Tag Archive: #pros


Sum of Pieces

Filed under: POETRY, Uncategorized — 1 Comment
May 20, 2017

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The computation of pieces together and undone,

find sustainable consequence.

This palpable heart—thinking…

Yet, no more or less important than the caterpillar.

Been searching

the beauty in what breaks-apart:

glass, world, stories, images in a kaleidoscope…

Always imagining the dynamics, as a whole, being perfectly suitable.

The focus predominantly on gathering-up,

reassembling what was…

Meanwhile, the fuzzy yellow creature without a spine,

slinks the bark of a tree, and I’m not sure that he thinks,

especially of me.

I ask, is it not the most frightening thing to find

your foundation is quicksand?

Take life—It has infinite possibilities in which to crumble.

I have seen the fragments, rolling frantically like marbles, those lovely,

equivocal streaks of color speeding towards chaos!

As I now pause,

learn to embrace the inevitable impact, allow for the parting of ways;

Fall-apart,

and in-love with the immense offerings presented by the indefinite.

The continuous evolution becoming-one with breaking-to-bits.

Each particle: a new universe,

eye for seeing death as its rightful birth.

Journeying the sum of something—with or without meaning—a part.

(Reflection in a still river questions, “What is tangible?”)

In the beginning is God—

We, the caterpillar and I, you, the sun, a rose…

are in the intentions.

Acceptance—

the peace within pieces.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

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Mine

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December 21, 2014

Rainbow

Mine

–

This short space,

long in endurance,

has an abundance of fragments,

pieces to pull-apart and reassemble.

Where once there was:

A singular motion.

Belief.

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,

 

Safe— 

(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,

escaped

into a world-unfortunate.

For experiencing less than perfect,

it is blessed all the same.

–

Honey,

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

before everything dissipates,

and you become a shadow to it all—

Remember:

Life’s meaning

IS

l o v e

For

what makes sense,

and doesn’t.

Comes or goes.

Touches tender the spot,

or

stings irreparably.

On, and on, and on…

We live and die

pleading for its capture,

to render our hearts helpless.

 Unknown

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

©2014 All Rights Reserved

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A Letter

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February 6, 2014

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Dearest Collector of Thoughts –

      Some of us spend a lifetime trying to find the meaning in ourselves, with the hope others, or specifically another, will understand and help us to do the same; to relate to a calling inside for connecting, and bonds that may help to save us on a multitude-of-levels by which we leave the weight of any despair behind.

     Personally, I have come to find this search includes a process of letting-go and forgiving something I am yet to understand. I can only identify with the presence, the thief if you will, that prevents my emerging into brilliance.

     It has come into question in my own belief system, if perhaps some of us were meant to be “only” sensory beings, maybe all of us (though many do not recognize this), here to experience all things earthly, in beauty and pain to which we are foreign, merely to absorb them as knowledge, not that they should become a part of a soul that is already perfect.

     We come here innocent and unbroken without a need for fixing!  Yet we decay to the forces outside of ourselves, to rigid belief systems, to trying to fit into an illusion rather than into our own hearts.

      Born of flesh and vulnerability, the one thing we must rely on is trust, an ethical code. The gentle ones: the small, meek, disabled, animals- are tests to that code of humanity. When any one of us is purposely neglectful or cruel not adhering to the code, they destroy all of us, into bits and pieces of broken humanity that suffer.

     Life has the potential to become a wonder if we accept not being truly attached to it but merely visitors in time and space.  This I believe to be truth that we are educators to each other and students of God.  We own nothing but borrowed time.

     In the end we fight for our last breath rather than easing into it, not because we fear the unknown, pain or any other previously experienced symptom of life (everything having already been out of our control) but because we are saddened to think we may be alone, no longer a part of love…   

     No matter how much suffering there ever was it all becomes glorious to realize we were part of something more extraordinary than ourselves. The relationships we shared…

      Unfortunately for us, the earthly dwellers, this knowledge is too often lost in the time searching, the rearranging of what already flows, rather than acceptance the fight for control, 

     …..and the realization that we have it all comes clear as day, as we go…

     Every musical note you’ve ever heard will tell you so —

     Home, faithfully, home.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

Copyright 2014 All Rights Reserved

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In Light of the New Year –

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December 31, 2013

I don’t know if everything is the same as it has always been, and each step is in a direction we already know of instinctively, or if things are in constant transformation awaiting our discovery; If the universe is inside of us, growing with each beat of our hearts, or if we are merely a part of it, a link in the chain of knowledge desiring to be pertinent.  And we are…

It’s 2013, 14, 25… and yesterday was 1857, 1942, 63, 79, 86…  B.C./A.D.  Someone was born of importance, and others died old and aching, young and wanting… Everyone broke someone’s heart.   An event changed everything.  Your grandmother was there, my father, Washington, Martin Luther, John Lennon, Mother Theresa, and Jesus. They built us; and then there was Hitler and Lucifer, who tried to destroy us, but the moon went down over the sea and the sun rose again over the mountains, as it ever shall be world without end.  So we grow and sing and cry.  We conquer and cave. Lose and win.

We are here in New York and New Delhi, in Asia, Spain, Turkey, Norway, Jerusalem and Italy… but these places we call home are but merely fragments of earth that belong to the stars.  We are all born from a mother’s womb that will flourish with life and blood, then return to dust.  We are each other.  Connected.  In the palm of one another’s hands.  Hold me delicately, as I you.

Love stands alone.  It is the fuel of life and dreams.  I have loved you.

There is a universal sound of wisdom implanted in our brains that calls like a seashell humming to take us into the waves of consciousness.  I will meet you there… like a bell that has rung and echoes into the silence.  When it is dark, promise you’ll reach out for my hand and pull me from fear of the unknown.   I know in time we will be cast into the light once again, perfect and innocent, to become ourselves… a cosmic truth.

Author: Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved

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