefoot and wounded,

through rugged paths

and with the nails I scrubble

rock spurs

clinging to the scream of existing

which is not silent

on the crests crossed

reached, forgotten.

Accompany, silence

the exploits of fallen heroes

of dark dead

of forgotten men

of young people mocked

of tortured women

and shout at me

to oppose the wounded blood

of those who persevere in the struggle

to tell the whiteness of a dawn

stolen from the stones removed.


So that there is still sound

scattered in echoes

in your silences.




LUISA DI FRANCESCO: Born in Taranto in 1960, graduated, she has been a teacher since 1983; she teaches literary subjects at the "Liside" Institute in her city. She is an ordinary member of the "Focus" Cultural Association of Taranto and of the Academy of Bronzes of Catanzaro; editor of the online newspaper "The voice to the Italians". Since she was a child, she has shown a keen interest in reading: from fictional texts for children to the great authors of the nineteenth and twentieth century literary scene. A lover of literature, poetry and art in all forms, she writes stories and poetic texts entrusting the motions of her soul to the "sign". She has published two poetry collections: "Grammi di vero", VJ Edizioni, Milan, December 2020 and "Pandora's box", Pegasus Edition, February 2021. With the collection "Pandora's box" she was the winner of the 2020 Montefiore International Prize. Luisa was ranked first for Fiction at the “Le parole di Lavinia 2020” Award, with the story: “It's normal”. She has participated in several national and international literary competitions, receiving numerous prizes, mentions and acknowledgments. Many poems and short stories by her have been included in dedicated anthologies.

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