Cinderella Lost

(This is a new version of my poem from 2009)

They've stopped looking.
It's been twelve years now.
We searched for her
in every town
even miles from here.
She was gone . . . just like that.
We posted her picture everywhere
and all the leads were just dead ends.

She was young and pretty, my sister,
just a kid when she left, funny too . . .
We used to dream together
hiding under the bed with flashlights
pretending we were going to the ball
to meet the Prince, pretending we had
slippers made of glass.

She whispered in my ear one night
just before we fell asleep . . ."I've found the Prince!"
and I rolled over and sighed, "Such a hopeless Cinderella!"
Two nights later, she disappeared
and the rain blew in from her open window.

Yesterday I found a letter stuck between the doorsill
and this picture . . . Here, look!
All it said was "Do you know me"?

She was just a kid but
I'd know those eyes anywhere.
Look at her . . . think hard!
Have you seen her?
Can't you see . . . it's Cinderella?

Joanne Cucinello

This Life

Do not take for granted this life
or this face that greets you
tonight in the mirror.
All that you know and believe
can change in an instant
and be no more.

Do not think you are privileged
even though
you may be greatly loved.
Jesus himself was greatly loved
by the Father and yet
he became the womb of suffering
for all mankind.

We cannot truly, or ever,
understand how love can allow this.
We cannot truly, or ever understand why
we are here on this earth
with such uncertainty
so vulnerable to sin and its thorns.

I myself have seen life change
this day, in an instant
and what was once a stone upon my mantle
shatter and blow away like broken glass.

And so, what shall any of us do with this dilemma?
Continue to live, believing something kinder awaits us?
Love . . . even though these embers will die one day?
Yes, and forgive . . .
Let us not cling to the suffering
Love . . . while this moment is ours to live.
Love . . . even though we may never unravel its mystery.

Joanne Cucinello 2012

My Valentine

How many years have I known you, Sweet Man of Mine?
How many vines have grown over the Oaks
and the Dogwoods deep in the woods?
And how often have I watched you cut them down
to save young trees, to spare a life.?
You are always cutting off the dead and lifeless,
sometimes, well before the rest of us
can even see they’re dead.

Am I the girl grown into the woman you were waiting for?
Am I the one, the love of your life?
And does my smile still warm your heart?

I wait for your return each night . . .
the turn of the key in the door,
the look of your warm eyes
saying “I’m home.”

How many times have you told me you love me?
If I close my eyes, I can hear your voice
and feel your breath upon my cheek.
You are my darling love.
I waited for you all my young years,
waited for you to come out of my dreams. . . .
And here you are, so full of all I ever wanted.

Hold me in your arms forever.
Tell me I’m your One Sweet Valentine.
Never . . .never let me go.

Joanne Cucinello

Joshua’s Lament

When will all beings be free?

When can I return to my brothers
and be greeted with open arms?
My soul dwells in this barren place
that once housed my heart.

These eyes are dry and tearless now
like the sand beneath my feet
and I have become an omen feared
my face a dark reflection of a man in chains.

The parched grass does not seed the earth
nor uproot itself and move with wind to verdant hills
just as I am bound in this anchored solitude
until the ear of Yaweh hears my cries.

Without hope, I am deprived of mercy
a hollow shell where once a rock stood
proud and fortunate. Alone, I am an empty wineskin
once full of the drink that warmed my dreams.

When will all beings be free?

They have silenced my tongue because
I spoke of peace and the end of tyranny.
Like an ill-fated child who speaks out of turn
they have dealt me vicious blows.

My cries are muffled by the wind that
moves the clouds in dark of night.
How long must I keep silent while my sisters
are raped and my brothers made to carry dung?

What am I to do? Eat locusts and wild honey
like the Baptist John and wait for my beheading?
Must I hide among the rocks and caves until my hair grows
white, my skin a dried brown prune to cast away?

How long, Lord, must I bear this sentence?
You are the One who stirred my heart to speak
of freedom from oppression, of justice for the poor
and now I preach to dried grass and lizards unaware.
When will all beings be free?

Am I to wander forever here without your solace
to never gaze into my children’s eyes? Or will you look again
upon me with your mercy and set the path before me,
carved through mountains with your word?

Will they rise without me, tear the structures from their beams,
raise the flag of freedom and sing ten thousand strong?
They will come to find me then rejoicing, but I will not be found,
my bones returned to dust in the caverns of the hills.

No, this cannot be my final destiny, to never know of peace,
to be like Moses never entering the promised land!
Find me a way Lord! Let me steal into the night by my brother’s side.
Make me swift of foot and strong of will again.

Return me to the land of the living, even if it costs my life,
for I am Joshua, your servant. You gave me a tongue for a sword
and I will never cease to wield its sting upon the wicked.
Find me a way, Lord and I will forever sing your praise!

Joanne Cucinello 2007

Recovery

Some days are so clear.
God is everywhere
and angels whisper in my ear.
On those days I believe what they tell me;
my life is worth more than I can ever know.
I smile an awful lot on those days.

Then there come the mornings
when the sun is not around
when I can make no sense
of anything . . . no reason, no purpose
not even one clue as to why we're here
alive on this planet, all of us
walking around hungry all the time
and there's not one angel in sight.

I close my eyes and try to remember
what it was they said those times
when I was LISTENING
when I was noticing
how my breath rises and falls
in my chest without effort
without a care of any kind
and I can feel the whole earth
breathing in me, all of it, all of me
and I know.

Joanne Cucinello 2010

Listen

This poem is an excerpt from my book "Constellations ~ A Collection of Heavenly Poetry" . . .



"Live!" . . . said the Moon on her perch
in the black sea of heaven.
"Fully ". . . she whispered
to the children of the earth
who were making love and waging war
eating and starving, dying and being born.

Live!! . . . she shouted, as they stumbled
and fell, trying over and over to walk
in their shoes of immortality.
Live!! . . . she cried, as they pulled their hair
in disbelief that they could in fact . . . live forever.
"Nothing lives forever" . . . they sobbed
"all things surely must die!"

"All things but You" . . . she whispered now
alone in her heaven, without the Sun,
who rises when she falls, who shines when she is dark.
"All things but You!" . . . echoed the Stars,
and they wept for the Moon in her loneliness.
"You are not like us, set adrift to light the heavens
exalted in your poetry, fading into darkness at the end.

Listen and truly live . . . Mankind
before the Sun and Moon have run their course.
Learn that it is YOU who are immortal,
You, the beings who can dream and yearn and love
and You who will shine long after our light is gone.
There is more to Man than flesh and bone.
You are the children of God, and though you inhabit
the Earth, you are Spirit.
Listen! . . . it is You . . . who will live forever."

Joanne Cucinello © 2004

Can You Believe Me?

Re-posted for new readers:


What if I were to tell you
that the world could never be the same without you?
What if you believed that you were truly priceless?
And what if all the years you’ve lived
were rolled up in a purple ball
and given to a newborn child
who’d grow one day and say to you . . .
"Teach me . . . "
Do you think your life holds lessons to be learned?
And when you sift through the stones and pebbles
you’ve stumbled on,
do you see the gold dust and the crystals too?
What if I were to tell you that you shine,
that when you enter a room and smile . . . .the lights go on?
Can you believe me . . . that you are loved and forgiven
and that you will always be remembered
for the good you have done,
that which you so easily forget?
Would these things make a difference?
Would they help you to breathe in the moments
one by one
that you . . . like all of us . . . take for granted?
And what is life anyway, but a gift . . . .
a pure gift . . .
We can look up and see the stars,
We can dream . . . . we can love.
We can truly live forever . . .
right now.

Joanne Cucinello 2007

Observe

Observe

Leaves are falling now~
Autumn and her winds
encouraging the trees
to let them go.
Nature is wise
and full of promise
new leaves will return in spring.
Watch me . . . she says
Observe ~
and I will teach you
all you’ll ever need
to know about your life
and how to live it.

Do you not see
what the animals have learned already?
They have neither speech nor reason
and they do not fight me
as you do~
They listen when I call
and do what they must do . . .
each species
true to its purpose.

These, the Innocents
have been with me
long before you walked
this earth
and they have learned
my secrets well.

Observe~
Those in the wild
must always be
wild~
their nature is not
to walk with man
they must be free.
It is their spirits
that reside with you
deep in the hollows
of your consciousness
. . . the ancient mind
that speaks to you in dreams
of times long past
when you were also wild.
Do not destroy their kingdoms
or the suffering and loss they bear
will be yours to own.

Observe~
They are totems,
portions of the human soul evolving still . . .
Their ways are lessons to be learned.
For the nature of each species
those that swim the oceans,
crawl the desserts, soar the skies
and live among the trees
each in its truth . . .
foretells the course of man.
They are a wondrous prism
reflecting you!
If only you would . . .
Observe~

Are not all creatures
wild and tame
true to their Creator’s hand?
But what of you, Man?
Have you forgotten who you are?
Made in the image and likeness of God
. . . of all beings . . . ONLY YOU!

Is it time yet?

Are you ready to remember?

You have within you everything you need.
Listen~ the earth is speaking
and all its creatures wild and tame
are restless and afraid
hoping you will choose to remember
before it is too late.
Open your immense heart
and turn away no longer.
Your beautiful spirit, magnificent . . .
is ready to rise!
Make haste . . . the time is near.


Joanne Cucinello 2007

Outside the Womb

There are things mothers teach
that can't be taught
while swimming in the womb
like how to lie
when you can't keep a promise
like how to smile
when saying canned spinach
tastes good.

Day to day things like brushing teeth
and not picking noses at the table
make for civilized offspring
however, these are not necessities
when living in rural areas
and mothers often overlook such
trivialities while milking cows.

Love, on the other hand,
mysterious and hidden in the dark
emerges at birth with awesome wonder.

That fierce miraculous moment
when mother meets her babe
that first miraculous breath
outside the womb.

Joanne Cucinello

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

Where to Begin

I've been warned it's time to start packing
time to begin sifting through all my
accumulations
the years full of memories I've been saving
thinking they are pieces of my life
I can't abandon
perhaps afraid to let them go
in case the day comes when I can't remember.

I guess we've lived in one place for too long
never had to do this before
but soon it will be forty years full
of our lives in this house
let alone the years before, that tagged along.
I don't know where to begin,
but Reality keeps knocking on my door
and it's time to let her in.

When I was young, I thought about my death
too often . . . such fear of my annihilation!
Now that I have aged and ripened
watching my own body, my beauty
slip slowly through the keyhole
into the room of my acceptance,
I am no longer afraid
since there is less and less to lose.

Enough said about the inevitable!
I am still alive and full of spirit and I must
get on with this task of sifting out, giving away
making my circumference smaller
consolidating those belongings I need only
to survive and keep a happy disposition
while I wait with my Darling
for that golden coin to flip and settle . . .
who'll be sailing first to Never Never Land!

Joanne Cucinello © 2011