Haiku of Pitch #3

Every encounter takes place in the universe

Two magical creatures, called Pitch, meet in a realm of moons and butterflies
Two magical creatures, called Pitch, meet in a realm of moons and butterflies
Illustration by Andrea Sufferini based on the idea of Pitch

Butterflies and moons
Me and you
Every encounter takes place in the universe

Lune e farfalle
Io e te
Ogni incontro avviene nell’universo

November 29, 1918. Professor Black is a child of just four years old. He lives with his mom, loves to play in the garden. Dad is an aviator. Dad is at war.

A cobweb is a precious place. Professor Black can already read and write, he can calculate a square root in his head. Rather than imagine, he prefers to observe. The bark of a birch tree. A drop of dew. …


The Havanun Tales #27

A polyglot dream

Drawing by my cousin Andrea Sufferini

The city of Havanun is a huge coffee maker
that mumbles with joy

There’s a probable moment
when the sheep the stones the dreams sleep
and the sly sun
puts its paw in the world

There’s a painting not yet famous
a green shutter the sparkling sea
on the kitchen table a sugar bowl donated
years ago

There’s the marching band that passes by
and nobody notices
there’s a clandestine music
that’s only for the soul

There’s Dorothy having a birthday today
and James waking up earlier
and preparing a kiss
and writing the repeated words of love

There’s Anna


Everyday Stories #26

Writing prompt with Bear

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

The Teelusikallista hide in the green moss.
They have a sweet tooth but are not greedy.
They can settle for a teaspoon of sugar.
They are also discreet and quiet.
However, if they think no one sees them, they start jumping from log to log, stone to stone, and sing a cheerful song about how the forest loves everyone.
The voice of the Teelusikallista resembles that of children’s xylophones.

Miia once managed to listen to that song, well hidden behind a bush, holding her breath, holding Teddy Bear by the hand.
Teddy Bear is her best friend, Miia takes him everywhere.
Teddy…


Everyday Stories #25

I am not the same person who started this sentence

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I’m not the same person who started this sentence. I’m already different now.

The house looks like a castle. Whitest. Walls of sugar. The windows are pieces of sky. Roses everywhere. Gentle, discreet, timid roses. The doorbell is gilded, a little worn by time. I press the button and the button sinks softly, it seems to lower itself and I don’t hear any sound coming from inside. The maid comes to open me. Agnes is her name. If you wish, you can leave your coat here. Follow me. Mrs Starfish is waiting for you.

“I’m not the same person who…


Everyday Stories #24

Sometimes memories are able to…

Photo by Yaopey Yong on Unsplash

We were seven children
each seven years old
Our teeth gleamed in the moonlight
Sharp and newborn and white
able to chew the toughest candy

Our bikes were built with interstellar material
All the roads
were downhill and wide as electric guitars
in the summer night
And shivers down our spines
made the cornfields sway

I would fall I would get up
My father poured a red liquid on the wounds
It burned
and smelled of a stormy sea
My mother sewed colorful patches
on torn overalls
The wounds
The wounds were used to healing on their own
I didn’t have to do anything
Just play…


Everyday Stories #27

Of human love

Photo by Conscious Design on Unsplash

Maria sleeps, wakes up, plays with the sensor wires.
The angel keeps watch.
He marvels at the human body,
which is not made to resist the passing of time,
not enough, at least.

It is too susceptible,
it reluctantly adapts to maintenance,
it is too frail to last.
It does not have
the bark of the centuries-old tree,
the extraordinary reversibility of the jellyfish,
the stubborn resistance of bacteria.

Unlike other living beings,
it does not seem
to want to survive at all costs. …


The Havanun Tales #26

Where words do not reach

Photo by Joyce McCown on Unsplash

Conor’s prayer

You are the Shadow of the world, the empty atrium of the heart.
The bottom of the glass.

To you, who are the Dark One, I will lend my white coat.

Observe how we are made, sit by our beds.
Regulate the flow of IVs, cut our flesh, heal our wounds.

Add relief to breath.
Add hope to time.

Sometimes, on the night shift, I open the windows.
The stars flicker with gratitude.

Tu sei l’Ombra del mondo, l’atrio vuoto del cuore.
Il fondo del bicchiere.
A te, che sei l’Oscuro, darò in prestito il mio camice bianco.
Osserva come siamo…


The Havanun Tales #25

Where words do not reach

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Dorothy’s Prayer

Grant, O Great Spirit, that my sadness may not last
until sunset.

Let the fire of the world be as docile
as that of the fireplace.
Make me like the universe
that never wasted a drop of water.

Remind me of white hair, of eternity, of the scent of cookies.
Remind me of need.
Remind me, when I wash the dishes, to ask James to pull up my sweater sleeves.
Remind me of his satisfied smile.

And let this be, every time, O Great Spirit,
the beginning of my faith.

Fa, o Grande Spirito, che la mia tristezza…


Haiku of Pitch #2

What a Pitch is required to do

Drawing by Author

Looking into the well
Every reflection rests
In waiting there is no haste

The time of a Pitch
is in circles of water, rings of a trunk, resonances.
In the beginning
it is in the indefinite and central point
and in that point there is a well.

Legend has it that the Emperor had conquered the entire Earth.

His were the blades of grass,
his were the glaciers and the castles of the termites.
Each windmill fanned its name.
Children were forced to memorize his horrible poems.

The Emperor was not evil but power breeds special diseases
and the Emperor’s…


Everyday Stories #23

When we look for something, we are building it

Photo by Karsten Würth on Unsplash

Part I

Let me take you by the hand.
You and I come from different cities.
We decided together:
What we call a city
is really nothing more than the heterogeneous whole of our vicissitudes.
My city is a linen shirt,
a wolf tamed by the fear of being alone.
Yours is a wedding, a thinking jasmine.

Let me take you by the hand.
You and I come from different cities.
And now we are here.
We walk slowly. We linger.

Venice, you know, is not a single city.
There are at least two of them. …

Jonah Lightwhale

I try to tell short stories from the unexpected land where I paused jonahlightwhale@gmail.com

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