A Peasant's Ode to the Juicy Grape

I have long been a gratified sipper,
tempted by the lingering taste
of that great and affable vine clinging fruit,
those trailing globes of sheer delight . . . the humble
yet succulent, juicy Grapes.

Oh whence hast thou presumed
to live a life
without such aromatic sustenance ?

My friend, you have only to spy on the maidens
stomping and splashing with skirts held high
and catch sight of the fires in the fields
warming the strumming peasants
to understand the beneficent gift
of the juicy grape . . . turned into Wine!

Oh that my tongue could sing of it!
That the artist could dip his brush into
the lush red dew of those ancient goblets
treasured by the lowly poor and paint
the grape that has lifted their spirits and dispelled
any rumors of servitude!

Oh that the rich would rightly share
their oaken barrels, pour them out
into the streets and let our friends,
the animals . . . drink, yes drink! Why not?
Perhaps, like us, they'd learn to dance!

Thou good and comely grape . . .
I salute your bountiful gifts
for I have had my fill this night
and I am . . . truly . . . duly
crocked!!

Joanne Cucinello 2010

Eve of All Hallows

Eve of All Hallows
walks with the dead
when the gravestone slides
off her sodden bed
of rot and bone
no pillows there
just dried up skin and mottled hair.

The earth is soft and drenched with dew.
This loamy soil from ashes grew
For tranced escape
to make in haste
when the Moon is full
no time to waste.

Night owls screech . . . a creature’s near!
He hides in the crypt
his eyes to peer
as zombies slide through the sunken earth
and rise for the devil
to give them birth.

The howl of wolf cries across the moon
and Eve takes flight
on her ragged broom
while the crypt door opens
and the black-winged creeps
pushing and pulling
till he finally leaps.

Past the graveyard off in flight
He catches up with Eve tonight
“Darling, haven’t seen you since when?
New broom, I see . . . mmmmm . . . very Zen! “


Joanne Cucinello

She Walks the Shore at Twilight

She is no ordinary woman
this anyone can see

Somewhere in time, angels
came to visit her . . . in numbers

Their feathers began appearing everywhere
lightly falling in the darkest places

Little did she know back then
that she would come to change her name
once the suffering began

Seeing angels and finding feathers
does change one, you know

Experiences like these are always preparation
for the coming transformation

Leaving an aperture in the heart
for a time when the Great Love can enter.

She is no ordinary woman
just an ordinary saint
who utters prayers of love for our broken world
as she walks the shore at twilight.

Joanne Cucinello 2011