Tag Archive: Art


The Painful Still

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Nike – Winged Goddess of Victory Weathervane*

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A half-mile between now and then the future stands still.

Dream in a vortex—

Screams at the wind: west or east, come true!

 

Awaiting a perfect storm, to know, jump into…

 

Please?

 

Morning’s medium roast should percolate circumstance—sunshine-bliss,

and a front porch made from the intellect of trees.

 

Conquer circuitous shackles.

 

Prepare sweet lemon-sugar to awaken the tongue’s lifeless universe.

 

For there, leaning on the fence, willingly in anticipation:

The soul of a yellow bicycle;

 

feminine wisps-of-straw-weaved-basket,

brimming with wild flowers, and fresh corn of summer.

 

I can be butter and herbs

Sail effortlessly on wheels.

 

No more weathervane captive by nature, deprived of a say in which way to go.

 

That agony standing still—in hope of—

staggering!

 

Life—generous soil—be willing

Produce cups over-filled,

before we become worms that feed it!

 

I beg an exit to the left, from a mind that aught to be placed in a planter, grow thoughts of bitter-green-fear for birds, and insects to digest.

 

The heart—she is country without boarders.

 

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

*From Westcoastweathervanes .com -“In Greek mythology, Nike personified victory, and was also known as the Winged Goddess of Victory. Her Roman equivalent was Victoria. She is the goddess of strength, speed, and victory and was a very close acquaintance of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and Justice. It is thought that Nike stood in Athena’s outstretched hand in the statue of Athena located in the Parthenon. Nike is one of the most commonly portrayed figures on Greek coins and her aforementioned association with strength, speed and victory has made her a well-known athletic logo.”

 

 

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I swear, it’s all true…

 

I hold the whole world in my heart.

And sometimes, I just want to run, and let it all flood-out.

Breathe in the sum of everything, all at once.

 

Set you free!

 

Paint the lives in my path: red, yellow, green…

Leave something memorable,

to those otherwise blinded.

 

So many words, yet I can’t explain,

furious-wind blowing in my brain.

 

Hear, hear, hear, you…

But you can’t feel a thing.

 I’ve been lighting fires everywhere waiting.

Falling into capture.

Can’t escape it. You know that I can’t.

You can’t…

 

Too many sticks and stones in all these years.

Shattered dreams, but hope remains.

 

One day, I know you’ll recall

all that I may have forgotten along the way,

 

but surely it will be too late. I’ll be a memory by then.

A star in the sky to wish upon.

 

Only don’t expect I’ll answer.

Rather—feel me emerge, a tingle on your skin,

from a humid breeze, or scent of seaweed.

 

The realization I am gone. Your pieces gathered-inside.

 

Hear, hear, hear, you…

But you can’t feel a thing. 

I’ve been lighting fires everywhere waiting.

Falling into capture.

Can’t escape it. You know that I can’t.

You can’t…

 

Remember the day the world was dancing?

Neither can I. But wouldn’t it have been nice?

 

When you pray –

Imagine me thankful, in a pink summer-dress,

with a spinning hula-hoop that cries,

 

heart beating quickly in excitement—

 

Going to jump-free into a parallel-universe

that shines!

Kiss minty-trees, like tall, leafy, men with answers.

 

God and I will celebrate the wanton chaos behind us,

drink wine, move effortlessly to the Psychedelic Furs,

 

a full moon in our grasp.

 

Hear, hear, hear, you…

But you can’t feel a thing.

I’ve been lighting fires everywhere waiting.

Falling into capture.

Can’t escape it. You know that I can’t.

You can’t…

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

I miss her

frangipani-white-flowers

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

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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Emerge

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Q u i e t ~

Long steps—backward,

forward again,

c a u t i o u s l y.

Feel their every breath.

Strain inward. Release asthmatic clutch.

Fulfill the tale with a lungful

of enlightenment.

Haunted-minor-discernments.

Alluring torment.

Little tease.

Secrets want exposure –

the spotlight.

I am listening… listening…

 

To catch monsters in a jar,

build my empire.

The impetus: To realize its hold on me.

First, I will shake the hand,

embrace an old friend: A

colloquy of pleasantries.

Then with upmost politeness,

no offer to excuse myself, however –

Tear its heart out with my teeth,

swirl my tongue in satisfaction.

Lap up the residual effect:

Compensation!

The knowledge of everything

conquering death.

Toss it, blithely, into a miracle

of incandescent awareness.

Become like cherry sugar,

decadent syrup drizzled on the world:

My breast—its nipple heart,

the universe in my cornea,

all the answers grown from follicles,

a planet scalp—beautiful auburn.

Smash the paradox, ozone…

A big bang life!

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2016 All Rights Reserved