The daytime cruelly mocks me with its’ sun,

through every crevice, a beam,

summer Creamsicle spun—

Cascading-waterfalls on drapery summon birds,

their exuberant song.


Another dimensions’ from a gold mirror

cast shadow-tribal-dancers:

Listen for the echo, down halls, a boy’s deer-hide-drum.

Perfect blooms of Azalea-multi-color-smiles,

fill-up on moistened soil’s energy.

An innocent glass perfume-holder sitting blue upon my vanity:

Becomes a kaleidoscope.

Encouraging diamond-shaped-enthusiasm

on an otherwise perfectly content and empty wall.


Does it not know…

Beauty is strained and the Crows have left their markings.

Hope is out the window—

A neighbor whistling, dropping seeds for grass to grow!

This day should remain indifferent.

Tomorrow may be open to seize possibilities…

But the forecast calls for rain—

—Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2015 All Rights Reserved