Tag Archive: Outside the box


Peter Gabriel

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I met a man who said his name was Peter Gabriel.

 A musician—

 

Listening intently…

 

He sang:

“Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home.”

 

And I cried with joy that it was done!

“My heart going, boom, boom, boom…”

 

Time drifted like a dream.

We were whistling… 

 

A kitchen painted-yellow.

Three mice hanging daffodil-curtains.

A child inside a clock that couldn’t tell time.

Oatmeal warm on the stove.

 

Peter had a mustache made from cinnamon.

I spun graciously in a music box.

Pink steel-tip slippers!

 

The sky—fresh cherry pie—the rose in my cheeks.

 

Marital bliss on the drums –

“Shock the monkey!”

 

Upon awakening—

 

Head propped precariously in a generous dose of reality,

and not the arm of a knight, but a microfiber-couch.

 

Cold feet, but warm breath—story of my life.

 

Kisses still lingering in the air,

attempting to be caught—slippery bubbles.

 

Almost made it to the other side:

 

“Dressing up in costumes, playing silly games,

hiding-out in tree tops, shouting-out rude names.”

 

The place I call home!

 

A trick:

Fall in love, feel alive,

secure in chiffon-dreams.

 

Peter—making record sales to support an unprofitable poetry habit.

 

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

 

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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