Poetry dances.com

shelf 5

• Blame                                             David Hixon
• I Want                                            Angela Rizzitano-Bellenis

• The Old Woman Dreams           Joanne Cucinello  

• Nothing to Say                             Brandon Farinha

• Unzipped                                      Jenniffer Jude Slachtovsky

I knew something was wrong

the world a bit askew

but didn't feel like

shouldering this one

feeling instead that

others were to blame

for their faults I could

not resist

or fix

reality is hard and cold

well hidden within

and between the thoughts

we've hidden so well

they hurt, these thoughts

that is why they are under

a formidible lock

but when we are ready

it seems we've forgotten

where we put

the key.

                                 I Want      by Angela Rizzitano-Bellenis

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            The Old Woman Dreams   by Joanne Cucinello   

She dreams

with slow breath

rising in her chest

white haired and soft eyed.

She sleeps now in the day sometimes

and talks to spirits in the night.

No need for clocks anymore,

she says, as she watches the sun

move across the sky leaving shadows on the porch.

So many friends have crossed already

and she wonders  . . .

what keeps her waking each morn..

Eyes close again as the last rays leave the sky

and for a moment she is young.

A brief dream passes through her mind

and he is there sitting at the table waiting with a smile.

"Oh, my darling" she whispers, "it's taking too long."

Sighing she stands, awake now,

opening the screen door into the house

but the table is empty and so is his chair

just little Lucy

purring and dreaming too.

A cup of soup, a piece of bread . . . food enough tonight.

Slippers shuffle across the room to the closet and her robe.

Nothing much appeals to her these days once the night comes.

All the engines are slowing down inside and she is making ready

for her last dream coming soon to take her to the other side . . . and he who waits.

Joanne Cucinello   ©2008

jcspirit@optonline.net 

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Nothing to Say            by Brandon Farinha

An endless stare into a blank piece of white abyss

A desperate longing to free the words from within a bleeding heart

Yet the blood is that of glass

And with each falling drop the words shatter in defiance

Exploding into a lost land of emotional purgatory

Thus never making the transition from thoughts to words

Stream by stream the anguish pours from the depths of his hollowed eyes

A constant torture playing over and over again in endless repetition

For this is a game where winning doesn’t exist

Bullets once fired

Can never be taken back

And exploded windows

Can never be pieced back together

Just as a life once taken can never be returned

An agonizing truth of a friendship stolen

The refusal to accept a fact void of any alternatives

All emphasized by the cracking strain of his clenched teeth

Countless bottles filled with liquid numbness

Prayers of salvation wrapped in memories laced with smiles

The loud sound of frustrated fists on a helpless table

Yet even still the abyss remains blank

With nothing more than a blinking line to stare at

The fact is unchangeable 

Such a desperate hopelessness

Knowledge of inability to change that which can’t be controlled

With no other option than to stand in the fire

And burn alive in the black flames of loss and anguish

What he wouldn’t give to have his friend back

To have the freedom of words filled with expression

Yet the blood still shatters as the fire rages on

And the blankness remains as he sits comatose in his chair

Staring hopelessly into the blankness

With endless feelings and emotions to express

And yet even still

With nothing to say.