Mick Mezza

Mick Mezza

Mick Mezza born in Italy now residing in Melbourne Australia. Has been writing for twenty years where he performs poetry to local and worldwide audience on zoom and posts numerous terzas on Facebook. Has performed on Channel 31 Red Lobster and have been read on Radio 3 CR, 3WBC and North West FM and festivals in city and country Victoria. Published poems Creatix 3 Poetry, Paradise Anthology, Poetry Shines in the West Platform and Kistrech Poetry Festival (Kenya).

Mick Mezza has published:

  • World’s Apart poetry (2006)
  • 5 Shorties, short plays (2010)
  • Lio’s road to football (2020) a children’s book illustrated by RaffaellaTorresan.


Growing up in Molochio

A tourist on the sand under my feet at Tropea
A cliff Cathedral di Maria Santissima di Romania
The red onions, have become a success
The village now caters to tourists
The ferry that we did not take
Departs for Stromboli
There I see it, an island in the Tyrrhenian

bellavista from the lookout on Mt Trepido
wasn’t a frightening view
forest has regenerated and hides its history

Carbone for sale, the charcoal makers
Scream from the back of the truck
Energy delivery for cooking and warmth
Dad was taught by his father
Was that my future, employment!
He is now in the southern hemisphere
Leaving three kids under five

my two mums
raised me
unconditional reward

They sang as they twisted a pigtail of hay, to sell
The chorus with melody as they danced on the grapes bare foot
Running down the corrugated sheet the sweet and sticky nectar
In the shed, where I was prohibited from playing on the roof
Screamed and she came running as I lied to her that I saw a snake
Told her the truth that I was playing on the roof, called me a bruteju,
Offended she thought of me ugly, now know it as brutal

the change in mindset is a
sweet fruit
honey thoughts

the dried figs, surplus from the tree grandma would give to one in need
the village cared for its own, built social housing in a small town
a piazza, town hall and war memorial where grandpa had his plot
I was born there, the house still stands, this is what’s left of in town
The hill where the Bruttium’s owned the land the patronym survives
Yes, I was a brute when mum whacked me for misbehaving
Imposed my vengeance killing the pullets, another beating

karma is best served swiftly
union of love
between family and God

Three historic churches and a convent reside
The oldest now cordoned waiting to be renovated
Wonder if the frescoes survived in St Vito
Mass where I didn’t understand a word been spoken
We spoke a Latin dialect in town, our language lives
The priests who baptized, married and buried
In a town where the abbey of St. Maria de Merula since 1275

in books
history is recorded

The cuddles and kisses from mum and aunty
The extended family joined in as well
Where the cousins played in the olive grove
The vineyard was too hot in the summertime
Where the soccer ground is now
The views to the valley and mountain peaks
I saw when I walked around it to keep match fit

returned as a visitor
where the relatives
reside in the cemetery

The walk to the plot passed the graveyard, winding down the hill
The Giro on its way to the high street then up Mt Trepido
Saw this twice with mum as we walked to Solli,
In the lanes, found wild sweet strawberries lately hazelnuts, wild oregano
The porcini and boletus grew there and we gathered them too
What we grew we ate; others ate anything that moved
I had beef and fish once a month, that was my protein hit

vegetarian diet

Where were you when they landed on the moon?
Mum had carded wool, spinning it on the footpath
A nice day in June to sit outside and prepare yarn
I got a woolen jumper knitted by mum
Kept me warm then didn’t put it on
Till autumn came and the harvest came in
Where we picked the olives by hand

individual manufacturing provided
production of economic needs
manufactured by corporations

The oil squeezed by, waterwheel, animals
Diesel motors and electricity advanced in time
Picked by hand, then brooms, nets and tractors followed
We used ours for soap and cooking, had it on bread with sugar
Aunty Carmel sold her surplus, to pay bills
The olive trees on aunty Rose’s outlive kingdoms
Some great, great whatever grandfather owned the lot
The industry is still there just surviving, competition

villagers emigrate
coin stains
in the fountain

Enjoyed the trips on the bus, to the beach with brother and sister
Not scrapping the tar off after swimming at the beach
Eating homemade pizza, olives and bread, prepared by mums
Borrowing floats to enjoy a swim, the warmth of strangers
In the river mum washed bedsheets brother dammed a swimming pool
Drinking spring water where wild pencil asparagus grew
Haven’t tasted them for so long, living on this island home

the olives in brine
have spoilt
threw out

The water fountain spat, where I’d fish a coin
Soccer, cards and political rallies in the piazza
The Madonna was hauled around the streets
Culminated with the fireworks show, first a horse head costume
Someone wore was lit and whirls of sparks flowed
The grand finale over the council clocktower
The Christian feast days, St Joseph’s, the petals on road on Palm Sunday

welcome the festivities
dad took us
to Moomba parade

We pushed, front, toe on the spikey casing and they popped out
The chestnuts in Autumn, loved the myriad of colours
My light brown to blond hair, some chestnuts some were darker
What the heck it was my birthday and they were roasted sweet
Early hail storms layered thick in the laneway at the back
Built snowman from it with brother, decorated stick and stones
Glass topped with coffee and sugar our natural granita, a toast

natural diet
we learn
to adopt

The landslide was a landmark, seen from the bedroom window
Where brother would gasp for air, behind the church
We lived in our little palace, diagonally across from the school
Mum would drag me to, she was the only one of seven that wrote
Where I was taken to the teachers’ home to play with her son
Whereas the other teacher would put the telly at the front door
All us kids sat on the road and watched the show.

luxury from yesteryear
standard of living
common items

All the kids jumped on the moving ute for a joy ride
Heading out of town, jumped of last and hit my head
Mum was worried as we were due to leave for good
When I awoke mum was holding me, I had a headache
Told me never to celebrate all soul’s day again
Allergic to smoke of the candles or the scent of flowers
Now I make space, from extinguished candles

cake driven into hall
birthday girl blows candles
I sing from a distance

Found my travels to a border town staying with fourth cousin
The roots go back to Gramma, where Aunty scared away the viper
Maria rocked me to sleep, here we are looking at Monaco day or night
The reflecting of the sky whirls from toe to curve, azure dancing
Now we waltz around watching waves break to shore
Back in the village from the place we call the Two Seas, forest
High rise lookout would return the bella vista to the Mediterranean

many pictured memories
takes me back

Now I look back too, vistas to the Tyrrhenian
The island of Stromboli resembles Uluru from a distance
The Aspromonte ranges curves to the sea
Ferragosto was celebrated up here with goat on the BBQ
Follow the sight to the numerous towns you can see
In the city they call it a million-dollar view
I call it home miss home

wishes are plenty
dreams are now few
this childhood belongs to me

© Mick Mezza 29/09/2021

Poetry in this post: © Mick Mezza
Published with the permission of Mick Mezza