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Pep  Nov 2015
Infl!ct!on
Pep Nov 2015
There is an ecosystem of conflict thriving in my brain.
A world with questions for residents and doubts for landscapes.
I’m not sure if I’m actually reaching for answers right now,
although something in my soul aches.
Those landscapes are parched
and turning to deserts under the sun the residents have named:
Uncertainty.
(Manuscript of Poet Mario William Vitale)


From 1993-1997 - Attended State University in Connecticut,Attempted plays : Tartuffe, Miracle Of St. Anthony and Balm in Gieade,( His poetic aspirations had  in 1989 from submitting his first poem entitled, "Remembrance Of A Loved One"- (Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum)Next from 1989-1997 ( Wrote primarily for Poetry.com and The International Library Of Poetry),* Received editors choice award in 1997 for poem, " A Beacon Of Light ",(1998) Sent poetic manuscript to N.Y. Time Magazine and Chief Editor " John Hyland".Back with rave reviews !* ( From 1999-2008:Had adapted a real keen sense of style for writing poetry: ( 1999- Sent Editorial to:New Man Magazine for the Passion of Christ Movie;Sent followup letter to company with poetry platform information attached,* 2000-2007 : Magazine : ( Catholic) Maries Rose Ferron Magazine submitted poem" Beacon Of Light", which had excellent editorial reviews as the outset !2008- Wrote poem entitled: ( The Heavy Cross) to Poetry.com* Achieved Poetry status of work of Excellence in writing from the Academy Of American Poetry in which still having received rank and status as a member of Academy;* ( The Connecticut Poetry Society)* Short story submitted entitled, "China Dog Ray" submitted to Virginia WritersQuarterly, West Virginia, Also having member status on their board of Poetry.*


( Attribute Poetry to an ever increasing love of God and his unconditional love that he has for us in return,Thankfulness toward family and friends.( To our past ancestors who fought to uphold freedom that far too many of us take for granted ?One needs a pure heart that's fixed on truth,This is in order to withstand the true great test of time !Life is way too short,Press toward the goal or mark of our high calling that is in Christ Jesus The Lord !~My contempoarry artists include that of ellan Bryant Voight, Kay Ryan and carl Phillips.Which all three are Participants in the Academy Of American Poetry.* Having been a member since 2006,My work reflects the likes of past poets such as C.S.Lewis, Hawthorne and edgar Allen Poe.Most of my work reflects with the values of religious beliefs intact,( In my personal view it is essential in demonstrating a real heart of creativepassion !The reader I believe will benefit by my artistic style of development in a verypositive light.)To further the need for poetry to become more main stream,

Mario Vitale was born in Bristol , Ct Has developed a skill for writing poetry in the free verse form. has been featured on Hubpages.com, Starlitecafe.com & Poetry soup. Vitale lives with his elderly mother Ann Soulier in Wolcott, Ct. Currently has written well over 1,000 poems & 2 short story's toward credit platform.

Vitale has taken the poetic world by storm being featured on Google, Yahoo & MSN. Looks up to contemporaries in the poetry industry such as John Ashbery & Major Jackson.
Has been a favorite featured poet reader at Barnes & Noble in Waterbury, Ct.
Also featured on such sites as Poetry soup, Writer's café & Neo Poet.

Mario William Vitale
1 Winfield Drive
Wolcott, ct 06716

A Beacon Of Light
Written by: Mario Vitale
A beacon of light to a much hurting world in need !

Can't help but to claim..,

Some sense of identity,

Stregnth and encouragement only come from above !



Amidst in the distance, the trapped seagull..,

Lieth frightened but still yet adrift !
In a most vengeful fashion striking the passing fish,
A true source of hope,
Yet a most triumphal beam !

This beacon of light shineth forth,
Passerby's can err' escape the helping hand..,

To the most sparkling of radiance !


(2)Thanksgiving Dinner by Mario Vitale
Home for the holiday from New Orleans,
with Mother and Father at the tiny
drop leaf, brown rosewood, mahogany
table with the gold, grinning claw feet;
Father, choler- red-in the-face, short-
sleeved white shirt and cane, says the blessing
as Mother brings in the turkey and cranberry.
Then Mother asks, “Won’t you have more?” and father :
“Do you think Moll Flanders was a *****?”
(I have suffered and bleached my hair blond.)
I am silent before their replies.
Mother sighs. “I can scarce speak to her.”
And Father, too, quotes Shakespeare. (I am thin
as paper and the rose- colored bowl
of blown glass sitting on the silver stand,
half- filled with water.)
“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
to have a thankless daughter”


(3)

Song of Spring
Today I heard a robin sing
heralding the coming spring
A song of exultation to the sky
an ode to earth's awakening

I saw a willow on the hill
It's branches greening in the sun
and all the earth seemed hushed & still
sleeping streams began to run

I heard a softly rising breeze
whispering through the grass
singing through the still bare trees
waiting winter's chill to pass

I saw the sun, so bright and warm
warming the earth after the rain
the buds and leaves, no frost to harm
at least, at last, it's spring again.

(4)

The Ancients
It's my last day with the old giants
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees
unaware of invisibles within,
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot,
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions,
And when daylight mushrooms into night,
and an owl hoots from cedar,
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe
Huddled with the ancients of the woods


(5)

Epiphany
Written by: Mario Vitale
It clings to the cliffed shore,
to the wintered face of the thistle path,
to the fingers of the old man's glove
as he waves his memory homeward

In that breath between come and go
she moves up from the bay;
gold turns her stride,
the line of her dress,
the soft sea pulling at her feet

When he reaches out
and the frail birds fly
and the sun and the sky
have married deep into the sea, it clings

Even as his shadow threads retreat,
it clings, even now as it dissolves to mist


(6)

A Return Home, Only Time Will Tell
Written by: Mario Vitale
Oh blessed hope !

Both hardly a believable dream,
Sweltering heat with bloodshed in the street...
Send the troops home !
There is no clear reason for them to roam..,

These are desolate times !
For we have chosen ill faded rhymes..,
The casualties are enormous ?
For a stated cause that clearly atrocious..,

A mother's cry as the door chime rings,
A vanishing salute to freedom as the church choir sings !
Let us look above to all the heavenly love..,
Merciful one, take this chip off my shoulder..,

Stop the senseless fighting before our dear nation grows a bit colder,
Suddenly, seeds were dropped out of a farmers bag,
In time roots spring up fresh out of the fertile soil...
As the sun heats up,


Time will tell when this harvest will soon boil...
In the vast game of life,
One's time is so very brief !
The soul yearns for its' heavenly relief..,

Share with others who may want to turn over a brand new leaf..,

Time will tell of the true importance of helping one another,
To never give into the finish line..,
Nor harsh criticism that our society puts out !
Like a famous fighter in his final bout !

Time will tell of the return home,
To the open arms of a loved one !

(7)

A Valiant Knight
Written by: Mario Vitale
A Valiant Knight

Death springs a new day basking in the breeze
In solemn moments lets pause to think of a place
A far off castle in the mountains away from it all
A valiant knight lived in the structure of it's dwelling
Those days of old where mere men had a noble demise
A beautiful maiden was in waiting for her knight
He would often fight for the cause of stregnth and dignity
The draw bridge where the castle stood had a very unique aura
A mystery of sort sought up in the vast array of crowned nobility

For the king on his thrown was humble yet greedy
Always would take care of himself caring nothing for the needy
A valiant knight was concerned about the kings trust
Often they would disagree on who it was to serve
A joker came in front of the king one day with a magic wand
Waving the wand in the air then there floated ivy everywhere
For the court jester was a fool in the making of his legacy
The maiden would often come forth and see

For she treasured a red rose that was plucked sometime before
Cherished the calling of her stature to the glory of the throne
A valiant knight would often sing sweet songs in the night
Had a following of village people that would sit before his feet
Having a way of words that he would often share
The castle was filled with dragons and warlocks searching for love
A cause to be brave amidst uncertainty of the kingdom
The legacy of golden capulets filled ardent vestibules
Let us toast to the valiant knight who keeps a watch on all that is good


(8)
Hampton Beach

The smell of fresh fry doe
Time had elapsed playing at the casino
Fresh lobster with a side order of fries
Those spacious wonderful sky's
Down at the shell the continental were playing
A walk by the lady of a statue in waiting
Flip flops and the sound of laughter
A playground for kids in the middle
The boardwalk with seagulls flocking over head
Fire works in the midnight air with a cheer


(9)

God's World
It is raining again.
Summer will be over before it ever gets here
Thunder rolls far away, drops
hit the windshield, the sky turns gray

The Sunflower, the blue
Delpinium, the white
Stinkwood drink the moisture
greedily. The green and silver

leaves of the Aspens sparkle as the rain hits them, and the
wind turns them round and round
The creek flows on, oblivious to
the change in the weather.

A break in the clouds allows a bit of sun to hit the side of a
towering mountain
Three cows slowly wend their way homeward. It is dusk.
The gray clouds lift and the sun bursts through,

before sliding behind the hills for the night
It is God's World. He gives it to us to enjoy and to share with each other


(10)

Jake's House
There was a man whose name was Jake
Who had a house upon the lake
Every morning he would wake
And for breakfast have a piece of cake

He had a private fishing hole;
He always used a long cane pole
He fried his fish on red hot coal
And served it in a great big bowl

For a pet, he had a cat


(11)

In The Zone
Written by: Mario Vitale
In The Zone

whispers...
through the dark deranged portals you evoke fear
filled with angelic fervor on it's textual base
yet we dig much deep then ever before

cries in the dark will light the spark of what we need to know
still we stand idle as the average novice introduces its spell
along again then the sadness evokes a newer feeling
dwindling through the vain extraction of the never world

we visually see a flash then a new day approaches
on the lawn two lovers having passionate ***
the screams of vile extreme explodes throughout
perhaps this is the place where Nero tread

yet again I sit alone in my house now huddled in the corner
the twilight sun has tainted my inner vision
the howls of Satanic laughter gives a piercing shriek through
a candle was lit by the edge of my bed

One can remain lax in the quietness of the moment
yet again the setting of the sun
a new day has begun as we embark on the moment
Does death hurt you the most or is it fear

You can equate logic through a firm grasp of the hand
whispers again...
then a faint cry,
we construct living pyramids to honor the dead

A stroke of luck an the impulse ensues
onto so much more but for what
are we grasping for straws what are we searching for ?
quietness again this time I'm in the zone

as if zombie creatures with viscous long fangs that bite
dripping blood off side we run away to hide
no one questions anymore no one has a voice
alone one last time yet feelings of grandeur awake

to the message of hope that spills from the sky
a challenge to be free is a question of time
eyes with spots digging holes in a pool of blood
Satan laughing again spreads his wings

Suddenly I awake but to what ?


(12)

An End Of The Age Of Innocence Part III
Written by: Mario Vitale
In our fast paced twentieth century world..,

We oft' have neglected to stop to smell the roses,
Oft' we used to bow our heads silently to pray,
As we reflect back to the sixties is had launched a pad to rebellion !
With a vast amount of liberal bias and thinking,

No wonder why our nation is sinking..,

Sinking amidst a cuss pool of mere morality..,
For now it is a quite different time,
A very unique but different type of day..,
An end of the age of innocence,

One hath been enlightened..,

From seeking truth,
Some fresh out of a garbage can..,
Yet for Gods' sake,
He hath such an amazing plan !

Hence, to shun the broad road,

Yet to seek to venture in the narrow..,
Such as a distant bird in flight !
You might see this creature venture out at night ?
Of the Eagle nor the Sparrow..,

It used to mean something to have a sense of common courteous..,
To hold open the door for your neighbor ?
Yet for the time being we relent and waiver..,
Would you prefer another taste of a certain ice cream flavor ?

To ponder we must be content with who we are in the inside..,

Nor, a mere fancy suit or blazing sport's car,
Life is a roller coaster..,
In what you do while busy making other plans..,
Finding solace among the height of nature.,

Such to think at what is quite simple,
As a young child reflects on his or her poster board,
Playing with their magic crayons..,
For in eternity it is such a very long time !

Take heed in what you do,

Now is the expectant hour !
What will one choose to do ?
There can be no place nor need for any compromise,
Within it's vast perpetual spectrum !

One just can't put a price tag on a genuine but unique heart !

Hence, with honest integrity..,
The time for change is today !

(13)

He Was There
by Mario William Vitale

From the inner silence of the lamb he was there
In welcoming to the world to share
Within the multiple of words the mouth speaks
As a heart beats through the passage of time
To every poem that was ever written
To every burden ever lifted
To rivers crossing where people living
Sometimes loving other moments giving
In storms that were outside brewing
What is the significance of this love
In painted pictures from above
To every soldier in a battle
To every cow amidst the cattle
Not a second glance at any real romance
A field of dreams throughout our head
From both fire and ice will make you think twice
Perhaps another chance at a roll of the dice
When every kingdom comes thy will be done
Shadows in the shining morn if there's a rose it bears a thorn,
He was there in every circumstance
When they tried to throw stones at her
He was there drawing a line with his finger in the sand
It is my hope that some day all will understand
A glance at the past will tell us of our future
Amidst the inner pain & uncertainty
Through shadows in a field of dreams
In moments of solace amidst the pain
A light moved out upon the street outside
A day that wasn't meant to be
Thorn crown was pulled upon his head
Those shouts of intense anger from the mob
There was only one who would help him back on his feet,
A light that brought only a few to greet
Let us not run away & hide
Each one of our sins was placed on that cross
To lose the battle now would end in tragic loss
Father please forgive them for they know not what they do
He said the prayer now the rest is up to you
That cross that broke a sinful world apart
With his blood-soaked crown with spear in side
To show the whole world he had nothing to hide
The summoned cry brought about healing in the sky
Watch the free angelic dove fly!



(14)

Momma Of Pearls
by Mario William Vitale

Since there's nothing I could find
That was worth giving you,
I sat down to think a while
And write a line or two
If I had a magic wand
I'd wave it just for you,
And give you anything you'd like
No matter how many or few
If I could give you back the years
You so willingly gave to me
I'm sure that you spend them over again
The same as they used to be
Remember when those days and nights
Instead of going to the fair
I'd always say tell me again
The story of the three little bears
I tried to get a strawberry pie
But they were out of season
Then I thought of gold
Mr Buddy  Apr 2015
CT (HAIku)
Mr Buddy Apr 2015
5- Are you an Mr. CT?
7- I am from the waters of Lake Minnetonka...
5-Please do not touch me there....
lil chel lil swensy
Vince Chul'Theg Apr 2013
weaving these paths with a lost sense of compass
insouciant stroll when leaves crunch under toe
earth and dirt, green smell

the sign says no horses
and an arrow points up

the sun's fingers comb
dry wood and ask:

what is complacency?

'Lost self-sense,' J said;
eyes drooping, Hoku mind heavy

if the turtle wants to feel the spirit
then he must walk slow

ride the current from
Indonesia to Ngulu
Jamming in the name of the Lord
like Robbie does

and identify renewed, redemption song
let us praise the Lord

the jungle is cleaning her feathers
she says: My favorite
I say: My pleasure

Laugh and pause--
no unheard cause

feel the light happening through you
and rebuild your pieces

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''­''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
­Written by: Vince Chul'theg, MasikaniCorcodile and CrackPipeKenny (SpiderManJump)
Kuzhur Wilson Mar 2021
A 22 ct poem on gold



Dear gold



In the body of a woman

you attain elegance

lying chained to the hip

fatigue like



Endless are the times

when earlobes and foot

seduced me without you



Mere threads of yellow

will do better than you



There's a cuteness

seeing you

swing from a single ear



Nose studs, with a stare

have stung me sleepless.

The ones made of rolled

gold too



But, dear gold

You become gold

when you are pawned



Like the revolutionary

who becomes more revolutionary

when hanged



Like the soldier

who gets shot and becomes

a soldier even more



Dear gold in the pawn shop

My gold, dear gold





Translated by Binu Karunakaran
Translated by Binu Karunakaran
this is my disease
here i am age 6 stealing candy from a shop on Broadway
here i am age 7 pulling a girl’s ******* down around her knees while she’s swinging upside down from jungle gym bars
here i am age 8 Jackie K shows me how to ******* to this day i’ve never looked back
that’s me age 9 creeping into my sister’s bedroom into her sleeping girlfriend’s adjoining bed concerning my sister she’s a great gal but i’ve never been physically attracted to her
this is my disease
here i am age 10 with 4 grammar school buddies shoplifting at Marshal Fields department store we got caught sent home and severely punished
here’s me age 11 erasing and altering test scores in my 6th grade teacher’s grade’s book while class is out to recess
here i am age 12 repressing my true voice and lying to my parents about everything
this is my disease
this is me age 13 being shipped off to boarding school
that’s me age 14 getting kicked out of boarding school then shipped off to another boarding school
there’s me age 15 with Kent stealing girl’s purses from Pink Panther lounge in Rogers Park
here i am age 16 stealing Mom’s sleeping pills trading to score my first heroine fix sick as a dog vomiting by the side of the road
this is my disease
this is me age 17 running away from home to Haight Ashbury CA waking up with ants crawling in my hair strung out on methadrine and acid in Berkley crash house
and there i am age 18 running from tear gas and police Billy clubs in Lincoln Park and rioting in Grant Park at the 1968 Democratic Convention
that’s me age 21 getting tricked by my parents into 3 month lockup at Institute Of Living Hartford CT
this is my disease
there i am age 23 practicing Transcendental Meditation and yoga with Cathleen at Hartford Art School
there’s me age 24 kissing with Cathleen in photo booth at the Century Theater in Chicago
there’s me age 25 working for my Dad while Cathleen is away with her family in Indonesia
there i am age 27 holding a teacher’s certificate from SAIC Mom’s idea i never wanted to discipline kids
that’s me age 30 wearing necktie working at CME and selling coke on the side
that’s me age 32 drunk slurring words telling Elizabeth and her Mom at expensive seafood restaurant i wasn’t fit to marry anyone
this is my disease
here i am age 32 stealing money drugs to support my urges
that’s me age 34 with my first puppy Taters
there’s me age 37 awarded Illinois Arts Council Grant spitting peeing splashing blood on charcoal drawings reading Marquis de Sade dismissing many girls
here i am age 41 exhibiting my first one-man show at Deson Sainders Gallery Chicago Dad dies 6 paintings sold
that’s me age 44 leaving Chicago after too many dropped ***** opportunities chances at love success no destination other than hope prayer of becoming a better person
there i am age 48 burying Taters deep in dirt in Wilmington NC
this is me age 49 working at a record store in Tucson AZ running in the mornings feeling so alone crying
this is me age 50 ******* about **** *** peeing hairy females questioning to myself do any of those fixations actually matter in a real relationship
this is my disease
there i am age 55 living without drugs for more than 10 years swimming every day awarded yoga certification
this is me age 61 without  the affections of a woman for 15 or more years wondering if i’ll ever find love
here i am age 62 returning to Chicago worried about Mom’s illness hoping praying begging for just one more possibility to prove myself
this is my disease
this accounting does not include surviving throat cancer Hepatitis C severe compound fractured wrist and 2 suicide attempts
this is my disease
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James Court  May 2017
YOU ARE
James Court May 2017
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If you're on your phone turn it sideways
Paula Swanson  Jun 2010
Brothers
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
There was a time when my oldest was young, we thought we were going to lose him.  It all started with recurring headaches he would have.  These headaches became more frequent and intense over a few months.  Next, tremors started to acompany the headaches.

After countless trips to the Doctor and many days of having to leave work to go get our son from school and help him thru these episodes, I blew a gasket.  I demanded a CT scan.  I think that the only reason the Doctor agreed to it was to shut me up.  But I knew in my Mother's gut, that these were not migraines.

The day of that CT scan, they had my son lie down on the table.  They injected a tranq into his I.V.  The CT started.  I sat in an area where it allowed me to see my son and hear the technicians.  At first they were very chatty with one another.  One tech said, "He is asleep now, we can proceed."  They spoke in general terms about this and that as the scan continued.  Then the dread words were said by one ...."Oh ****!"  the tech said.  After that, silence.  No more chit chat.  Nothing.  My heart dropped.

After the scan was over, I was told that I would be hearing from his Doctor in about 24 hours.

Two weeks later, I recieved a call from the Docotors scheduling nurse.  "Why haven't you come in to see the Doctor?"  She demanded.  I explained that I was told that the office would be calling me to schedule an appointment.  The she exclaims..."You need to get in here right now.  Don't you know how serious this is?"  
WELL I DID NOW!

Long story short, he had an arachnoidal cyst.  The left temporal lobe of his brain was not there.  In its place was a large fluid filled sack.  The pressure was causing all the symptoms he had.

After more visits and much gut wrenching, the surgery day arrived.

It went well.  He has a tube implanted just under the skin that runs from his skull to his belly to let fluid drain.

But the place I want to guide you to now, is in the Hospital room.

There was our son.  Lying in the big white hospital bed.  he himself, almost as white as the sheets.  his head bandaged, tubes everywhere.  In the room with me were two friends from work and our younger son.  Two years younger.  So he was 5.

As our son started to wake up, his first words were.."Where's my brother?"

His brother flew to his side.  "I'm right here!"  he said as he grabbed his older brothers hand.  Very weakly Jess was able to say   "I love you Mike."  Mike in turn said  "I love you Jess."

That was the one and only time I cried during the whole ordeal.

Jess made a complete recovery.  No Problems.  The rest of his brain had taken over the work the temporal lobe was suppose to do.  A miracle.

What I found so amazing was that I never once shed a tear during the lead up and the findings and the aftermath.  Not untill I heard those words expressed by my sons to one another.

Most children would want their Mother or Father at a time like that.

Nope!  My boys were joined at the hip, so to speak.  Those few words spoken to each other confirmed the special bond I knew they had, that has never wavered.
True life is so much more compelling than fiction and verse.
Kuzhur Wilson Mar 2016
Dear gold

In the body of a woman
you attain elegance
lying chained to the hip
fatigue like

Endless are the times
when earlobes and foot
seduced me without you

Mere threads of yellow
will do better than you

There's a cuteness
seeing you
swing from a single ear

Nose studs, with a stare
have stung me sleepless.
The ones made of rolled
gold too

But, dear gold
You become gold
when you are pawned

Like the revolutionary
who becomes more revolutionary
when hanged

Like the soldier
who gets shot and becomes
a soldier even more

Dear gold in the pawn shop
My gold, dear gold


Translated by Binu Karunakaran

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