Necessary

I am waiting

like the small acorn

left behind and buried

in the barren earth of winter

waiting for

the warm rays of

springtime's sun to

open up my heart again with light

do we all

not close that

inner door when

daylight's scarce and night is long

how necessary then this test

to pause and stay within the heart's

perimeter and muddle through the aches

of our decisions past, that walk us through the labyrinth

there is no undoing

yet the years leave memories

with faded watermarks, blurring truth

sometimes, as the mind grows weary in the dark.

so come sweet light

add your colors softly painted

to this waiting canvas of my thirsty soul

and I will, like the acorn, part this earth and bloom again.

Joanne Cucinello      2013

Crown Coffee Shop

Crown Coffee Shop

It's been many years since our first date

and the small Crown Coffee Shop

we walked to on that snowy night

cold and chilled to the bone

no gloves or scarves, just acting cool

the way teenagers tried to do back then.

You said you went there often

and the owner wouldn't mind if we sat

drinking coffee all night. . . just staying warm.

Now it wasn't fancy, you warned me in advance

but it was cozy, and Tina, the waitress served

the best damn coffee this side of the Brooklyn Bridge!

There it was, just ahead, Crown Coffee Shop

the blinking neon sign, like Morse code,

saying "Come on in, you would-be lovers !"

When you opened the door

and I got a whiff of that fresh ground coffee

floating toward my cold pink nose . . . I knew somehow

we'd be sipping coffee together

for the rest of our lives . . . first thing

in the morning, tap, tap tapping out . . . that same Morse code.

Joanne Cucinello

I wrote this Story Poem in 2008, but for those of you, who were not following my blog back then . . . hope you enjoy reading it on this blustery winter's day . . . .

Muse on the Red Wall

I stood before the fresco

a Muse on a long forgotten red wall.

I had heard the stories

of this ancient beauty rare.

In daylight, it was said

should seekers come

to gaze upon her face

she captures visions

of their hearts and draws them in

with sapphire glance

 and beckonings

of distant flute and lyre .

When darkness falls

she dances, lithe grace

under candle glow

and moonlight.

  So unannounced . . . 

I did return that night

and sat beneath the willow

bent to see.

And there before me

as the moon passed

soft across the evening cloud

she stepped upon the grass

the red wall watching

and began her ancient dance.

It was then

I heard her voice so pure

like Celtic lilt adrift among the trees

a song to tear my heart forever more.

She sang as if for me to hear:

In my eyes are a thousand faces

 Dancing the dance of a thousand years. . .

the music and chants of all the children

dance my dance and cry my tears.

You and I . . . the face in the mirror

You and I . . . the footprints in sand

Born of a rhythm that rides on

Moonbeams,

born with the earth in the palm

of our hands.

Hear the music

that travels the centuries

Find your heartbeat

and hold on fast

You and I . . . just the face

in the mirror

The Song, the Song . . .

is all that will last.

Joanne Cucinello  

© 2004

No Regrets

The years

are filled with stories

stories woven

with a gilded thread

to make a heart.

Silver hairs are falling

soft upon this loom

like feathers ~

pillows touching

slept on through the years

finding comfort  ~

gazing some nights

across the sheets

to that place

where heaven rests

Oh . . . these have been

the best days

the best choice

ever, ever made!

Joanne

A Poet's Prayer

I'm re-posting my poem this time with my photo "Lilies of the Field". . . hoping that together they might be an inspiration for some of you to pick up a pen . . . and write your own!

A Poet's Prayer

Thank you for words, Lord

their eloquence and simplicity

the many forms of speech and language

known to man ~

Thank you for the gift of voice

and its expression ~

sounds that pass through teeth

and tongue and settle on the lips

that form them.

Words emerging

from the mind and heart

dripped with honey

or sharp as steel . . .

words worth remembering.

And so my gratitude

emerges in this hand and pen

with urgency to capture

all the bits and pieces

before they float away.

To write Lord!

To give flesh

to the spoken word

to make it real

to pass it on

for generations yet to come

remembrance to reflect upon

with laughter or with tears.

We . . . who can dream

and speak of the stars

must record the sacred truth ~

that once mankind was here.

Joanne Cucinello   2008