I haven’t written one word about you.
You, the source, the spring-head, the furled
man that lives in the corner of a *****
motel where salty sand meets asphalt.
I haven’t told you I’m a writer, that I want
to write until my hand is mush and the paper
is covered with my slime memories.
Like the humor, choler, fire. The yellow
fire of your beer spilled on the glass
coffee table; the orange fire of the hot
dish soap water cleaning out the stingray
sting (Mom was so mad); the red fire
of your red-neck in the sun by the rusty
fenced-in pool. I haven’t told you I don’t
miss you, or that I do.

a stitch,
   tingle, tingling
               twinge -
   oh my, my choler,
                my choler
      don’t let me be the last to know,
   I beg;

     livid in its nature,
      discolored by the bruising -
       in the beasts of things;

                wrath.
such a heavy tone for this indignation
or
your denseness; dolt

neverthelesser,

I’ll vent my spleen
‘til you’ve vanished back
into that bathroom I found you in

Been itchin' to step on the toes
of some politicians, ditchin'
the sneakers and hitchin'
the anger, an armor of agression,
clothes of choler, cursing the
contempt-ridden regressions of the system.

Edgy kids turn into violent adults,
You have the right to remain violent, folks, 'long as you're getting something done and not lounging lazily,
waiting for things to change by
themselves, putting your drive on a shelf, hazily remembering what you actually believed - go **** right off and leave.

Stick to your guns.
I'm so sick of saints and nuns advocating for peace. Peace is a piece of giving up belief. "Friendly Negotiations" to talk you out of your convinction, turn convicts into martyrs and we'll see which side you really trust.
How can you believe that peace will will solve problems when it just causes feelings to be pent up?
People are competitive, wanting all that opulence in the posthumous, and peace is a puzzling problem, not a solution.
Peace would be basic if human nature wasn't so acidic, mixed with the tension of a complex society, your peace is about to burn a hole in the walls of government.
The only peace for me is death.
Ideals are nothing without people fighting for them with every last breath.
Go out and scream as long as you're making noise.
Rip limits to shreds, and raise your ******* voice.

(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

Originally coined in response to Phanerothyme  [manifest & spirit],
Psychedelic  [mind-revealing] is etymologically derived from
the Greek psychē and dēloun. Psychedelia is music, culture, or art
based on the experiences produced by psychedelic drugs.
(Cyberdelia is immersion in cyberspace as a psychedelic experience.)

Some peoples feel there is a spiritual dimension to these experiences
and as such have developed a suitable terminology to reflect this view:
Entheogen,  [generating the divine from within]
denotes "a generator of spiritual experience", from
Entheos  [god-within], meaning
full of the god, inspired, possessed.
A spiritual experience is defined by its significance
to the host/subject. Entheogenic has been posited as
an alternate descriptor of "the psychedelic experience"
(in lieu of hallucinogenic) though this is a subjective term.

The Psychedelion is the analytical dimension of the psyche,
The part of the mind through which information is analysed
and thereby assigned meaning which is therefore significant.
Psychedelos is the existential manifestation of said dimension,
It is expressed through the medium of a language.

Absurdus  [out-of-tune] is the nonsensical dimension of the psyche, a part of the mind comprised of uninterpreted data, proportionate to our own limitations rather than lacking in "actual meaning". If a noumenon cannot be processed in The Psychedelion then it is consigned to Absurdia wherein we accept the inability to understand/rationally analyse it at present, given the current context.

Entactus  [touch-within] is the physical dimension of the psyche, the part of the mind through which sensation is perceived and remembered. It is responsible for the conception of our body and it's senses.

An Aeon Dissociative negates Entactus to deduce Absudia.
A Seraphic Deliriant posits Choler to induce Absurdia.

Can everything we experience be delegated to brain activity?
What is mystical, how is it transmitted?
Who witnessed the birth of the empyreal?
Whatever is The Empyrean?

So many drifting realms call out
and questing minds have sought,
Time-in/time-out, to find them
yet again, resolving to determine
that definition, the word: 'change'.

The loneliness of the Apotheon is in its seeking
to control change, forever chasing an illusion,
Day-after-day. The surge of Endorphus is just
an extension of the lust of Entactus, it pushes
things farther, further away, the melancholy of
Empathos draws them closer to us (at dusk),
Alexithymia was begging to be broken, so chained
t'was by a human, pondering the depths of Absurdia
and beyond; a love of The Psychedelion might yet prove
harmonizing enough to climb over this wall that was built
to constrain our thought, make no mistake, t'was built by us.
Night-afore-night we remember a way to bypass Choler, to rend asunder temporality via escapism's wonders, quantizing oneirogenesis, living dreams.
I dreamt I lived in a keep,
How strange, a castle was my home;
It was homely though.
Hence the forlorn appearance of The Entheon
as (by dawn) it let go
of the notion of control,
Reflecting our determination {from eons ago/for aeons to come}

Chasing dreams tied to a paper kite, in flight on fire and outta sight
To light the way for the specters in the night, who march to the dirge, your funeral rite
While emanating above will be a shadow dressed in blood watching his soul dissipate into dust
His choler rises, till heart is fit to bust
Have caution, don’t fall prey to the charms of battle’s lust
For he who draws his sword in anger shall find his steel has turned to rust
But that burning rage lingers captivating a vacant touch
Ignited the blade swings ending with an unforgiving ******
Forcing flesh to paint the canvas with an uncanny brush

Now……..all over me, fly these treacherous bullets and bombs, I have got no other option, but to tussle in this Satan’s home. His hazy silhouette, his jagged bayonet........                                                  somehow, withholding that emotional torrent;      covertly, cowardly, I did what I was supposed to do,               eased his misery, I freed his soul.                          Deep down I can’t accept that my hands are now defiled, but Mother shed no tear for me……….please, don’t you cry.

Father, I still remember that toy gun,                         which you had bought for my birthday.                       Its ironical that even after several years,                         I play with my gun, night after night, day after day. But when I realise that it can never be that toy I had, the clatter it produced, which  is now the theme song of my life, dismay is all I got, it kills me from inside,                                                                         but father shed no tear for me....... please, don’t you cry.

Brother, do you remember that day ,                    when I had pushed you from behind,                  you bruised your knee on the ground, in dust lay your broken bike. Forgive me , for the sake of those good old times, Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, when we walked in the wild, hiding from mother, and running away from the frets of our lives. I am sorry that I will never be able to see u rise and shine, but brother shed no tear for me....... please, don’t u cry.

Sitting here , in my  garrison ,                        I think about all those things that I have done.               It is my choler that I can no longer contain,             because this may be the last time, when I lift my pen.                 I have to accept this reality with great composure composure                                      but I have made u proud, haven’t I?                                   So Mother please smile, as my last breath will be for you,                     in your arms I shall die.

I’m a sweet guilty feeling to the soul
Some says a cure to choler’s disease
Either to you or your enemies

I’m not meant for everyone.
The wise thoughtfully call me when it’s needed
For the fool I’m a necessity to be fulfilled

And when a man submit himself to my offer.
I’ll grant what he covertly wish.
A longing desire for relief; I’ll let his anger and enemies vanish.

Suffering has ended, one’s faith is settled
The folly will start to celebrate
While the wise will count his date

Then in the quietest night I’ll come.
That no one will expect except his conscience
The doors is unlock like someone let it open

In that same peaceful night only silence hears.
A peaceful stare all what I did
To the peaceful who is asleep
Memorizing the face of what peaceful I'll steal.

remember, ,Dear
my always
fingers

through tousled
coils of sunhair
rainlight and
damp moonmusic

fold foiling
with heart
to imbue
each crisp
limit of your
breast with
darkness–caving

(in even hollow stress
wear my ardorous dress
though my neat closings near
as like even's purpl'd tress;

moves mouth:
A song through silence peer
immutable sound by guide
to ship of cloaken choler steer
toward harbors safe an' placid tides )

–i shall that lives though but only an instant of bright health
live by light that speaks
sing saying

a chord struck
by divinest stroke

resonating through all your earthly sphere

that and though
i shall die
in your chest
my immortal pulse

will ever lie

A memory is fading
Like a plucked guitar string
Life is like music echoing
Leaving moments of loving
But existence is tough can be distressing
Recall is a flashback jogging
Of those days we we're fooling
Recollection of parties drinking
*** & coke £10 to go clubbing
A memory is a souvenir
Everyday a memory a premiere
Show God's cast a simper
Smiling is like sunshine in summer
Outnumbering grey matter of choler
Make the most of every premiere
May not be what the heart desire
Your smile can lift any soul higher
Transforming the human frontier

Thanksgiving Dinner
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 shaper than a serpent's tooth it is
to have a thankless daughter "


John Hyland's Best

I hung a painting of one of John Hyland's best
nestled in the fabricated forest of unrest
I dwell beneath the sod of circumstance
unaiding the way seems hard & fierce

through the waves of reason,
it maybe the changing of the seasons
a true artist paint his heart in its piece
captivated with a brush stroke of knowing

to develop a following
below the gauntlet of thought & reason
come away with me through a parting scene
hills and valleys with a loving cosmic debris

life is a bit messy
as if in the tropics with a tone of logic
breath deeper then ever before
the social injustices can effect so many

now here's the part it gets a bit messy
not to mention sweet charity
we look at our lives through such a dull lens
do we give in well it all depends ?

vanity has moved through natures prowess sleeve
start spreading its disease
in the highways and byways of the human heart
you shall light the spark to what it is I have been searching for




My Sweet Rosemary

cling to me my sweet Rosemary
among the leaves cascading & fading
upon a crimsome shade of belief
chosen vine by a great enough design

filtered through a song with an added yawn
look how precious is the lovely fawn
basking in the lawn
she clings to a hope of a distant memory

chosen of the scope inside of thee
My sweet Rosemary paints to her astonishment
inside she decideds what will transpire
getting down to the wire

solace proclaimed upon an empty shade
enough time the source to make the grade
loves the simple things of a new day swing
bringing lulabyes and dandilions to the front

cadence to the simple
on Rosemary's sweet dimple
radiate with times solvent
empty's herself inside its swell

A penny for your thoughts:
My conscience rots--
He can't cope with this silence
I am deceived by our Accuser

I cannot break this cycle
My actions speak louder than words
Choler and regret have arrived--
Our party will run all night

Don't drink and decide:
This silence will lie
My brain is my body's laughing-stock--
I should fire the C.O.O.

I'm acutely aware of this defection:
Of solitude, and all of her friends
I lie well within my own skin
Our wretched demise, facilitated by pride...

I see the end of my feeble might
Watching Rome burn, with Nero Caesar at my side (1)
My brothers have gone mad--
The unsurpassed past stalks me like my shadow

Behind closed doors, I hear deception lurk
Redemption turns into defection from my conscience
My misdeeds swim with me in a vibrant sea of self-loathing
I hear the Visigoths clamor outside of my brain's walls (2)

My paranoia precedes my ambition
I sent spies to **** my loyal friend, Parmenion (3)
No crisis is averted with my self control
I expose my haughty pride to choler and strife

My senses burn through their synapses
Soon, all will be lost--
Integrity took an extended vacation
I blackmailed Her with all that will vex...

Thanksgiving Dinner by Mario Vitale
Home for the holiday from New Orleans,

Happy as a bee in the tree making a tune so merrily We only get a glimpse of what is to come The thought to be thankful in a job well done Out in the street a chance to meet & greet A wooden soldier stands at the edge of my bed post The love we show comes flowing in a reason to begin again Emmet sifts through the morning newspaper only to discover His band is coming along a chance to sing a song Prancing through the leaves in a land of make believe What to soar in this life for what we are to achieve Thanksgiving comes but once a year with sweet cheer A whole stuffed turkey with all it's trimmings Only to summon a passing few for dinner well soon discover Have to say thanks to our maker up above Then to play our guitar outside in the mud Emmet will soon discover is it any wonder he got to much time on his hands A great plan out on the sled for a passing crow was full of dread There will be peace in the valley for Emmet & band you understand The tunes of glorious days gone by with a soft reply Shadows turn the mud to sod a lonely frog Give peace to all traveler's from here to far A rainbow will appear from that of one shooting star Sing out to the trees with turned up leaves to please Emmet Otter's Thanksgiving with love down from heaven up above

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”

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 "