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Edits and Advice

Can someone on WordPress please advise me if there is a way of republishing an older post with edits, as opposed to this way. Thank you.

Below edited version:

https://dellymari.wordpress.com/2017/04/01/i-miss-her/

Edit – Sum of Pieces

https://dellymari.wordpress.com/2017/05/20/a-sum-of-pieces/

Sum of Pieces

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The computation of pieces together and undone,

find sustainable consequence.

This palpable heart—thinking…

Yet, no more or less important than the caterpillar.

Been searching

the beauty in what breaks-apart:

glass, world, stories, images in a kaleidoscope…

Always imagining the dynamics, as a whole, being perfectly suitable.

The focus predominantly on gathering-up,

reassembling what was…

Meanwhile, the fuzzy yellow creature without a spine,

slinks the bark of a tree, and I’m not sure that he thinks,

especially of me.

I ask, is it not the most frightening thing to find

your foundation is quicksand?

Take life—It has infinite possibilities in which to crumble.

I have seen the fragments, rolling frantically like marbles, those lovely,

equivocal streaks of color speeding towards chaos!

As I now pause,

learn to embrace the inevitable impact, allow for the parting of ways;

Fall-apart,

and in-love with the immense offerings presented by the indefinite.

The continuous evolution becoming-one with breaking-to-bits.

Each particle: a new universe,

eye for seeing death as its rightful birth.

Journeying the sum of something—with or without meaning—a part.

(Reflection in a still river questions, “What is tangible?”)

In the beginning is God—

We, the caterpillar and I, you, the sun, a rose…

are in the intentions.

Acceptance

the peace within pieces.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

 

Mother’s Day

 

I believe the greatest complement that I could give to my mother is that I’ve spent my life trying to replica her. Thank you, mother, for being every beautiful thing that you taught me. I love you. The connection is eternal. As for my daughter, I am grateful everyday, and thank God for the opportunity to be your mother. I love you. I hope that you will replica all of the good, and become better than any flaws. Someday in your child’s eyes I know you will see me, and feel the abundance of love through which we are all connected, mother and child, one maternal heart.

 

-Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte © 2017

 

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I miss her

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I miss her—

 

She escaped quietly—a shadow in the shade.

 

Light blues, frolicsome pinks, yellow-mood,

turned,

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

 

Delicately, and distant, dancing-treble-keys,

the sound of her heart infused in my memory.

 

Summer-air-breezes, youthful hope, catch courageous dreams.

 

A finely curved silhouette, through the corner of my eye an awakening,

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

 

Oh, the distance we have traveled on empty…

 

I want to capture the powerful freedom in her,

like a butterfly does feminine nectar,

conquer the darkness, implore her—

don’t give-in to fear and wither.

 

If you dare—

Let me disappear with you, jump inside,

and kiss you on the mouth!

 

Resuscitate life in her soul,

 

and 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