Tag Archive: poems


Emerge

img122_the-transformation-of-daphne

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

Road to You (I Am)

www.freepix4all.com

Where does it lead from here?

A question the road directs to my feet.

(Standing, stomping, still.)

 

In a quandary my toes and heels ponder:

How could it be the road not know

where it ends and where it goes…?

I’ve become dependent on expecting that much!

Still, the road doesn’t have a choice.

It is paved in permanency.

The twists and turns of gravel are merely illusion…

In love with the soul in my feet—

They decide which way to go…

 

Free to choose.

And with all the power she asks the road:

Carry me, please, on your back!

I’m afraid of direction, you see.

I will pirouette in position,

fall in love,

give-into faith,

that wherever my feet are, I am,

if not anywhere,

Myself the way—

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—Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2015 All Rights Reserved


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)

ptsd1

I’ve come back,

lighter,

without the shame,

to collect the remains

of who I once was…

Like a Cashew,

out from its’ poisonous shell.

Can still taste the murder

of some unsuspecting victim,

 

that just liked nuts.

Or was that myself…

Anyhow,

it’s not about tragedy

that saves anyone,

but the monsters you forget—

When the sun shines unexpectedly,

on a Monday.

Your steady, even steps,

merge,

into the same shit

as yesterday…

Carry you more optimistically,

in direct conflict with

despair.

Everything is mysteriously

lenient,

ladylike.

The curtains,

how they drape,

perfectly:

A female ghost’s silhouette.

Yes,

the world, today, is a china shop.

A collection of all yesterday’s

teacups—

The vines,

delicate rims,

curved-handle for nuzzling

a hooked-finger.

 

The soft whispers of conversation,

refined,

with each sip…

Please and thank you,

take me about movement,

oh-so-precise and carefully,

that I should not remember

but remain oblivious,

to all that seeks to remind…

 

the self-destroyer.

The heavy pieces of burden,

a story told so well:

Fear, caution, control,

word,

and action,

stifles the ability to grow beyond its’ hold,

for your own sake…

To die the consequences daily.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte © 2015 All Rights Reserved

Need

40344-Half-Moon-Bridge

What I need-

Time:

to float, at ease,

catch-up,

dare to get ahead.

Fall-apart,

remembering…

Forget again…

Rebirth—

(Hope it catches you

on an upswing.)

A bonfire for burning memories,

and for watching their essence

become black-smoke-ghosts.

See them dance like swirling twisters,

hot in your dreams!

A guitar,

keys, to play my tune:

God’s mercy

in the lyrics.

Someone or other

to understand

every expression:

It isn’t all a straight line,

but molded

perfection.

Simple, complicated, or broken,

is as it should be—

(Pain remains only when there’s doubt.)

Arms that wrap around,

thank you, thank you…

A half-moon on the horizon,

its’ missing piece in my heart.

If it all adds up,

or it’s only love I give,

that you’ll remember

some random moment…

Grasp

what it was…

Smile subtly aware

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2015 All Rights Reserved