Monday, March 31, 2008

Are We the Seeds?


Is it “time" ~
or the weight of the world
that pulls the body
downward into earth?

Were we born
on top of the moon
poor descendants of the stars
here to become
with something more?

And are we soon to recognize
the uncontainable nature
of our spirits
our true identity ~
or must we continue
for another thousand years
believing in war
and separateness?

The Great Spider
continues to weave its vast web
threading bridges of instant passage
connecting minds
across all earthly borders
with just one

But will we survive
when the plug is pulled?
Will we still be connected ~
or will our fate be like that
of our ancient brothers
the Stars above ~
drifting forever silent and separate
in the great unknown?

Joanne Cucinello © 2008

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Who Are You?


There are nights
when the wind speaks
chill and eerie
and whistles in the dark
your name.

There are nights
when the moon speaks
low beneath the bend
of the willow tree
and climbs the wall
of the old church
for one
who still believes.

'Who are you?"
the earth asks
from her mouth
in the grey soil
that clings with ease
to the dying foot.

Do you know?

In the light of the sun
shadows disappear
and faith renews,
but it is the night
that comes
with mirrors to the soul.

Who are you?

Joanne Cucinello 2008

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Thoughts at the Vernal Equinox


The trees are still
upside down
waving their
root-like branches
at the sky
naked and unashamed
asking for blessings
and ripe new buds.

Once they were
in the dark soil
of earth
they, like we ~
reach up
to the heavens
for grace

to endure
another season
another flood
another drought
another reason
to keep growing ~

releasing their gifts
of shelter and peace
the Sun God's return
welcoming golden rays
light-filled blossoms
and children's smiles

willing to die again
come autumn's blaze
and so ~
life continues.

Joanne Cucinello

Saturday, March 15, 2008

The Steps of Avalon


Come walk with me.
I’ve found a place
where stones speak
and whispers of forever
move the trees.

A path winds
rambling through the thicket
and every season’s palate
paints the woods
with strokes of sweet nostalgia.
So come with me and wander
till we find those cherished
that take us there.

They are waiting
just around the bend of brush,
coaxing us to come along
and climb the rise . . . to find
the magic hollow,
where seekers come to listen
and sometimes hear the stones speak.

At the landing, in circled swirl,
lies a graceful Labyrinth
made of stone
linking all who walk it to ages past
and visions of the deepest heart.
And in the background,
standing huge . . . the carved rocks,
etched with loving words . . .
the memories of a son lost long ago,
a life remembered.

Joanne Cucinello 2002

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Eagles Wings

flying eagle

Eagles Wings

In this world where eagles fly
and falcons soar
I, too, with wings unfurled
reach for unfamiliar heights
And in the reveries of my evening song
taste the voyage
of my soul.

In dreams, I wander
searching for my home
Looking for the child
I left behind,
Floating down the empty streets
of times past,
Uneasy corridors
that lead to nowhere.

Voices once familiar
echo in some distant doorway.
Faces long forgotten
turn in recognition of my soul.

This strange land of my enigma
vanishing with light of dawn,
No peace this restless wanderer can find
in flight nor slumber.

Were I only to remember
in my waking hours
That once obscured memento
of my childhood grace

I would surely fly with eagles,
climb the mountain tops
And find that winding path
that leads to home.

Joanne Cucinello

Friday, March 7, 2008

Here To Stay (for Cherylyn)

in the womb

Here To Stay
. . . for Cherylyn

The doctor said,
as he listened
through the wall of my mother’s womb,
“ I hear a heartbeat. Want to listen?”
and he raised the scope to her ears.
That’s when she heard me
floating in the dark warm waters of her yearning
like a new born star deep in the heavens
and her heart caught my rhythm
and began to beat with mine.
Then she sang for the very first time
a new song . . . that rang sweet and true
like a pure silver bell
and its ring went on and on and on . . . this time.

Joanne 2007

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