Sunday, July 1, 2018




Awake to face the noon day dawn
like a loving doe or that in a fawn
we all want to belong
I exist as a vapor then I am no more...
And then clouds form
when the invisible vapours
in the air,
condenses into visible droplets...
And thus the cycle continues...
sprinkled with a bit of care
the love to behold a new day's sun


in a house built by stone and asphalt
I ellude to the discussion inside of innate moments of love
baked cookies as traffic leave their shoes at the door
a knock from a door lest I implore try to even the score

There she sat in her old chair with grey hair
pillars of smoke whisked through her eyes with a tear drop
the saddened evelope was delivered of a long lost loved one that went home to be with the Lord...,

She had a pot of coffee waiting in the patio with a heavy shawl upon her neck
whispers in the corridor those angelic pitter patter of soft sandal feet
She took here time with it & never quit
Grandmother's woven quilt may lead someone to great guilt

Her laughter permeate the atmosphere in old fashioned rhetoric
alone again sitting outside on her porch swing the dinner bell rang
old farmer Ted who lived at the edge of the street came by with freshly baked bread
she softened her lips and offered Ted a kiss

Finally it was done out of great amazement she entered the quilt in the Farmer's Fair
that year it won first prize with a word to the wise
the radio was playing her favorite song by Glen Miller, "A Sentimental Journey"...
yet why should she worry her days were spent in a high sophistication

gives cadence to the simple grandma popped a pimple stayed in the parlor
was so very happy for once in a long time coming


see me through the seaweed torn muck of the oceanic plains
see me throught the plight of common circumstance
see me on the patio waiting & watching

watch as I go further with the pen
to write the most perfect ten
in a matter of words, "See me through the flames"....

see me in the twilight of my dream
see me eating delicious ice cream
see me through everything


Home for the holiday from New Orleans,
with Mother and Father at the tiny
drop leaf, brown rosewood, mahogany
table with the gold, grinning claw feet;
Father, choler- red-in the-face, short-
sleeved white shirt and cane, says the blessing
as Mother brings in the turkey and cranberry.
Then Mother asks, " Won't you have more ?' and father :
"Do you think Moll Flanders was a whore ?"

(I have suffered and bleached my hair blond. )
I am silent before their replies.
Mother sighs. "I can scarce speak to her."
And Father, too, quotes Shakespeare. (I am thin
as paper and the rose- colored bowl
of blown glass sitting on the silver stand,
half- filled with water. )

" How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
to have a thankless daughter "


on a hill far away
through the variation of a parting dream
with hands
you move toward me

intertwined by a puzzle covering the thorned mind's eye
alone through the silence we escape its magic
the waiting
the wanting

on ivy chords of strain
let me explain,
it is in common place to reach again to outer space
recapture a truth

we have been to these plains
of understanding the giving
a given chance to rearrange
I stand here forgiven


MARIO VITALE is a poet with over 1,000 poems towards his credit platform. Mario Vitale was born in Bristol , Ct Has developed a skill for writing poetry in the free verse form. has been featured on, & Poetry soup. Vitale lives with his elderly mother Ann Soulier in Wolcott, Ct. Currently has written well over 1,000 poems & 2 short story's toward credit platform. Vitale has hooked the poetic world by storm being featured on Google, Yahoo & MSN. Looks up to contemporaries in the poetry industry such as, " John Ashbery & Major Jackson". Has been a favorite featured poet reader at Barnes & Noble in Waterbury, Ct. Also featured on such sites as Poetry soup, Writer's café & Neo Poet.

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