Uninvited Guest

Photograph by Donna Donato

Dry, lined, withdrawn

floating in the wind

bending, brittle, rustle of leaves

rocks, buried, rigid, cement

smooth, gray and embedded

lines are drawn, drawn within

veined, brown, old, rejected

harsh realities submit their requests

 clang, signaling weathered change

Transferring tones into cruel, forced connections - Into and out again, alternating futures pointing the way...Swept away into vast smoky skies - A soul set free to drift, to skitter across a hard and cold rocky surface, separated by patterns, signaling steps from dusty ruin.

The conundrum of purity and wholeness;

Sin and the sinner; not without the other, the uninvited guest comes to rest, holy and damned.

Senseless - In Memory

There stood a boy, when the shot was fired

A shock that jarred the world

Gave way, a body of proof

Gave way, a body to truth

Just a child, wanting to skip and sing

As light of morning stirred

Then the world shook a fist

Felling my boy, a boy becomes a list

A body lay dying, only remains is sorrow

Against a hard won fight

No justice, no justice, to show the way

He only wished to play

His body is wrapped, with the warmth of love

But deep within the earth he cries

Buried beneath the cold of clay

To hear no more, no more, the smiling laughter of day

The World at War - Survivors, another name for Hell (unedited)

 Hear me! 

Eyes avert

Down, around

Through curtains

The world shouts

FUCK YOU!

A hush falls

Stillness

Troops led

I hear you now

Is said

Bombs drop

Blood runs

Torrential rains

Shrouded forms

Shrugged away

Shattered lives

Fuck you!

You’ll pay

Don’t stay!

Blocked views

Feigned desires

Severed bonds

Who’s to blame?

Party’s over

New day

Bonds to sell

Into dreams

Hell

She shook her fist in the eyes of the enemy and yelled, FIGHT!

She held her hand up and whispered, stop.

She walked; she marched, for miles and miles

Across desert, a hard pan earth

Through sand, and rocks, and storms that followed

Through cold, through sun scorching heat, until she could go no more

Gather around, she said to her children

For this is your home, this is your life, for the rest of our lives.

The enemy surrounds us, but holds its tongue on the edge of war

It waits, it watches, for the right time, for the next time, for the only time

Claiming our land, a sparse piece of dirt we called home

We can rest, now; gather our strength for the next flight

We call this living

We take a breath, for the next fight

We call this surviving

Because we know there will be a next fight

And a next

And a next

Lay down your sack

Lay down your head

Just a sip of water

They are sure to come back

Searching

She’s home, I said

And then whispered, but it doesn't matter, she won’t hear me

I could yell, I could scream, what good would it do? 

Why is that, you ask?

It’s in the knowing, I say

What is that?  What does that mean, the knowing? 

She hears what she wants to hear, she knows; only she knows, it’s in the knowing

The shadows in her room know

The creak in the floorboard knows

The breeze on the dusty window sill, it knows

The roots growing in the cellar, they know

The damp earth, the shiny leaf

They all know

I wrestle with the truth

I wrestle with the lie

She won’t tell a living soul

She won’t tell, unless I cry

Tight lips

Closed fists

I cry

Eyes shut, downcast where silence is met

Shout down the mountains, the valleys, the rivers and streams, the rocks and trees

Shout down the hills, the plateaus

The desert, the seas

Go to bed.

I’ll tell you in a dream, she said.

Borrowed Time

Speak to me

The clock chimes one

Speak to me

The clock chimes two

Speak to me

The clock chimes three

Sounds of gnashing is heard, metal upon metal, the ancient clock groans; age heightens the ache in old bones; saying it’s time to go.

Down to the street

An intersection

Where all hearts meet

A place where goodbyes are stuck to anger, a reverie of lost hellos tear at the heart; where feet stray, where strangers go, found in humble beginnings; then hands slip aside, allowing darkness to wear the cloak, shuddering, drawing it close. 

Early morning, the clock strikes one

On window’s ledge, she stands

Soon, the clock strikes two

Closing eyes to sleep, she hears the tick of the clock’s reverberating beat.  This time, this time, is it mine; to go, to go from here to nowhere, from here to nowhere on three?

The moon rises over the lake

Her soul

Her soul to take

A Leaf

Photograph by Donna Donato 

Beside a lonely leaf

White on black

Tears are shed

Severed grief

What is done is done

Do I think of you?

This leaf, taken from a tree

Or do I think of me?

Cutting ties

A leaf with purpose

From a tree so fine

It was time

Where does the wind blow, without a trace

Light upon dark, evoking conflicts, secrets

Buried in shades of grays and blacks

A sacrifice, drained of color, of life

Life, a leaf, with or without strife

By itself on the rim of the world

A single leaf across my vision

I think of you, I think of me

Blanched, set free

Life, Oh Life

I wrote this poem in 2008, after watching International on Dateline with Ann Curry.  Serbia's Horrific Institutions a Relic of The Past.

Mentally disabled kids, adults given no hope for recovery, poor 

treatment.

http://www.nbcnews.com/id/26332429/ns/dateline_nbc-international/t/serbias-horrific-institutions-relic-past/#.UflW7o2si9l

Life, Oh Life, I see it in your eyes

I see it in a crib, when a baby cries

I see the struggle, the moans and sighs


I see it in the limbs that have nowhere to go

I see it in the hands that reach and know

I see it in a whisper, when I lean from above

I see it in the stare, when they see my love


I see it in their pulse

Life holds in my heart

I see it in this Life

that has no start

A Race for the Human Race...

I'm so done with people killing people; with people killing animals and insects and plant life; the damming up the rivers, changing their course and blocking their flow to the ocean....and life, in and around it, all but destroyed forever. 
A mess

I'm so done with the political and religious arena, a horrible state of affairs, where again angry people are fighting each other over the most insane things; the radicals, the ultra-conservatives, the neo-whatever-they-are, where common sense no longer exists. 
A mess

This movement that is happening at record breaking speed....I'm waiting for the day to come, where people simply annihilate every living creature....
Mankind, what a mess 

When are people going to think of someone and something besides themselves? When do we turn hate into love?  Am I being negative to the human race? ----I'm mostly disappointed
I guess

Silence

Time to be alone

I’m home, I’m home, she cried

Silence answered her call

But I’m home, she sighed

No answer, just silence, is all

Silence pulled her

Silence pushed her

Silence waited for her

Alone, to be alone

Where silence is silence

And no one is home

Plowed Earth

She folded her arms

Around the world and its charms

She seized the load

Of a million miles of road

To stop meant despair

She traveled here and there

Trails led her on

Trials took her beyond

Little did she know

From tears seeds would grow

The moment is now

Lean forward my girl

Put your back to the plow

Her tears moistened soil

The sun burnt her skin

She did not recoil

Another day, another time

Brought closer to you

She shrugged off her coat

 Time to renew

Like the bird on the road

All covered in dust

She brushed off the clay

To night’s purple dusk

Move on, it said

Move on to your home

To the flutter of wings

She continued to roam

Summer 's End

Photograph by Donna Donato

Rose, dear rose of Sharon, the last days, the last days of summer where blooms go

where time escapes

where the past hints of color

where seasons' last breath is joined

to inhale the last light from summer's warmth.

 Though faded, expired, the rose of Sharon still stands 

After

It pulls, It tugs, It twists - It plucks the strings

It hardens, It lightens, It brightens

floating, falling, forgiving

setting like suns
rising like moons
flowing like oceans
in, out
to, fro

belief suspended
for just one moment
to hear
to bear
to care

I Am

I’m beautiful and sexy, at times

with an imperfect body

but I am who I am

Who knows what it means to be me, or you, or Sam?

I am who I am

I'm a sinner, which means a day to day project

which means I need day to day attention and work

Who, or whatever I am, it’s a quirk

I am who I am

I'm proud to be a work in progress

I'm proud to be a human, a mess

"The truth hurts," She said, seriously, more or less

To Say Good-Bye?

How to say good-bye?

To those you've barely met; so long, see-yeah, quietly leave.  But does that say it yet?

I never really said good-bye, to those I used to know. 

I guess I always knew I’d return again one day, rain or snow.

It’s been fun, it’s been long, and it’s been great to have known you all. I’ll miss our family outings……we always had a ball.

The empty space within me cannot be filled by anyone here.  I look around, and now I see it clear.

No matter where you go, there you are.

No matter where I go – there I am.

To say good-bye would close a door, a window to a room, a space within a space.

I am not lonely or feel alone, but feel a part of me not yet complete, so I look for that part of me in silence, in my room – when I create.

Washing Machines - Nightmarish Dreams

I had these nightmarish dreams, enough to raise me  from my pillow.

Mixing together analogies of novels, short stories

And just what are these things called poems?

I liken a novel to jelly

the kind that is loose, melts across a piece of toast

I liken a short story to jam

large chunks of firm eruptions, great big pieces of tasty flavor

I liken a poem to conserve

emulsifying many thick textures, small and tiny bits of rarities to savor

I wonder at the minds behind the poems

I wonder at what point that mind comes in

I wonder at what point that mind goes out

Do we need to pull that mind into ours?

to feel

to touch

to experience a poem's true meaning

who is the writer?

what does it matter?

to us

to them

Nightmarish dreams

put them

down

into

a washing machine

through its agitation

spin cycle

rinse

spin cycle

stop

Sweet Bursts of Spring

With a mug of hot coffee in hand, I ventured into my garden, to wait for the Morning Glories and Poppies to open - and the soggy grass waited for the morning sun to dry its tender new growth; morning, a time of awakening

I found an old dusty chair, dormant like everything else during winter months, and parked myself with patient resolve to wait for the sun; waiting, a time for remembering.

A breeze picked up, causing branches to sway in the trees.  They hung low in expectation of the sun to show renewing warmth.  New buds appear to steel against an invisible force, with a tremor, a shiver from the night’s cool rain.

The sun’s rays began to break through the mist, a warm and comforting feeling for these old bones of mine, cares of yesterday slipped away, attempting to perish within rivulets of winter’s deep shadow.

My eyes lifted beyond, to the hills, taking in brilliant colors of Spring. A sweet scent of blossoms came to greet me, drifting down on currents of newly warmed air – and with it came the voice of a song bird, bursting with jubilation, welcoming the season, a pleasantry beyond joy. 

Remembering becomes real, bringing harmony and peace

A blend of glory in every way, wishing to never cease

No matter where I turn, no matter where I roam  

To this, I call home

Dancing Love

Photo by Donna Donato

An Angel

A fairy, a spritely apparition...

moves to the tempo, sways to the music, floats to position...

Dancing

She opens her heart...spreads her wings, takes her flight...

into the arms of a first morning light...

Love

A fairy, a spritely apparition, to sing through the day...love’s dance will stay....

Stay

Stay

Never go away

Away

Away

Love, love, never go away

Our Town

Picture of Florida Ave @ State St. looking east 

1914 posted in the Hemet, CA gallery

It was your town - it was my town - it was our town

The years have passed; I look back on my town.

It was a cozy small town I knew, a town I loved.

Where neighbor knew neighbor, where friends walked together.

The quaint old homes look downtrodden, now; the yards where children once played and laughed, vacant and unkempt.

Decaying wood frames, ruin ignites like kindled flames.

Crime overrides to harm the city's calm, punishing people who want law-abiding peace.  City parks play to the homeless and lonely.

Uncaring feet, tread the city street

The elm, the oak, the maple

Remain the same

Only colors change with seasons

Giving unexplainable reasons

Hear our town – silence pervades

A breeze sneaks in - clouds roll by

Taking away dust, dirt and grime

Nothing to show, just our lonely town in time

Watery World

Photograph by Donna Donato

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hipstaparis/198310480217946

clouds move across the sky, and reflect

what is, what was, what is to come

what becomes a watery world

laughter, love, the living, moving

green grows the edges of this world

dried leaves of brown, yellow, and golden

float the crisp edges of time

to sail away to softening realms

of watery worlds to float, to see, to live

the unfathomed depths, the heights, the space

into, onto, moving here after, by and by

strengthen the edges of falling leaves

Run Run, Run Away

You are walking slowly through the crowded sidewalks, last minute shoppers looking, looking into the stuffed display windows, but seeing a child’s eyes looking back.  What was it like, all those Christmases long ago?  What was it like being that child and seeing through her eyes?  Was Santa real, was he bringing that wished for toy; a wish you’d had all year, waiting for that morning to arrive, and hoping to see it under the tree?  Would it be there?  Would that wish come true?

I run the city streets

The gamut, down the block, to the corner, a mile

I run the country roads

Through fields of green, or frozen ice, to the end 

Take a pill - run away

Shirk a duty - run away

Drink a shot - run away

Lie in the grass; or on a dune by the sea

Sit on a curb, or a bench

Catch a breath with me

Tiptoe by a door

From the night

A dark whore

Run away

Run, run

Run away

Passing, never to come this way again 

Dark nights, street lights

Entering, never to feel this way again

Remember this scene.....

You remember a fortress, where barren trees wait to live. Life surrounds you with evergreen.

Cars pass in the night, shining through window panes.

A face is seen, within a fractured light.

The rumble of tires, you run on, on to the cracks in the pavement.  Those same cracks, stumbled over in front of a window - eyes stare back.