The following is a poem about and against Caporalato, the modern slavery in the Italian countryside, where migrants - men and women - pick up fruit and vegetables, especially the Red Gold - tomatoes - in terrible conditions. Many are victims of physical and sexual violence, many die of heart attacks due to the hard conditions in which they are kept and work. Nobody knows their names or knows they’re working there. This has been going on for years and years. 

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THE SUN KISSES THE PRETTIEST 

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The sun kisses the prettiest.

It’s an Italian saying

he says.

 

3 euros per hour, 12 hours per day

The red-gold burning in his ears

between the toes, up the ass

 

Picking tomatoes 7 days a week

bent and burnt

crashing in the shack with a stroke. 

 

The red-mud boss’ boots

pushed him down the creek at noon

before stripping his poor pendant.

 

The sun kisses the prettiest.

Lucky you

he said.

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https://www.tintjournal.com/poetry/308-the-sun-kisses-the-prettiest 

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The following was written in 2015. Since then I have always read this poem at festivals or poetic events. 

Kurdish people are still oppressed, imprisoned, extradited, killed. Until this stops, I will go on reading this and other poems of mine to support their struggle.  

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SHINGAL 

to Kurdish women fighting Daesh
 

August 3rd 2014, systematic rape of 3thousand Yazidi Kurdish Women

 

On the liquor stores they destroy

they spray the name of the caliph

with drugs and booze in their pockets.

We’re all running to Mount Shingal

NO water\food\shelter from the West.

 

Up here the only plant is Tiny

like Mercy.

 

Some humans are more humans than others.

 

Some women are less people than others.

 

I left Germany to go back to my homeland

We all live for our dead women

take up arms\philosophy\politics.

You don’t protect us, we self\defend EachOther.

 

Until yesterday I had to stay home waiting to be married

Waiting for Western help.

 

I laid out my braid on her and said:

I’ll come, I’ll see, I’ll conquer

 

I leave you the rose from that tiny plant on Shingal

a Rose has thorns, not to attack,

but to defend.

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http://www.thedreamingmachine.com/silviotrump-serena-piccoli/ 

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IT’S HONEY, DARLING!

 

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We’ve killed all the Bees.

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Now – as we’re the smartest on earth

at the same time once a month

we all stand outside tongue out

to lick one drop of acid rain

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and imagine it’s honey

 

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https://www.giallolit.com/serena-piccoli 

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And now for something completely different. A love poem to Alexandra.

 

 

 

DORMANT

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the door is ajar
                                                                              I shut it
                                                                                       to let you finally sleep
while I          behind it
am swinging along
with your dormant stag

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https://theopiatemagazine.com/2020/12/26/dormant-by-serena-piccoli/

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You can read some praise and comments to my poems here: praise

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From the Acknowledgements page of gulp\gasp, out in autumn 2022, published by Moria Poetry, Chicago, USA

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"I would like to thank all the publishers and directors of
Abridged, Giallo, the Sub-Saharan Magazine, the BeZine, Opiate Magazine, Bridgewater International Poetry Festival,

New Orleans Poetry Festival, Elba Poetry Festival, Concision Poetry,
the Lit Quarterly Canada, Sonder Magazine, Prismatica, Ice Floe Press, 845 Press, Best Buds Collective, Tipping the Scales, Global Poemic, Floresta, Versante Ripido, Clay Literary, the Confessionalist, the Elpis Page, Coal Lick Run, the Dreaming Machine, Forever Endeavour, Letters with Wings, Wine Cellar Press, Tint Journal, 

Vagabond Press, Poetry Health Service, and UK Places of Poetry." 

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You can buy the book here: gulp\gasp

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