Dellymari's Blog

Between now and then,

is where I always find myself.

Dwelling in the significant space,

like a detective researching clues.

Or a butterfly,

how it takes time fluttering,

to find a perfect landing place.

That glorious in between time:

I held you in my heart, smiling,

mine in yours like a cloud,

secure in her sky.

Blue is love then.

Forever, good or hurting,

I’m afraid—

The present is Queen!

All around us, offering,

everything spectacular.

Sometimes, I take her in,

a sweet, refreshing breath,

prepared to leap

into a gratifying future.

Then I remember:

In love—

The way it pretends so beautifully,

perfection exists.

It doesn’t.

–

But happiness can be a lifelong dance,

if willing…

I think to reach my hand back,

grab you in like a handful

of fresh cut wild flowers.

Because what if…

Hope is hellish that way,

damned if you do or don’t.

So, the Queen waits.

She calls out like a magnificent-single-star,

on a clear summer night:

Here I am!

What are you waiting for?

Little deer,

caught in the headlights,

wondering if you’ll cross-over,

unharmed.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

©2012 All rights reserved

Together, we sat counting his demons,

like crayons from a box.

So many colorful versions of the soul.

Up against the wall:

Jim, George, Nathaniel…
Prepare for execution!

Shadows cast against the innocence
of dawning light, a stable beige wall.

Bi-Polar, Schizophrenic fiasco, I hate you!
(And I swear, this time he was sincere.)

6:33 a.m.

Yesterday’s unmade bed,
cold-sweats,

sheets that stink of melodrama,
welcome him to hide from a now nearly-sober state.

I lock him in.

Prop a pillow at his spine,
(the good boy it once was, thanks me).

Oh, you poor man,

gambler, cheat, brute,

what have they done to you?

This is your dead father’s gift:
remnants of his soul, mightily
waging war within you.

Let us curse him wickedly,
however, not abuse him in this
your own haggard body!

And it is entirely your mother’s fault, I know,
for leaving.

Damn her cancer!

When you awaken,

I want to make you oatmeal,
with cinnamon and cream,

nurture myself in normalcy.

Oh, I’ll whistle happily and pretend…

—until one of your ghosts stab me in the back!

©December 2008

Maria DellaPorte

© By Maria On 12/12/2008 7:29:32 PM

Dandelion Dreams

–

Each time this mind-heart-soul,

floats,

into a vast search,

such as a Dandelion,

blows in the wind,

wished-upon,

to find lost lover,

a whim,

to recapture …

It is certain I shall not return,

understood,

the same —

As her Dandelion-pollen

is set free forever from its stem.

To the blue universe,

a gift,

as my thoughts are,

racing,

received by omnipotent,

where everything is known

at the same time a mystery.

And how to find answers,

we don’t,

but become them,

transformed into wild-flowers.

* * *

Revel in its brilliance,

born not mistaken,

though false it will be

without acceptance:

A true-to-self-life.

This magical-performance,

painful as it sometimes may be,

is simple:

“A square-peg-being,

unfit for mundane circle.”

So, no matter trying,

if it’s understood or not,

no point …

The importance:

A weed isn’t considered special,

but a Magnolia!

* * *

Only dying comes from duplication.

Birth into originality is blessed,

gloriously perfect!

So shine —

Even if from time to time,

it feels sad not to blend into the wall.

Author: Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

©All Rights Reserved

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcndxAyNDYw

Out there—

In the land …

Grass blades,

dance in the wind,

like fingers to a beat,

snow-pollen-magic,

and the melody of peace.

Eyes lazy with summer,

restore,

challenge thoughts

to let go,

let go—

The birds understand.

Everything.

Come and go freely.

What I’d love to be:

Extended, a blue wing,

going effortlessly.

Oak-men with sturdy branches,

leaves of feminine-delight,

graciously balance the seasons,

here and gone, red, yellow,

fall-singing then brittle on the ground.

Oh and the sky, I envy,

she is blessed infinitely,

holding the stars, her jewels,

and lover the moon.

A heart is in this nature:

Cascades upon living rock,

the sound a tale of memories:

In love she falls,

water to her stream.

And I no longer

want to view,

from the confines

of manufactured,

man, industry,

But be

… of the living.

©Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

(from Book II)

The pain which is you,

And you, you …

I know, well,

my own-part played

brilliantly —

A star is born!

She is lovely, victim,

make no mistake,

manipulative.

For good purpose,

could fix you,

herself find,

clean of everything dirty,

memory, the two-sides,

hero and beast in you.

And the world would become

new, beautiful again,

A promise, love

has always been real,

simply lost its way;

On dark rain-clouds,

intoxicating their heavenly

scent, the excitement of

your fractured-pieces.

I attempted to be reborn,

a rainbow,

to savor the color in life,

joy,

for us.

Maria DellaPorte – © 2010

This Concludes—

a struggle to sum up, complete

the unending void, destroy its death,

restore

expectation, peace, freedom, joy.

Working, in the doldrums

for

heartache, calluses, emptiness;

Clawing, reaching, building promise on

lies, goddam lies!

I want

to scream, tremble,

snarl,

grunt,

spit it out!

Wake up

oblivious—

twirling, smiling, singing

breezy in pink—

with God and a cigarette

–

©Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

An instant evolves into eternity,

I wait in stillness.

Staring across the platform, train delayed,

my view, endless wondering of ordinary people.

Here in gray and silence, we stand

in a rusty city

of lights absorbing energy,

ceaseless action.

Delicately balanced, precise and instinctive,

Connected, enduring—

Captured in reciprocal gaze.

With a hush we explore space,

replacing the hum, the drum,

feeling beyond darkness,

for delight of touch and taste and color;

Wrecked from the pursuit,

anticipating the reward of convivial lips.

Longing for the sum, to confiscate

the residual near death,

and subsequently, a train five minutes past due.

You, who sees me from the other side,

can you hear me thhrough my eyes?

Your chest rises, falls, in momentum

with my own,

I believe you listen,

can almost catch your breath.

Silent communication dances between.

The train rushes in,

steel wheels grind the tracks,

sparks like fireflies,

we unite across the bleak platform—

receptive flesh tingles.

A step

Suddenly on my way—

Our encounter lingers.

©Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dus-stripbooks-tree&field-keywords=sum+of+something+meaningful