Towards The Sky, poetry by Giuliana Ravaglia at Spillwords.com

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Towards The Sky

Giuliana Ravaglia·September 7, 2025

Poetry English International Italian

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Towards The Sky

written by: Giuliana Ravaglia

It stretched along the coast
the frayed expanse of the waves
a reddish moment
in the tired sun of sunset

on the seashore
every space was light
and silence revealed secrets
in the presence of the horizon

in the waiting gaze
fear and amazement marked each step
fragile anxiety of life
in the fresh tumult of the tide

and it returned to the eyes
wrapped in the curve of the wind
that snowy smile
an anchor towards the sky
like summer still pawing at the ground

About
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Giuliana Ravaglia

Born in the province of Bologna (Italy), former primary school teacher, cultivates a love for poetry, especially haiku. Her poems are published on websites, online magazines: Otata, Troutswirl, ESUJ-H, Asahi Haikuist Network, The Mainichi, Scarlet Dragonfly Journal, Haikuuniverse, Cold Moon Journal, Akita International Haiku Network, The Bamboo Hut, Take 5ive, Haiku Corner, Memoirs of a Geisha, HaikuNetra, Haiku World, and Failed Haiku. Haiku 2022 By Scott Metz and Lee Gurga Modern Haiku Print, 2022. Vancouver Cherry Blossom 2023: Honorable mention. Haiku EuroTop 100.

Latest posts by Giuliana Ravaglia (see all)

Towards The Sky - September 7, 2025
On the Walls of Snow - May 26, 2025

Jim Bartlett

After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

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