White satin flowers
Azure summer sky
Gone for now
No need to cry

Wispful thinking
Maddening dreams of hope
November morning
Life’s unending scope

Seasons change
One to another
Watch your window
Thank Earth Mother

Faint gray-white clouds
Paintbrush sky
Leaveless trees
Oh my my

Easy going Sunday morn
Nothing to be done
Take it easy
Walk don’t run

Sometimes no words are needed
To say what the heart feels
Sometimes the words simply aren’t there
Perhaps they never were, never will be

At times like these
We can only share what we feel
Through a quiet hug, a knowing smile
A hand’s gentle touch

They’re never easy–
Fragile moments like this
Ever so beautiful flowers
Waving in a summer breeze

It’s hard saying goodbye
To the golden orange sun at sunset
Or the full moon casting shadows
On fresh fallen snow

And when we feel the melody so deeply
There are always tears
Those reminding us
It can never last

Here is a poem I performed back in September. I have posted the poem with the prompts (found in caps and parentheses) I used in its reading so you can see how I approached the poem on stage.

Prefer to listen to me read this poem? Click here.

(GAZE OFF & EARNEST TONE)
Each moment, a piece of it all
A fragment, flash on the screen, an echo
An engagement of our most sacred being
If we REMEMBER, something reminding us
Who we are, who we’ve become
IN BETWEEN good looks in the mirror (PAUSE)

(SHIFT: SHAKE HEAD & SERIOUS) Growing up, I NEVER liked my hair
Too thick, too curly
Not flat and combable like my friends
(EMPHASIS & LOUDER, PAUSE, SHOCKED FACE) NOW LOOK AT ME!
Silver-white hair
Too thin
My Dad’s BALD spot at the back of my head
(SLOWER) Now I wish I had thick curly hair (PAUSE)

(SHIFT NORMAL VOICE My annual physical is next week
I’m not looking forward to it
Ten pounds heavier than last year
THOUGH I’ve been on a diet ALL year
Well, not the one those CLINIC doctors put me on (PAUSE)
(EMPHATICLY) Mine instead
Much easier, FAR more satisfying (PAUSE)
An extra dollop or two of mashed potatoes
Ice cream once a week
REAL ice cream
Not that low-fat stuff tasting like frozen wallpaper paste (PAUSE)

(SHIFT) This year they stick that tube with the flashlight up my BEE-hind
(EMPHATICALLY & SHAKE HEAD) Why would anyone want to be a proctologist? (PAUSE)
Don’t get me wrong (PAUSE)
The world needs butt doctors
BESIDES it pays well
But too bad they can’t fix the OTHER type of ASSHOLE
Like Joe Camel, (PAUSE) who flicked his cigarette butt out his pickup truck window
That NEARLY hit the hood of my new Lexus (PAUSE)
(DISGUSTED & SHAKE HEAD) Why don’t smokers put their stink sticks out in their car ash trays?
Every car comes equipped with one (PAUSE)

At times like that
I try to remind myself of what my guru, Swami Kund-a-gaspar said
“EVERYTHING in life is an opportunity to learn and grow (PAUSE)
Even the pigeon crapping on your head is a teacher
The pigeon teaches us to accept what the moment presents”
(EMPHATICALLY) “But pigeon crap?” I asked Swami
(LOW VOICE) His reply: “Yes. We must learn to deal with the SHIT in life
To detach from what we hold onto and mistake for the TRUE way” (PAUSE)
And so, I didn’t lay on the horn, and give Joe Camel the FINGER (PAUSE)
But deep down I prayed a pigeon would drop a BIG one on his noggin

(SHIFT & EMPHATICALLY) This economy STINKS (PAUSE)
(POINT FINGER) I blame that BOW-LEGGED, WAR-MONGERING George Bush (PAUSE)
And yes, Enron, AIG, and the rest of those corporate thieves (PAUSE)
OK (PAUSE), so we ALL share in the blame for our economic mess (PAUSE)
It’s the worst it’s been since the Great Depression
Which I missed, but certainly Dad experienced
He even had to drop-out of high school his junior year (CONTINUE)
To work at Gus McCann’s filling station in Benwood, West Virginia
Dad says it was the best thing he ever did
Ole Gus taught him to play the guitar—
Something that brought true happiness to my father (PAUSE)

(LOWER VOICE & SERIOUS) Dad died last October at 86, nearly a year ago
(NOD HEAD) He kept his sense of humor to the end
During one of my last visits with him, Dad said:
(GRAVE VOICE) “Boy (PAUSE) this economy is bad
I better get the HELL out of here
Before they raise the price of funerals
And up the admission fee to get into Heaven” (PAUSE)
(SMILE) He made it through, before both hiked their prices (PAUSE)

(SHIFT & EMPHATICALLY) I want to do something DIFFERENT with my life
HONESTLY, I am TIRED of working (PAUSE)
That is doing things for MONEY (PAUSE)
DON’T get me wrong, I LOVE money
But REALLY, work ISN’T all it’s cracked up to be (PAUSE)
Mostly I’m tired of the PIGEONS
You know, those people who are forever CRAPPING on you
Because they pay YOU to do something
That frankly THEY should do themselves (PAUSE)

(SHIFT) The older I get
The more KARL MARX’S words ring true to my ears (PAUSE)
(EMPHATICALLY) NO, I’m NOT talking about one of Groucho Marx’s brothers (PAUSE)
I mean the big-bearded, 19th century political economist and philosopher (PAUSE)
Who said (PAUSE): “Work enslaves the spirit and beguiles all goodness in life” (PAUSE)
I guess that’s why I like art—
It frees the spirit, UNSHACKLING us from our own MADNESS (PAUSE)
That’s also why I HATE it when someone says:
(RAISE BROWS) “Your poem or photograph is a TRUE WORK of art”
Art, to me, is the ANTITHESIS of work (PAUSE)

(SHIFT & SMILE) I’m glad I got all this off my chest
I feel MUCH better
MAYBE I’ll even go back to work
And put up with those pigeons (PAUSE)
MAYBE I’ll listen to my doctor this year
And cut back on the mashed potatoes and ice cream (PAUSE)
MAYBE I’ll grow what REMAINS of my hair long
Take up the guitar
Buy a farm and raise pigeons
Register as a Defense contractor (PAUSE)
(LOWER VOICE & SLOWLY) And SELL my pigeons to the Pentagon (SMILE)

As We Grow Older, originally uploaded by © Don Iannone Photography.

This photo is best seen in large size view to see its details. A new poem:

As We Grow Older
By Don Iannone

Summer flowers
Slipping away
Like the sun at dusk
The youthful spring, no more
In the old man’s steps

Dog-eared cone flowers
Droopy pink petals
Spiny orange tops
As best they can
Holding on for dear life

Our lives at times
Weak-kneed, fragile, out of kilter
Like some faint bad dream
Weighing upon us
Lingering well past morning coffee

Sometimes we wonder
Especially when afraid
Is it something we’ve done
That’s driven our lives away
Or maybe just time to say goodbye

Look deep inside
That place only you really know
That somewhere, always home
Never too far away
In reach when you need it
There in a glance

No need to linger
Longer than a moment
You already live there
It’s your place to be who you are
Everyone else, just a guest
At your invitation

See that stargazer lily over there
Its stamen jutting outward
It’s an invitation to you
Step inside, yourself
Smile
Give yourself a hug

The morning sunlight reveals
What the night’s darkness stole away from us
Those things haunting us well past 3 AM
Well past the time for usual self-inflicted salvations
Things we promise to do should we live
To see daybreak in our now slumbering garden

Cast your eyes upon something of beauty
Like those dangling pink flowers where morning dew drops cling
Like each breath we take holds on
Till the next can take its place
Leaving nothing in between
No room for the darkness to reenter

Admire the pink flowers, if you will
But they can’t save us
Nor can the garden itself
Soon to be choked to death by weeds
Then covered by snow
Freezing shut the ice blue lips of hope

Look more closely at the dew drops
Each a tear reflecting back to us
Parts of ourselves lost, broken, forgotten
One by one suck them into your mouth
In small measure, let them quench the thirst
That has become your life

I know you all come here for my poetry, but if photography interests you, click here to see my new photoblog: http://doniannonephoto.wordpress.com/

You must have wondered, more than once
Where the time has gone, and
Why things have changed
So suddenly, like the harvest wind
Why life, like sand in an hourglass
Slips quietly away, while you sleep
Or stand naked in your cold morning shower

Sometimes I look in the mirror
Late at night, when no one’s watching
And I catch a awkward glimpse of myself
Remembering way too much
Like the chewing gum I stuck under my desk
In third grade, when I once wondered
Why is love so difficult
And will there be a time
When the fighting stops
At home inside me, where I always live
And where I find myself just sitting
Waiting for another night to pass

Dedicated to Wink

Ninety-three
Once, so full of life
Now, breath by breath
Making room for another life

Still proud
Not in a vain way
But to have lived through so much
To have carried her cross the distance

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
Little she wanted in life
Nothing to want in death
Except to go home

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
No more evil to fear
No more valleys to walk
No death to await

All goodbyes have been said
Her angel has come
Sweet sunlight falls across Thelma’s face
A new star will light the Heavens tonight

Note: Thelma was a hospice patient. I sat vigil with her last week. She died on July 1st. I read the 23rd Psalm to her before she died, not knowing it was her favorite scripture, which her great-granddaughter told me afterward.

July morning sun
Creeping through the trees
Into the front flower garden
A young blue jay watches on

The jay understands
There is nothing to be done
Nowhere to go
Just observe, soak up the sun

Sometimes we make life too hard
Harder than it needs to be
See the sun streaking through the garden?
Such is life in each moment

As a child, the better of two places
You might go when you die
A place with pearly gates
Where God and Jesus live

A place you imagined
When times were tough
A place giving you hope
For a better tomorrow

A place Grandma talked about often
Praying we may all go there someday
A rendezvous for family and friends
Like some magical tree house in the woods

And now, a frame of mind
Not a place anymore
But a way of being in any moment
Allowing life to pass through us

Nothing special
Or different than anything else
No need to be anything or anyone anymore
Just being for the sake of being

Like art, beauty for its own sake
Like beauty, in the eyes of the beholder
Like creation, unstoppable
Like now, Heaven

Click here to hear Sarah McLachlan sing this wonderful song.

Gray rainy days
Why we need inner sunshine
Why we need inner focus
Bringing light to the world

We fret too much, this and that
Making unnecessary choices
After all, we’re here
It’s always now, never sooner or later

Bright pink azalea blossoms in sunlight
They’re possible any day
Come rain or shine
Always inside us, waiting

Outside my window—
A determined blue jay
Squawking about this and that
I laugh; that’s me

The rain subsides
Giving way to stillness
Even that nature provides
It’s ours, if we stop our squawking

Then there are the clouds
Hiding the sun
So nature’s tears can soak deep
Into the thirsty earth

Gray rainy days
Reminding us, listen, hear
The rain singing on the roof
Reminding us, bring our light to the world

there is this place inside me
i find myself there quite unexpectedly
without ever trying

a happy place
warm with early morning sunshine
just the hint of a breeze
turning grandma’s petunias side to side
on her green and yellow front porch

this place is grandma’s living room
i’m always a little boy
playing on the floor
next to the screen door
maybe this place is a wormhole—
an invisible tube—
connecting me to who i am

often when i hear the engine
of a small plane flying overhead
the low-vibration sound waves carry me to this place
this special place of comfort inside—
a place my grandma created just for me

this is a place of peace
where the better part of me steps forward
leaving the other parts behind
it’s always a gentle landing
like a cloud drifting across a perfectly blue sky
on a warm summer day

i always feel just a bit sad
when it’s time to leave
eventually we must all go

they knew me
turned their heads
looked my way
made me turn mine
there we stood—
face to face

i loved them
first moment i saw them
bright red dresses
decked out to the nines
voluptuous vixens
dancing in the wind

a bit of déjà vu
soulful remembering
strangely familiar—
the smell of fresh baked bread
the sweet scent of lilacs
a springtime long ago

they invited me to dance
sing out with them
red tulips touch us deeply
especially on a warm spring day
when the sun holds death at bay
and each moment is an eternity

she’s gone, my mom
her memories linger
like her sweet motherly scent
the enticing aroma of her cooking

mothers are magical
no way to be without one
how they love us, even when we’re bad
especially when we’re good

she died way too young
only 59 in 1986
wish we had more time
so many foregone memories

we reminisce more
the older we get
the more of life behind us
than ahead

boys and girls need their moms
to grow, become men and women
men and women need their moms
to remember the eternal child within them

No greater honor—
Be like the flower
Face the sun
Let its warmth fill you
Overturning whatever steals your joy

Be like the flower
Proud, but ever humble
Never too straight
Always able to bend
Flowing with the wind

Be like the flower
Use the day to grow
Give back to the Earth
Use the night to rest
Rejuvenate from a hard day’s work

Be like the flower
Always ready to live
And when the time comes
Be ready to die
Making room for another

Click here to see the picture going with this poem.

Springtime
New beauty born
New beauty in our lives
Sharper focus on life’s becoming

Sometimes we try too hard
To be what we’re not
Possess what’s not ours
Fight who we are

Red tulips in a garden
No bucking the tide
Or clinging to anything
They simply are

We give the tulips our attention
They smile, their redness grows even brighter
We look beyond them
Life’s eternal fountain appears

We look inside ourselves
There our beauty lies
Eternal spring within our hearts
Our beauty comes into focus

Click here to see the photo that goes with this poem.

So much inside us
Locked away
Inaccessible until
We discover the combination
Releasing deep secrets buried in the soul

These secrets
No mystery to the deepest part of us—
That part belonging to something larger
Yet out of sight they remain
Until the rusted lock and chain are taken away

Never easy
Dealing with the hidden
Even terribly lost parts of ourselves
But once in
So much more becomes known

Once we find our way
Even the deepest secrets—
Those buried in the cave of our heart
Become known
Releasing our grip on what binds us to eternity

Click here to see the picture that goes with this poem.

There is this place
Called Daffodil Hill
Springtime magic covers it
Perky whites littering its base
A sea of brilliant yellows along the top

Sunlight graces this place
Touches your soul
Leaves you spellbound
Something larger ignites in your heart
When you hear the daffodils sing

I was a young boy once again
Speechless
No words to describe
Tears from nowhere filling my eyes
For an instant, connected to it all

Hard not to believe
In something divine, overwhelmingly powerful
Yet in its presence, a tenderness
Emanating from the magical chorus
On Daffodil Hill

Click here to view the photograph accompanying this poem.