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I miss her

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I miss her—

 

She escaped quietly—a shadow in the shade.

 

Her light blues, frolicsome pinks, yellow-mood,

turned, painful ash-bones, without a song of their own.

 

Delicately, and distant, I hear dancing-treble-keys,

the youth and hope of her heart infused in my memory:

summer-air-breezes that catch courageous dreaming.

 

A finely curved silhouette, visible through the corner of my eye,

where light still tries earnestly to penetrate, to provoke an awakening:

She is there, frangipani-white-flowers, floating on yesterday’s easier spirit.

 

Oh, the distance we have traveled on empty…

 

Powerfully, I want to capture the freedom of her,

like a butterfly does feminine nectar,

 

conquer the darkness, implore her not to give-in

to fear, and wither.

 

I am. I was. I can. If you dare, let me disappear with you.

Jump inside and kiss you on the mouth!

 

Breathe life back into her soul, like a storm approaching,

remind her of me.

 

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

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At what point do you completely lose your mind from not sleeping? It’s been many months. At first it was insomnia, and I’ve heard others suffering from it as well, for one reason or another. Then I decided I would try a new mattress to see if it would help. It was not necessarily in my budget at the moment but I figured I work hard enough and deserve a good night’s sleep. I thought there’s financing. Maybe it was a remedy, at least in part. This was decided after sixteen years on a beautiful, luscious, Kingsdown bed, the Rolls Royce of mattresses that had finally given in somewhat on one side. In retrospect I wish I’d kept my old reliable mattress even with its hip indent. After all it was my perfectly comfortable-uncomfortable hip indent that took sixteen years to form perfectly around my curves. Still, I set out on a mission.

By suggestion of the salesperson I ended up in an all memory-foam Serta-iComfort bed. It certainly was a downgrade from what I was accustomed to, but with big dreams of sinking into a deep slumber, I took the salesperson’s advise. That was bed number one returned by way of a one-hundred-night-comfort guarantee because I figure I definitely work too hard to have to haul myself from a ditch-like sinkhole each time I roll over in my sleep. Let’s just say I have bad memories of memory foam!

The next salesperson on the floor eagerly showed me a combination bed of coils and memory foam. It’s the newest in bedding technology. I’ve learned that they are phasing-out coil. Take it from my aching-back this is a bad phase! Bed number two was returned on the same one-hundred-night-comfort guarantee but now with the, “Good luck lady we don’t want to see you around here again, clause!”

The manager was in when I chose bed number three. He wasn’t long on patience for me. He explained to me while I perused the bed selection for the third time that the new bed I was choosing on my own without sales associate influence, that happened to be coil (I’m keen on coil) and with a lovely pillow-top, was unacceptable because it was less in price. I was unfortunately married into meeting the same price or higher. After bouncing from bed to bed like, The Princess and the Pea, with a story similar to, The Three Bears…This bed is too hard, this bed is too soft, this bed isn’t in my price range… Anthony, the sales guy gave-up and went to help someone else. He left me with another, “Just as unhappy and sleepy lady,” to decide, along with her husband dragging his heels, as if through memory foam through the store, while we searched for true pleasure in bed, i.e., comfortable sleep!

This lady that had quickly become my best-bed-buddy, and I, laid on different beds together, intimately, side-by-side facing one another weighing in on our feelings about their cushioning, support, “rollability” (we made that term-up to describe rolling over without so much effort that your groin and lower back should have to go out) and at the same time we snickered about Anthony.
Together, we decided that the, Laura Ashley organic cotton all foam bed, but a different type of foam without memory (it doesn’t allow you to sink), was heavenly! Meanwhile, her husband decided we were both crazy. He also decided it was too expensive for them to purchase, unlike Anthony who liked it very much for me because it was an upgrade in price, and he suddenly became interested in me and my detailed description about bed comfort again.

My best-bed-buddy left and wished me a good night’s sleep. I miss her as I lay here awake at 2:00, 3:00, 4:00 a.m. in the morning, still uncomfortable, and thinking of my $4,100 finance stress, and of Anthony, and how he may react to me walking through the door complaining again. I dream of my old bed when I can sleep, of how it cradled me in coils of happiness.

I think like Dorothy now, “If ever I go searching for my heart’s desire, I won’t look further than my own backyard,” or hip indent in this case. Zzzzz…

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

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Heroes

 

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The world in all its insanity has grown a certain silence amidst chaos. If you listen it’s there distinctly: Vacancy. God has escaped us.

 

I feel the chill of my skin-aware on a dark morning, sky trying to merge into itself, attempting to revive so many empty eyes, old and young, the collective aching bones and weary hearts.

 

We’ve driven out the light of grace for ego. Now you are my God, and I am yours – our only hope.

 

Oh the stories we tell to save ourselves, pretend: We are not afraid… I am not afraid… Like children lost in the woods.

 

The things we teach as truth to encourage fortitude that we might reach a means to an end follow crumbs, not to be at that fork of realization in the road alone. Only that profound emptiness is the only truth, and we must meet ourselves there eventually.

 

The only freedom that exists is to come eye to eye with your soul. Cut it like wood, an exposed nerve, and let it bleed to full exposure. Every drop of cruel ugliness, bits of purity trapped alive in the mix.  Love it all like a star sets fire to the sky, until you can scream: I don’t feel anything anymore!

 

Then you can fall through the vortex of time. Feel the vibration of blood circulating throughout the world, and the loud gong of the universe reverberating in every cell.

 

Forgive it all — bring God back to life. Together become heroes.

 

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

WITHIN—

 

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Rest assured wherever there is chaos the devil has been.

 

She walked away from her life just like that. Indifferent. Wisdom comes suddenly. After all of the energy spent in thought, worrying, debating, doubting…she came to understand perfectly that fear is merely a trick set to keep you from living your life, away from your faith, empowerment, and the clarity it takes to ultimately have everything you indeed need.

 

She took the burden-off like daylight slips into a setting sun, and discarded it as, yesterday...

 

I’ve learned from that son of a bitch the devil. He’s been there like a close companion, listening carefully, feeling the pain, slapping me on the back with support and laughter, encouraging my will… A real wrenched-neck-motherfucker, you know? All of it only to learn what and how he could defeat me. He’s had his way with me. I’ve gone weak in his presence and given him the pleasure.

 

When the devil is playing a powerful hand in your life, like a hot buttered biscuit in a cold winter’s empty gut, or a vodka tonic to the tune of your emotional sorrow; to fold and give into indulgence is merely momentary satisfaction, side-by-side failure. It fills a need for want…Tricky bastard! To taste the bliss of decadence on your tongue, the sweet heaven it may be, is illusion. To fulfill wanton lust in a ten second climax, or close your eyes to rest from running-up-hill, because it seems too daunting, is merely the pretense of a feel good moment, selling yourself short, the weakness that ultimately ravages you and your life.

 

It’s a simple but brilliant game we play, he and I, self-satisfying sabotage, feeding that bastard what it craves, and it’s all in your head: your failure, and your fulfillment. You ask yourself what is stopping you, or your life from being all that you want. Insist someone has stolen your success, and patented it as theirs. Blame it on bad luck, and/or a bunch of pricks you wish you’d never known.

 

Even if it seems you get what you want in the moment by giving-in, and abstaining by all means feels like hell; it’s hell that you need, if you don’t want to want any longer!

 

Here and now is the only moment to corrupt everything, or not. Evil and hope’s only chance. Only hope is weak. Yes, both will place you in the shackles of fear and pain, to keep the truth from you. You’ll beg and willingly grasp at straws. You’ll think you’re right when you’re wrong. You’ll be afraid to fail when rather you would succeed. You’ll believe everything is going to be okay when it won’t be. All the while, that shit-eating grin cast over your world like a painful sore, compelling you to pick-it until it bleeds in need of a protective scab.

 

An epiphany dawns: It lives inside of you, the ultimate control to feed or destroy it, to empower it, or yourself. It’s that simple. The love each part has for the other, side by side the same, for what you give and take away from each, is a balance that keeps you feeling safe.

 

I found his weakness: The fear I’d get to – know her for who he is… and I did! I turned him upside down, put his shattered bones in a steel pink box, away from my heart, at the soul of my feet. Scared shitless he pissed him self when I took my first steps. Suddenly he was old and decrepit. His grin not so pretty, or persuasive, as he pulled his singed tail between his legs, and howled in a revolting way.

 

She smiled a devilish grin in satisfaction, and thereby was reminded: I am all of these things within, good or bad, and I decide whether to self-destruct or thrive.

 

“You are your problem, and you are your solution.”

 

The cold turned into light, and through it eyes of awareness saw certain warmth. Content, she could finally rest at peace her struggling heart.

 

—Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

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Coffin with a View

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Here- nowhere really.

Oddly and intensely feeling everything,

good or bad, in its space.

The good beyond expiration:

Sour milk—

Still, a sip, see

if it can be savored.

Hope

to find generosity in the aftertaste.

Over and over…

hand to the flame. Sun on the horizon.

There- sturdy ground.

Unshakable. Tangible things.

Impervious to my fickle.

Dream- up ahead: 

A yellow balloon, aimless amid peaceful air.

A curled red ribbon– vivacity,

bouncing gracefully from its tail.

It is free as its helium gut

to land anywhere but here,

upon a nail –

Rusted and cold. Tip dented

by past hammering. Ready to

clasp-down freedom, and drain it

like a slave in the fields.

Time for escape, like fog in the wind.

Too goddamn tired now, a broken bone.

Prepared to welcome its restraint, a relief—

Coffin with a view.

©2017 Maria DellaPorte – All Rights Reserved

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Paper and Tree

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The paper and tree—

 

Ink wandering across the page to find meaning,

 

something.

 

White surface dreams wait to become…

 

The peeling bark is old.

 

Roots sewn into history,

try to form a new flower’s purpose.

 

So many seasons of disappointment.

 

Still, a bird upon its branch flies free.

 

The air, sadly in between, wants wings,

 

hope on a breeze.

 

I am—

 

-Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

 

Indifference

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Love is not the answer… It never has been. Indifference that is your saving grace. Trust me. Love is a poet’s dream, verse, lyrics on the page, or on the tongue of a voice like an angel. It is painted strokes of violet and amber, by a temperamental artist. Don’t believe in the dreams of those dreamers! I have awakened from such a plight. I have danced frivolously to the song, read the verse with great motivation, and dreamt in magical color, free and innocently, believing… Therein lies the death of everything. It is indifference that keeps your heart in tact, your life situated – a novel’s happy ending.

–Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2016 All Rights Reserved

God, The Tree, and I

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One— God the tree and I —

Feminine and masculine nature. 

In love become branches, stories…

Honey to the bee.

Sting of death: A sincere part of everything,

mountains, galaxy…

The way it transforms, reestablishes connections.

Earth, flesh, fish in the sea.

Universe – A trunk full of treasure.

God —the wind before the tree:

Color me, please, an orange leaf —

I want to fall into seasons,

veins accelerated with the blood of life,

though never into time’s unending cruelty.

M e m o r y

You in the womb—

Heart beating.

Soil’s rich history, nutrients,

enthusiastically expand our roots.

When I am the bark, hardest on, “Myself,”

forgetting…

Grow a forest inside of my heart.

Remind me I am you,

to be soft sapwood beneath.

Innately understanding generations,

external, internal.

Home to a bird, a squirrel rushing

to safety along my waistline.

Let it all be a rainstorm. Stars.

Grass green with wisdom beneath.

I am all of these things…

Gravity’s soul – A blossom

Crown sturdy upon her head.

Boy taking cover in the shade,

about to climb his destiny.

-Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2016 All Rights Reserved

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When I was a young girl I wanted to take piano lessons. At the time my father worked with someone that explained his wife gave lessons. So, once a week I began going to the Silverman’s house to learn my notes and scales.

At home, I practiced what I had learned from the workbook but couldn’t play without a piano of my own. Understandably, my father was initially hesitant to invest into buying a piano, as it was a big expense and I could easily change my mind. Week after week though, I proved that I truly wanted to learn.

I can still remember the smell of the piano store, my excitement admiring the shiny ivories, and in choosing the right one along side my parents and the salesman.

I practiced every day.

Mrs. Silverman came to our home once a week and drew with different colored markers on new sheets of music. She made sure I wasn’t being lazy with my pinky (that I sometimes tried to be). Don’t rest your wrists! Hold them up!

Each week I was getting big, happy, check marks on successfully completed lessons for a job well done. Then the day came for Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Für Elise. I can still recall the black notes etched importantly, as if poetry, a language of their own. I thought I’d never learn, but in fact I did. Never by heart though, as I did Fiddler on the Roof, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, or my all time favorite, Where Do I Begin from Love Story.

I loved the piano from everything I can remember, and still do. Yet, one day lessons came to a halt.  I was too distracted being a fourteen year old. I didn’t take the time to practice as much. Reflecting back, I wish for my sake that someone would have instilled the importance of continuing my practice, or at the least had been patient with me on the days I was distracted. Perhaps they were, and I simply couldn’t hear the tune of their words with a preoccupied teenage mind.  Today, I might still be able to play as well, or better!

As an adult, I used to sit down at the piano about twice a month to play what I could recall by heart, and of course from reading the music (though rusty).

The last home I moved into had a challenging set of stairs, and I painstakingly came to a decision to give the piano (a gift to me from my parents) away to my goddaughter.  It was the only thing that made sense to me, or that I could find solace.

My hope – is she will learn to play elegantly, and that I may enjoy listening to her while remembering my own young hands – how they once made beautiful music.

Maria DellaPorte ©2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Star Star

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Star

Star

Star

Star

Siblings and distant cousins

they are.

Light-years-apart.

Clusters. Strangers.

Falling 

Falling

Where they go…

I do not know.

Cradle them: Tender souls.

Immortal wishes

to burdensome—

Minds their own.

Flee the sky – human scars.

Star

Star

©Maria DellaPorte 2016 All Rights Reserved