Tag Archive: Life Love Loss

Behind the Retina


The sadness bellows

with every ice droplet,

falling from the winter sky:

A grey solitude,

too cold for the heart’s survival.

Here in a room of yesterday—

All the distracted shadows,

on lonely walls,

search a soul to attach to,

to become whole,

to live in warm flesh.

A promised future,

her fingers like magic,

painted propositions,

in yellow and pink.


Wanted. Waited. Wished.

Until the expectancy gave way to letting go.

They died together and apart—

Suddenly, one night became an eternity,

a lover answered the longing…

And a day promised endless sunshine.

Then like the stars appear with the moon,

everything became a mere visitor—

Doused like fire,

it went down like poison:

All the miraculous highlights-

The dances of flourishing energy-

Now harsh-jagged-complications.


and choke-upon the sweetness

that was:

a bitter ending,

to death do us part.


She woke-up crying inside her lover’s eyes,

where she wished to remain,



behind the retina,

the color,

away from the visionless-vampires,


Where she could see inward,

drowning-out the darkness inevitable in the light.


Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

© 2015 All Rights Reserved




This short space,

long in endurance,

has an abundance of fragments,

pieces to pull-apart and reassemble.

Where once there was:

A singular motion.


Awareness and identity.

(Perhaps awareness was illusion.

Identity, a guest.

Motion, stillness in disguise.)

Come and stay for a while.

Here in this is your refuge,

Be this innocence, this joy,



(From an otherwise negligent existence.)


Oh, but it was a life!

It had a road to follow.

A perfect wisdom—

(Little beating heart,

You always were so trusting.)

It shattered.

The foundation a quicksand

Damn it all to hell!

With a lullaby why don’t you…

“A pocketful of posies”


For the death of it all:

Scattered broken-delights,


into a world-unfortunate.

For experiencing less than perfect,

it is blessed all the same.


capture the taste, sweet like a blossom, on your tongue,

before everything dissipates,

and you become a shadow to it all—


Life’s meaning


l o v e


what makes sense,

and doesn’t.

Comes or goes.

Touches tender the spot,


stings irreparably.

On, and on, and on…

We live and die

pleading for its capture,

to render our hearts helpless.


Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

©2014 All Rights Reserved


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.


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:


or burdened,


or magic,


or, oh so young again…

I am.

When I can have things uncomplicated,

or nail them down like a tombstone.


Death and Daisies—


The way it shakes me sometimes!

Realizing the reality…

I’d rather be a raindrop,

falling-upward like

treble keys on a piano.


The pink little girl in me 

Swirling like cream in a cup.

A dancing statue in a jewelry box!


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.


Experiences count themselves plenty.

It’s your birthday,

first day of school,



learning to drive,

lost virginity,


sister’s cancer,

a daughter’s birth,




revolving door…

But never home to my lover,

with whom I’d live and die!



This is not my perfect skin,

The supple kind everything rolls off of

I’m sad!


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,


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.)


Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2014 All Rights Reserved