Tag Archive: personal growth


The Painful Still

Winged-Victory-Weathervane-Nike-P

Nike – Winged Goddess of Victory Weathervane*

55e0f464f9831d318ace2bb1a24ef525--open-season-all-alone

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.”

 

 

Sufficiently Undernourished

music_box___dancing_ballerina_by_sandye101010-d47qho7

 

It is when I’m carrying my most weight that I am profoundly undernourished. I do not speak of the physical, though certainly it factors in. I am talking about enrichment. Soul nourishment. Love. Care. Empathy. I give it away—

 

To him, and her, and them. To all. I feed everyone around me graciously with what I need, and it brings such joy to witness joy, such sorrow to see discontent. To feel gratitude, I want to give gratitude. To be the furnace in winter, wood on the fire, for those coming home with cold toes.

 

I must confess, however, from time to time I desire a return. A warm afghan… Surely sometimes one must want. It is human, and I am not God whom has no worries, but cry out silently from the heart. Hope someone notices: Please take care of me. Not in every moment like a child, or a pathetic Alzheimer’s patient (my fear that’s how my prayers will be answered), but a few scattered generous moments so that I too may experience the pleasure of comfort, feel secure, fueled by a tenderness capable of building strength to go forward. I could build empires on such goodness! Dreams would be awakened into blessed realities, diminish the current status quo.

 

Life could be a country cottage set on a path of greenery. Honeysuckle scented. Wildflowers with all of the answers: Lemonade and butterflies!

 

I am not broken, or by any means defective, but coming-apart, yes, in tainted pieces by way of life’s harsh blow’s. One by one, stories that affect a psyche. As if a bee searches nectar in the snow, the death of a queen—

 

I cried today because the summer is here in all of its glory, and I am not pretty for it. I wished for and waited for it. The freedom of the warm sun would come with resolve. All of winter’s tribulation could not survive a lightheaded month of July. I would not be burdened by wool’s itching to be a pastel, but come alive – a festival. A carousel of laughter, like a rainbow in clearing skies, would distance the remnants of pain and tears. But I waited too long.

I didn’t water the flowers in spring. I watched them grow and die, colors of red and yellow hope. I didn’t know how to sow anymore. Perhaps it was not knowledge missing but heart. A clever excuse to mask fear: Thorns that cut my skin deeply each time I tried in the past.

 

It’s the change of seasons inside of me that are stuck. Like a broken record, I’m listening to yesterday’s music like an aging ballerina in a box, ’round and ’round. Waiting for someone to fluff her tutu. Shine her up!

 

I want to come un-perched and fly to Jupiter, with a smile above my chin, full of wisdom. Leave every regret behind, ablaze, for earth to bury in the soil with my worn out skin.

 

Grow a tree for humanity in my name.

 

©Maria DellaPorte 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

 

Helium Life

Screen Shot 2016-06-20 at 12.08.59 PM

 Dying.

 

Lying

to myself,

trying.

 

Hold onto the string.

Safety.

 

I desperately want

 

to lose

prove

 

Float free from

 

Its weighty foundation.

 

Above clouds of ordinary

feel the success.

 

Traveling feet.

 

Confident quest –

 

The helium life inside…

 

Abounding.

 

Everyday, a different color,

yellow, blue, orange, green, purple:

 

Kiss me beautiful!

 

Oh little shining star, someone etched a

scary face,

frown.

 

You learned

not to trust,

judge

 

natural instinct.

 

Inseparable from

a tied knot,

dependable ribbon.

 

Grounded.

Held my hand, thank you

for security.

 

Now let the air out,

I must go.

Love you from lost worlds,

creating themselves

 

inside the hollow

of an oval-shaped promise.

 

Only I can fulfill…

 

Please remember

our stories,

 

should I return home

for a roof overhead

 

and a buttered biscuit.

Maria DellaPorte ©2016 All Rights Reserved

 

images

Everybody has something to say,

you know,

but when I write my mind,

I believe every thought is singular.

In the moment, why,

I am about to fall-off the edge of my seat,

painting each word that gathers me-up

in childlike-fascination.

 we-are-all-music-box-dancers-part-ii-1-728

I am dancing on the page in my finest shoes,

arms in flight,

toned like a ballerina’s,

and the object is to fly—

Into that place I am:

free,

or burdened,

broken-hearted,

or magic,

middle-aged,

or, oh so young again…

I am.

When I can have things uncomplicated,

or nail them down like a tombstone.

Final.

Death and Daisies—

 graves

The way it shakes me sometimes!

Realizing the reality…

I’d rather be a raindrop,

falling-upward like

treble keys on a piano.

 Unknown

The pink little girl in me 

Swirling like cream in a cup.

A dancing statue in a jewelry box!

images-1 

Before jagged-edges…

Still, there always was sadness:

Born that way,

searching what’s missing.

***

I fell from a star,

the dark, vast universe,

where there is always noise,

sometimes frightening,

but you are a part of this living entity,

not separated by birth.

Then you become a dream to yourself,

with a family,

and a brass bed.

 flat,550x550,075,f

Experiences count themselves plenty.

It’s your birthday,

first day of school,

summer,

last,

learning to drive,

lost virginity,

marriage,

sister’s cancer,

a daughter’s birth,

money,

spiritual-growth,

broken-bones,

revolving door…

But never home to my lover,

with whom I’d live and die!

 lovers1

***

This is not my perfect skin,

The supple kind everything rolls off of

I’m sad!

Woman,

a princess and brat,

brave warrior.

What is the point?

To create a movie life—

On and on and on…

Though now, I am remarkably tired.

I can’t climb

around myself,

always in the way.

Promise me you’ll try?

Because after all there must be meaning—

Yes, yes…

But to be safe,

feel loved,

understood.

to give…

B e l o n g.

Those are all okay things, I guess.

Not to be a penny tossed—

(Or a wish lost.)

 4261979363_6dd8509047_o

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2014 All Rights Reserved

Sole Warrior Soul

The_Art_of_Letting_Go_by_ilovestrawberries

When you cannot concede to a path of ordinary,
because your heart believes in the extraordinary.

When you see things in a different light,
hear sounds of a symphony.

Do not struggle to explain the rainbow
to those that
have never seen color,

or expect they’d understand.

You cannot teach purple to the blind,
or a bird’s song to the deaf.

Do not agonize in your solitude,

but rather revel in the awareness —

Trust yourself, what you already know as truth.
Live-up to your standards
(When nobody else will).

For you cannot change anyone,

but the world, yes,
when you stand brave in your convictions.

Sometimes you have to let go of everything,

allow the energy of the world to shift,

grieve it for a fleeting moment, then kiss it goodbye,
—a blessing.

Set yourself free in order to become what you ought to be.

No regrets,
only gratitude,

Each joy and agonizing step

that built you…

A champion heart—

Sole warrior.

Soul.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2014 All Rights Reserved
3097588487_1_3_H9bI3Hh8