Tuesday, November 11, 2014

She Can Rest Now




I'd waited a hundred years it seemed
to find the grace of forgiveness.
Give it up . . .  Let it go! . . .
something whispered in my dreams at night.
Nothing is worth the price of your soul!

But I, knowing that there would be
nothing left to hold onto without that pain,
decided to fasten it, like a scapula, to my skin
taking it with me at every chance
so that I could feel that feeling pinned
to me and never forget.

One day, without warning,
like the sun parting the clouds
In my heart I saw her, my Mother,
a child lost and forgotten
a waif with sorrow so deep I could not bear
and it all passed before me, her life
her loneliness inconsolable and hopeless
her mind disheveled and searching
for someone, anyone
to wrap her and rock her to sleep
and never have to say goodbye.

I let it go that day, and looked beyond my own pain
to this woman gone, my mother, whose life
I would not trade, nor could I change, waiting for
forgiveness that she knew would set me free.


Joanne Cucinello    2014


Sunday, August 31, 2014

I Have Not Dreamed of You



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I have not dreamed of you, my Mother
long gone many years now
I am so much older than you were
when you finally left this world behind ~
almost twice your age
so it is hard for me to think of you
as my Mother, unless I return to those days
when you and I were split
like dry wood that the axe took down

I keep trying to remember love ~ yours ~ mine
and how it was . . . once
but it's hard recalling, even though I know it
must have been . . . once.

Darkness swallows our trail
it floats along linoleum floors
and a porcelain sink that stood in the corner
of that small kitchen where you painted your hair
so bright, so red and necessary
for that look that turned men's heads.

I was very young, no matter
still you taught me how to
paint the hairs you missed
in back of your head ~
the back of your head
where you always kept me
close at hand for secrets
hard to hold for one so young
but you needed me
and I kept your secrets
yes I did ~ for years.

I wish that I could dream of you
just once ~
and the days when your brown eyes
smiled at me and your soft hands
touched my face, and remember how
love must have been ~ once.

Joanne Cucinello

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Still We Love




















All the world is spinning, spinning
I can hardly breathe . . .

Like leaves in a tempest storm
flying past my face
every new creation, new idea
comes and goes and winds up
in the mortuary of humanity
a sticker on the wall of instant fame.

But there you are, my Love
reaching for my hand on the carousel
smiling with those eyes
that know me and can find me
anywhere

If I tried to enter the abyss
and forget I had a name
you would call it, call me
come to you . . . no questions asked
no reprimands

In this fading world that's grown
so unfamiliar and fragile
it amazes me that you and I
have kept the promise
and still can love . . . in spite of all.

Joanne Cucinello  2014

Thursday, March 20, 2014

The Christ Tree Twists



 Christ Tree photo ChristTree.jpg


I love how the dogwood
bends~
following its own lead
turning to the whispers
of the laurel, oak and ivy
as they mingle in the woods.

Outside my window
a great white lady
readies herself to bloom
sap rising 
ripening her tight buds ~
the warm spring sun
seducing her to burst forth
in lacy splendor.

Christ's blossoms,
cross shaped petals
tinged as though with sacred blood
they say ~
and in each center
there his crown.

I do not think
sweet Jesus hung
upon a dogwood
yet we yearn for mystic symbols
connections ~
wherever they might be
organic matter
to fertilize our faith.

Even in a tree ~ poor tree ~
just wanting to twist and turn
and share its beauty
with the sun
while all it asks of us
is the deep breath ~
the aah!
and silent yes
acknowledging its gift
so simple ~ so magnificent.                              

 Joanne Cucinello     ©2008


Saturday, November 30, 2013

Did We Say Yes?


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I am the flesh that bore your soul
the smile you saw when first
your tiny eyes adjusted to the light
outside my womb.

Who are we, the two of us
so blessed to be given a chance to love
and this game of life to share together?

Was it a lottery of some kind the angels drew
above the clouds or a puzzle
that our two pieces made complete?

Did we each say yes, when asked the questions . . .
"Are you ready to suffer for someone else?
Do you know what it means to love until you die?"

We must have nodded or whispered
quite unsure, yet willing to smash through the cosmos
and land here in this tiny speck of earth together
mother and child.
.
I know, for me, it was by far
the brightest moment of my existence
and none since then could ever compare
to the moment I felt you alive inside
and knew that you were mine.

Joanne Cucinello    2013

We Too

angels photo: angels ANGELS7.gif



They look down at us from above
angels
white winged glorious beings
seeing mostly
the tops of our heads

like push pins
multicolored against the earth
walking, running, and some
still trying to fly

trying to believe that Yes,
we too had wings once
that we too
could sit at the foot of God's throne
and gaze into Ecstasy.

 Joanne Cucinello  2013

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Hidden


light beams photo: Light beams Creative-4.jpg


Layers crust the earth and rocks
hiding what the chisel knows.
Time marks trees with circled rings
the proof of their existence.

We dig and chip away
hoping we will find somewhere
in the root of our beginnings . . .
that moment
that one glorious moment
when the first Being stood and
shouted to the stars . . ."Aha"!!
and knew that there was more.

We will not find that moment
in our diggings anywhere,
nor in any rock or tree recorded 
No . . .
that sound,
that first illumination
did not plant itself beneath his feet.

It traveled, racing
through the stars of the great night sky
straight across the heavens
and there it found   
beyond the darkness waiting . . .
the wild expectant heart of God.


Joanne Cucinello  2010

A Moment of Reckoning






















It was well after dinner and a few Merlots
when I decided to stretch out on the rug.
My nine year old Shih Tzu, Max, had denied
my most wonderful offering of human food,
Pot Roast and Mashed Potatoes.

He went ape over it last night
when we had guests for dinner
but tonight I was cooking up
something else and he did not want to eat
luscious leftovers, even though any other
animal would have devoured them.

When he does this "rejecting thing" with me
I must admit . . . I DO become the animal
I say things I cannot repeat but
harbor in my sorrowful Dog Mother heart

So I lay there on the carpet
deep breathing and telling myself
Max is not a human, I can't give in!
And then he comes to me with his white fluff 
fluffing and his big brown eyes all full of fun

rolling and pressing his head on mine
wagging his tail, hopping away and then
rushing back to nibble my ears
panting wildly

and I surrender once again
to this little creature who must have been
human once , I'm sure . . . but not now!
And I remember how brief his life will be
and it is I who must give into
this moment of reckoning and meet him
halfway barking and wagging on the bridge. 

Joanne Cucinello ©2013

Monday, August 12, 2013

Spirit Child




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She dances sometimes
on my ceiling
in graceful swirls of ivory lace,
brushing by with wistful wings.
Childlike, hushed and innocent
she stirs my heart awake.

Such beauty!
How can this be?
She bears the face of an angel
a sweet cherub
captured by moonbeams
floating through my window.

I lay here watching
awed and silent
graced by
this gossamer being
caught in my world.
Why does she pass my way? 

Stardust falls from her hair
and I am spellbound
as she turns wide-eyed, angelic
pausing,
searching for something
 . . . someone.

In hushed amazement, I watch as she gazes at me
who cannot speak, nor reach to touch.
Can it be that I’m the one she’s looking for?
I, who am not ready yet . . . to cross the borders of eternity?


Joanne Cucinello   2007

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Have You Seen It?



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There is a new light beaming
across the surface of the earth
Have you seen it?

Nothing like it has settled in the
clouds before . .  calmly waiting

all the thoughts  and consciousness
of those who've lived before
and walked this earth in blindness

have begun to settle in this light
this aura of the great Divine

Oh, how we have longed for it
this moment in time
when all the strings of the Giant Web
will soon be cut and folded into
one Cosmic Golden Envelope

soon to be delivered . . . our Ransom
purified in the fires of want
and desperation, the crystal waters of hope
and forgiveness, the winds of change and
deliverance, and the soil of Adam's rib.

We are Children of the New Earth
those promised to the Stars
our Ancient Brothers.
We shall carry their light that is dimming
and become like Stars ourselves
resting in the sacred palm of our Creator
floating in His tears.

Joanne Cucinello  © 2013


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Dreams



 photo Nor__Tir_Delia_The_Sea_Witch_zpsfcef52f9.jpg

My dreams are seeping and
weaving into daytime
haunting places so real they test my sanity.
I can't remember if they were once
a part of my conscious life
or some fantasy landscape I've created
repeating itself over and over
behind my lids as I sleep and dream.

There is a place so familiar
a place that returns again and again
where I swim unafraid and calm
in green murky waters
aware that reeds and seaweed
are reaching up from the bottom
swirling around me as I swim.

Strangely, I'm not afraid
I just keep swimming in that
dark green water toward the other
side without struggle or fear . . . even though
I never seem to get there.

What are dreams?
What are we to learn from them?
I often wonder, as so many have,
which is reality . . . this life I'm living, or my dreams?
Perhaps both . . . perhaps they are one.

Still I wonder
if the bits and pieces of my days
are painting the palate of my brain
trying to make some connection at night
with that wild spirit bound in chains
and the deeper meaning of my life
hoping to form a bridge to the other side?

Joanne Cucinello   2013

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Purple Sky

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Even the rich know sorrow.
They suffer too, when it comes.
The loss of a child is even worse
for them, and anguish lies in bed
with them when darkness comes
and money cannot buy a life.
Nothing stops the storms
that tear the trees from their roots.

We forget sometimes ~
when the sun is shining and
flowers are blooming ~
that all must die one day
even those who live on top of the hill.

But if we were to think of death every day
we would stay closed like a sealed book
stuck on a shelf in back of the library
where no one goes.

Life is this moment right now
and this moment is all we really have.
Life is the gift we cannot save for another day.

Too many children die rich and poor
yet the world still turns
while their songs are sung
and their kites fly high
even as the sky turns purple.

Joanne Cucinello 2013




Monday, June 3, 2013

No Gods Among Us



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Where have they gone
these noble men?

Once they were gods
great gods among us

but their pedestals have
crumbled, turned to dust

lies and deceit
all shades of trickery
slide from their mouths
like worms

trust . . . misplaced
honor  . . . diminished
loyalty  . . . traded for coins
chivalry  . . . erased from myths

and yet, these Once Gods
still envision olive wreaths
around their heads at a
mirrors glance

even though transparent
garments clothe their backs
revealing the very same ass cracks
seen on those of us who used to
stand in awe.

Joanne Cucinello



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