Bologna. Oh Bologna
Yesterdays blog brought to mind some of the other wonderful places I have had the privilege to visit.
Bologna being one of them. Several people have said how much they love the poem that I wrote whilst in Bologna, so just uploaded it – please read and enjoy.
Meanwhile – not forgotten about Seville!
Bologna. Oh Bologna!
Oh Bologna! This city so diverse and full of love.
My heart assures me that somewhere my lover is hidden amongst the crowds.
The odours from the cooking. The complexity of the excellent red wine;
delightful to my senses. And as I feel the gentle breeze, I brush away the kiss curl from my eye. My lungs breathe in the atmosphere. My heart soaks up the Italian passion.
For this city so full of exuberance, will forever stay in my mind.
…….
The oldest university in Europe. The students so care free.
The many bicycles they pass me by. A force to be reckoned with by each taxi.
Meandering across the road. Oh heavens above! The tram I nearly did not see.
Oh where is my lover? I walk. I glance. I wonder. Where can he be?
Why don’t I see him? Why doesn’t he come to me?
For sure he’s there, hidden amongst the crowds.
……….
The buildings are authentic, medieval and so divine.
A photo please Sir? I ask the passer by. A memory to keep, to be mine.
A cappuccino is the next thing, at my preferred café bar.
Then the open top turi-bus, slowly passes by.
Someone on the higher deck gives me an uncomfortable stare.
…………….
I soak up the ambience, in this oh so elegant square.
Peace and tranquillity transcend upon me.
Until a man beside me sits. The type of which, I most certainly will not embrace.
And then a whistle in the distance could be my saving grace, as a TV crew they catch his eye.
With interest he watches their escapades.
…………….
Then a pigeon on my table lands, most welcome to the crumbs.
But the cheek of it the olives and the canapés, he also tries to take.
I turn and sigh and look around.
Thank goodness, the man I didn’t like beside me, has evidently gone.
In his place a little dog, his mistress standing by.
A pink coat he wears. I laugh out loud.
The punters turn to find out why.
…………………………….
An artist sets up his easel, and begins to sketch.
The pan-pipes make pleasant music, the officer observes very suspect.
Do they need a licence or do they risk it anyway?
Then, a wheel chair and a carer, followed by fifty school children, slowly passes by.
I know, for I counted see, to satisfy my curiosity.
The teachers looking anxious, two heads they had obviously mis-placed.
Agh! To the water fountain, they had raced.
For sure they’ll be in trouble.
To the frightened teacher, their behaviour is really quite a disgrace.
…………………………….
I too decide to head that way, for a sip of fresh water is my desire.
But blast the mis-direction, the water goes in my eye.
I stumble over the tourist with his camera and tripod. Blinking pest!
A tissue to wipe away the smudged mascara I seek, then smile as I raise my head.
For I see him coming towards me.
I know he will love me even with black eyes.
Striding through the crowds, yellow roses in his hand
There he is, my lover. Mama Mia! My rescuer to hand!
…………
Now I live a country girl in a palace. A Rose of Sharon by my side.
You found me oh my lover. You found me in the crowd.
You found me in Bologna, on that oh so special day.
I’ll never let you leave me. For sure, that’s one thing I will pray.
Anna McKann Bologna 2011
