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Austin Sessoms May 2012
here's to a package of
Marlboro Reds
in the hands of
someone other than
the Marlboro Man
standing in
for those slack-jawed outlaws
my heroes now lack jaws
tongues
lungs

I swear it's been too long
since I inhaled manhood
The Great Darrell Winfield
rolled
packed
and filtered
into the only thing I know
that makes a man a man
the essence of
cowboy boots and farmer's tan
in every drag

see, I inhale my heroes
all the dusty red-necked
cowboys
Darrell Winfield
and my dad
men whose lives
went up in smoke
to coat my throat
in my own self-righteousness
I'm frightened this
is all that I'll have left
of him
lung cancer
and the lingering stench
of cigarettes

he always smelled
of cigarettes

he'd pull me into these
firm embraces
he held so long
that he'd suffocate me
in tacky business
and cigarette smoke
masked only
faintly
by a poor man's
cologne
still I breathed him in
until I'd start to choke
it was too much man to handle

my grandpa told me
“smoking doesn't send you
straight to Hell,
but it sure does make you smell
like you've already been there”

he was
a grown man
cursing
crying
lying
dying by himself
trying to drown out the inferno
with a case of beer
but sobriety finds you sometime
and I'd rather suffocate in cigarettes
than lose him altogether

and even if he smells like Hell
at least that means he made it back
(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
The Weight Of Skin
1 Winfield Drive
Wolcott, Ct. 06716
(203) 879-2238
4/5/17

To whom it may concern,


Mario Vitale is a poet with over 1, 000 poems towards his credit platform.
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 hooked  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.



Toad the wet sprocket
doing your best by which to mop it
plagued dust the column secular cross
beneath the sod I faithfully trust
dust back the solemn tender years
to evoke a timeless sp;ent in thought
brought near the suffering wilderness cat
some may insist to over react
fade to black on the simple train home
restless

you make a snare brought bright and nearer
to grow tings from the garden amidst second fold
graduate to help navigate the departure home

— The End —