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Uk.jpg (1708 byte)   We are waiting for your poems...  Uk.jpg (1708 byte)

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

GRATITUDE 


Do you remember when you needed help ?
When things were difficult ?
When there seemed no answer ?

No ? 

Friend, you have forgotten me.

Do you remember when you needed intellectual 
vitamins ?
When you needed help you see around corners ?
When I showed you where to dig for treasure ?

No ?

Friend, you have forgotten me.

Do you remember the things I wished for you ?
When I cleared the paths ?
Now that you are through the tunnel,
and have reached that place at last.

No ?

Then friend I am forgotten.

 

                                                             Tadzio Jodlowski WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

 

 

 

RAINDROPS


I do my dance for all the world to see.
Pitter-patter, I step on land and on sea.
I dance in the dark, and almost never in the light.
Will you come take a look at me?

I dance in the puddles making a ripple throughout.
I wet the grass, and dirt, and trees.
Only children seem to dance with me.
Please, come take a look at me.

Iíve made the sea cloudy and mudded up the land.
Iíve made the people run and hide- 
No one is outside.
Why wonít you come and play with me?

The sky is clearing and the light shows through,
It is now my time to go.
In one last attempt I provide a light show-
Youíve come out, but now I must go.



                                                       Deborah Portillo
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REMEMBERING



How can it be 
that she is gone?
And all I have of her are these --
the bracelet that she wore at birth,
her little baby shoes,
photographs, and greeting cards,
and one bright, plastic comb.

The photos make it seem 
she still is here -
I only need to look in other rooms
or use the telephone, 
to hear her laughter once again. 

I hold the sparkly plastic comb 
and think of long ago
when she in all her innocence.
thought she had bought
a diamond comb for me. 

I clasp her nightgown to my heart 
the yellow, silken one I chose,
as my last gift to make her smile.
"My little buttercup," was all I said --
too overcome to whisper more. 



                                                        Terry Silver 
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MAESTRO CINCIONE

Every fourth of July
Mr. Cincione led the band
at the annual
St. Vincent's Orphans' Picnic.

A boy of seven
when first I saw him
come to lead the band,
I watched with fascination.

Short
and
stocky,
dark complexioned,
a native of Italy,
in his early fifties,
he arrived
smartly dressed,
in black suit
and
tie.

Self-assured,
master of his art,
he paused a moment
to fix the reed
of his black clarinet,
and then ascended
the high band stand.

Band director
of St. Mary's High School,
and
the American Legion
Franklin Post 1,
he was a busy man,
who freely gave his time
to teach both brass
and
reed instruments
to the boys
of S.V.O.

How the sisters spoke
in tones of awe
whenever he appeared!

They knew,
that as a younger man,
he had traveled
with his legion band
throughout the state
and
nation,
and
with his band
had performed in Paris,
and
with his band had won
the American Legion
National Championship.

I last saw Cincione
at a festival of bands
in Columbus, Ohio.

At a moment
when all bands
were at rest
on the State House green,
the air became electric
with Sousa's Washington Post March!

I immediately rushed
from the green
to the top
of the State House steps.

From there I could see
the Franklin Post Band,
in uniforms flaming-red,
marching toward us,
with Cincione proudly marching
at its head!

The immigrant man
from Italy,
who had gratefully received,
bountifully repaid
his adopted land!

                                                Virgil Gelormino WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

Note:
Mr. Cincione passed from this world nine years later in 1957 at the age of 73. Born in 1884 in Abruzzo, Italy, he emigrated to the United States in 1900 at the age of 16.


 

 

 

ANGEL
(Dedicated to Alan)


Angel don't you dare to leave me now!
Don't you see my agony?
The agony of staying here by myself and alone…
Angel by the way!
do remind me to thank you
before you leave.
I need to tell you something very important indeed.
Something that has been bothering me since last January.
When I wanted to let the heavy and cold curtain of
This theater once again fall down upon me.
I need to thank you
For setting me free when I was incarcerated by
my own fears of performing on stage.
Angel will you go that far away from me?
Will you still remember me after the trip?
I really hope you do,
because I will remember you for as long as I live.

 

                                     Leticcia Lopez WB01342_.gif (412 byte)RETURN

 

 

 

 

FIRST HOLY COMMUNION

Two lines
of seven year olds,
dressed in white,
boys on the left,
and
girls on the right,
come in procession
down the center aisle
of the chapel,
and
into its sanctuary,
where they solemnly receive
First Holy Communion
from the chaplain
of the orphanage.
The sun shines bright
in a clear blue sky,
when well towards noon,
two lines
of seven year olds
return in procession
down the center aisle
of the chapel
and
through its doors
to the world outside.
There, the sisters waiting,
lead the children
to a dinning room
all to themselves.


The seven year olds
gaze in awe
at the table
spread before them-
the choicest of foods
and
delicious pastries!
A new prayer book
with ivory covers
and
beautiful holy cards
grace every place.
Absolute silence
fills the room,
for no talking is the rule
at meals.
The absolute silence
is only broken
when a Sister admonishes
an epileptic child:
"Now, Teresa,
remember to chew your food well."
As all sense of time vanishes,
I suddenly have a glimpse
of eternity!

                                                  Virgil Gelormino WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN




 

 

 

THE NORTHWEST CORNER
OF THE PLAYGROUND


In the high weeds
of the northwest corner,
far from the playground sister,
boys huddled together
to smoke their idea of cigarettes:
dry leaves rolled in newspaper.

For a light,
they focused sunlight,
through a magnifying glass
onto a dry leaf.

The aromatic odor
of the smoke arising,
from a brown curling leaf,
tightened the ties
of orphan lives.

In this far off corner,
boys launched their ideas
of airborne explosives.

Tying string
to the four corners
of a handkerchief,
then to a short
but sturdy twig,
with some dirt inside,
and
a heavy rock,
they'd hurl it high
into the sky.

With glee
they watched the dust,
like smoke,
puff out,
as their parachutes,
billowing out,
came floating down!

 

                                              Virgil Gelormino  WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

 

 

ESCAPOLOGY


There is a mirror,
on the back wall of kapinski's bar,
which is distressed in the middle.

In front of the mirror,
stands an orchestra of the colourful
and characterful bottles of the world,

And the mirror - well that sees life
backwards through the prism of a blue
glass haze,don't we all,until we know ?


                                 Tadzio Jodlowski WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

 

 

 

ADULTERY



Although I'm wearing sorrow's ring -
must share his bed, his dark abode,
I will not be submissive wife
nor bear his seed -
Aborting all that seek
maternal nourishment.
No guard or lock
nor jealous, watchful eye
will keep me from my love
(for even sorrow sleeps).
One moment's negligence
and I'll escape
to be with joy!

                                                Terry Silver WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN


 

 

 

CHAPIN

Tony Zeleski,
know as "Chapin",
was coach
of St. Vincent's
elementary football team.

A former boy at S.V.O.,
still in the grips
of the "Great Depression",
he resided
in the workmen's quarters
of the orphanage.

With little family
of his own,
he felt family
with the boys of S.V.O.

Often,
cigarette in hand,
he'd chat with boys,
along the hedge row
that ended at the entrance
to the playground.

Of a mischievous bent,
he one day had a boy
call over to him
various others,
one after the other,
to watch smoke
from his cigarette
pass through his eyes.

As each boy
fixedly looked
into the coach's eyes,
he felt a burning cigarette
near his hand,
or
arm
or
foot.

How old "Chapin" burst
into a merry laughter,
at each boy's
startled ouch!

                                     Virgil Gelormino WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

 

 

BICYCLING

 

Riding my bike,

I break restraints

of mind and space.

 

One spin of the pedals,

the driveway gives way.

I’m breaking free

Down a tree-lined street.

 

On a grade,

falling-

standing-

I face into

The quickening breeze.

 

As I coast,

lulled by the humming

of tires and road,

I see drifting above me

The billowy tops of trees.

 

Wheels-a-whirl,

I round the turns

that lead to savannahs

of land and sky-

the open countryside.

 

While climbing high hills,

bathed in the sun’s

warm tingling rays,

I hear the chirps and trills

of birds- on the wing or perched.

 

I feel a special Presence.

I thrill in the harmony

Of the natural world.

 

At the edge of tall inclines

I drop like an eagle

swooping on prey.

Quickly I’m swallowed

by onrushing slopes.

Exhilarated,

I ride the crest

of gathered force

from one hill

into the adjoining other.

 

In the buffeting wind

I glimpse racing by me

fields-

some green, others tawny brown.

 

On even terrain,

homeward bound,

I rest my eyes skyward

on towering cumuli

rising and traversing the blue.

My heart is at rest.

I am refreshed

My being is full !

                                                       Virgil Gelormino WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

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BUTTERFLY

Poor shattered playmate of the sun
and singing stream,
you yearned to glide
in rainbowed unison
within the wind's embrace.

How still . . .
How dark the moment hung
beneath the fastening pin's
descent.

Where do they go,
the songs that are not sung?
The honey thickens in the bud
and sickens me
who knows that hope will never
germinate.
How even still
I mourn that radiance.


                                                 Terry Silver WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

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WRITING

 

What about ?

It's time

to shut down.

I don't get

the lane

I have

in front of me.

I don't remember

the covered route.

I don't want

to have my glasses

cleaned.

But I'd like

to talk.

 

And I can't.

 

I don't get.

 

I would like

to see

no suffering.

 

And I can't.

 

Among a lot of glances

perhaps

I'll talk

with somebody

I'll succeed

with someone.

 

For this

I don't shut down.

And onward

I'm continuing

to look at

my lane

finishing

one day.

 

Alone.

 

                                                            Andrea Leonardi  WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

                                              ( Translation : Carlo Bertero )

 

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TO MY FATHER

Italy.jpg (930 byte) A MIO PADRE



Infinite seems the time elapsed
since that frozen October
when a holy hand
closed your eyes forever to the world.

And yet, the blue of those eyes,
a privileged path for your heart,
still tinges my memory,
and I feel you at my side,
and I remember your warm stubby hands,
more used to labor than caresses,
a sure guide to my tomorrow.

Sad, inconsolable, and unending
was that day, but quite empty
would today have been
had I not known you.

                                Carlo Bertero WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

                                 ( Translated by: Virgil Gelormino )

 

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"The Archer"

ITALY.jpg  "L'ARCIERE"

It flows in my blood
of words a river,
what from the heart to the mind
it often assists me
...in verses and rhymes.

Caresses, tender embraces,
of thoughts and feelings weave!
As the sharp darts
Cupid darts to the hearts
to let fall in love them,
this way I sharpen the words,
and as "archer",
also launch my arrows!

Rays of light in the night,
persuasive echos in the silence,
kisses, whispers, caresses,
warm breathe, tenderness,
tears, distill pearls,
dreams of eternal passions
as of whom alive in one
...thousand and more life!

And I always suffers and I rejoyces
for my brothers, my sisters, my children!
My blood's blood!!
You are scattered in the world!
And then I beg you of to Love
until it is been in time,
who waits for one sign of ours
has lost the words for the supplication!

Tears they don't have anymore,
the voice have extinguished,
that's why I also implore you,
exhort you all to Their name!
Love you them also, immediately, now!
The neighbors are there, in silence,
with the wide open arms!
They smile,.... sad
and wait for you confident....
...as Jesus Christ does
...on his "Sweet" Cross!!


                                        Carlo Ceresa WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

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DREAMS

ITALY.jpg  "SOGNI"

 

Close the eyes

On the violence of the world.

See gates opened.

Open a window of your mind

On strip of sky.

             What does it matter if my world

             Is different from yours ?

On green meadows

With earns of corn

Yellow daysies

Stand up on the sky.

               Few clouds disappear.

The springtime is beginning !

Swallows are flying.

               Butterflies are settling on flowers

               Sucking their nectar.

               It is a nice dreaming !

I remember :

When I was a child

Full of dreams and hopes.

I threw a kite on the sky

Higher and higher

                             On the sky.

I remember :

Feel your lips over mines

While my heart runs, runs,

Among new beats

Among the caress of sun.

At this moment my nice dreamland

Disappears

While my dreams

Are closed on the drawer.

Because the dreams

                                     See...dreams.

 

                         Milena Zirafa WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN