Tag Archive: Creative


Recently viewing photographs of the famous mosque in Iran,

and considering a question as to what the caption could be…
Nasir-al-Mulk-Iran

My reply:

Light lends us the ability of vision should we choose to open our eyes

and see the beauty of color, and shape of the soul,

otherwise felt flourishing in the heart.

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Yes, color, light, darkness, and the gift of sight (from the soul).

I see in rainbows my friend, I see…

Ominpotent—

The world can be a prism or a prison!

Shhh-Large

—Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2015 All Rights Reserved

(I do not own any rights to the public photographs)

The Pancake

americanpancakes

It is said you are what you eat—

I’d like to bid farewell

to fifteen pounds,

but oh how bittersweet their memory…

And with that:

The griddle sizzles.

Little water bubbles

spritzed from my fingertips,

hop about, hot, in joyfulness.

It is a Saturday past,

long past—

The sun shining is a 1970’s toss,

between innocence and change.

It is a different brightness,

unscathed by disappointment,

and a thousand types

of death.

My mother’s apron is colorful fruit,

a vine of commitment,

tied decidedly around her beautiful waist,

(expanded and retracted,

seven times giving life).

The butter’s sweetness fills the air,

like lilacs scent a summer’s field.

A table waits with triangle-folded napkins.

Maple’s woody-amber flavor

will drizzle swirls with all the answers.

My father’s seat, at the head of the table,

seems larger than the rest.

He serves and is served.

Respect—

There is buckwheat,

vanilla,

eggs and milk,

golden-brown.

A batter churned,

and family…

My sisters enter,

each with their own style:

hippie, humble, tough, dreamer, conceited,

blue-eye-shadow—

The two boys: dark-haired princes.

Protectors.

Adventurers.

Learning…

Sometimes pleading for no sisters!

An AM/FM radio, sturdily

on the Formica kitchen counter,

plays mellow-rock,

matches the mood of a Long Island breeze,

swaying-gently sheer-white curtains.

Our dog, Pinky, sits upon a window seat.

watches for bicyclists,

setting-off her Beagle’s bark.

Quiet!

(Soon to be indulged with scraps).

Oh, how I love a good pancake—

Sweetness.

Love.

A loyal-pup.

My sister’s sass.

Brother’s bravery.

My beautiful mother’s nurturing…

Father’s lessons…

Saturday morning’s sunshine,

hopefulness.

All of it…

Because I am what I eat:

The nostalgic pancake.

Stacked,

a circle of heaven.

Cut-into,

and delightfully consumed.

Satisfy a space for

peace and happiness. 

What once was in every bite—

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Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

©2015 All Rights Reserved

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***

 After thought – I discover in myself a revelation, that, the “pancake” in and of itself, in fact, is not an evil weight-inducing-conspiracy against me and my goals toward fitness, but rather what I seek in eating it is: the fulfillment beyond its flour-mix and fluffiness… What leads to much more indulging than I should, in an attempt to consume more than the meal itself, but that of the security of love and nurturing it was once served with on its porcelain plate. For as a child, the buttery-sweet pleasantry never created an extra pound. The meal ended where it was, with nourishment, energy, eaten together as a family. It wasn’t until later that the search for more than “its…” (not just the pancake) caloric nourishment, would lead to a less than gratifying experience, all while ingesting the heavenly bites in hope towards a fulfilling and happy life.

As an aside thought – Food is life’s source for survival. Love is the emotional source that gives way to great things: accomplishment, courage, charity, fortitude… Sometimes, the two sources become entangled and confused.

Admittedly

SPT 4

There’s a shadow on my back,

watching, listening—

I feel compelled to answer

to the son-of-a-bitch!

Meanwhile, meanwhile,

I don’t want to be censored!

Why do I have to explain myself?

To you,

and you…

And fuck him quite honestly—

R e v o l t!

That’s about the time I start

To retract my common sense,

go all whiny like a six year old:

Stepping-up on my toes,

pushing my heels outward,

pulling-up on the hem of my skirt,

contorting my arms behind my head

with excuses!!!

And I hate the weakness.

You just want to piss yourself!

When God gave some authority the right,

to manipulate your mind —

You learned

well,

the anxiety.

Control, control…

Repress the anger.

Fear and stuff it down

with a good dose of salty-sweet…

Blood on your teeth.

Attitude

Possess it!

You know,

pretend…

Take steps into,

1, 2, 3…

Whoever you need to be:

S a f e.

They talk about between,

in the grey—

but you know,

you know…

There’s only black and white.

It’s shown those

pearly-fangs

in the darkest-dark.

Even when you’re aware… 

It’s better not to be right,

become entangled

in how to choose everything

w i s e l y-

Until you go mad

searching for yourself—

And how brave it is:

To be you.

C o n f e s s…

Admittedly!

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Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2014 All Rights Reserved