Sunday, November 30, 2014

Because of You

In Memory of my Dad and his passing . . . December 1, 1994

Because of You

Time has passed, my Father,
since that day you left this earth,
but echoes of your life and memories
go on and on.  Your smile and your laughter
comes floating by in the wind sometimes, I could swear.
You were a tender man of many colors, hopes and dreams,
you were full of tomorrows, something better was
always on its way.  You taught me to look for rainbows
and silver linings and to keep expecting the sun at any moment
to poke its head through the clouds.

You filled your container as full as you could
with life, love, and laughter and gave it
to all your children . . . to make it our inheritance.
You lived your life in a hurry, always on the move,
gathering episodes, telling your funny tales, dreaming your dreams.
So I guess it was to be, that you had to leave before the chapter closed.

And yet, dear man, you always found the time to dry our tears,
comfort our fears, and chase the boogie man away
so that we too . . . could believe in tomorrow and smile.
You shared things, so simple, so good  . . . the real things,
the keepers, the ones that mattered.  Your love made us strong,
knowing we were wanted and cherished. You stayed through it all,
the good times and the bad, and because of you . . . we learned
the art of loving children . . . of our own.

Joanne Cucinello

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

 photo 8150ca44-a02d-4cbe-972f-5a987903a99e_zps52cf74d3.jpg

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

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
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

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