On sale for a limited time….
Well, it’s finally here. For those of you who have been following my work, my first book is now available on Amazon via this link: Thank you for your patronage and I look forward to writing for you for years to come. ~ Dennis
“Just so you know, despite the darkness and despair of some of my poetry, here’s a glimpse of the more hopeful and soulful affirmation of my personality” Anyone laughs, I un-follow!
PROMISES
You ask if love’s forever
A promise I can’t make
But if I could, or thought I should
I would not hesitateI’d promise you forever
And then a day or two
If I were free to guarantee
Forever loving youBut promises are born of doubt
A doubt that’s seldom real
The love we know can only grow
In trusting what we feelYet, I’ll promise you this moment
If words can still your fears
Just hold me now and show me how
To love you through the years
This is dedicated to two sisters who I have recently come to know and adore. They are the embodiment of what this poem attempts to convey – that we are transformed by the love one has for another. I’ve posted this before, but never has it spoken so loudly until I understood the transforming love these two sisters have shared in their very special bond.
By Pino – Two Sisters in “Afternoon Respite”
LOVE”S TRANSFORMING HAND
I don’t profess to understand
The power of Love’s transforming hand
But I can’t deny what’s plain to see
Loving you is changing meAs a child walking on the shore
I saw the ocean…nothing more
I cried, “Oh God – what senseless waste
This vast expanse of liquid space.”Yet now, with your hands guiding me
I cherish the life within the sea
I built myself a one room home
And dared to live there all aloneIt wasn’t that I did not care
Just felt I had not much to share
But now, beneath Love’s soft caress
I simply have to give my bestI once viewed stars as nothing much
Cold, distant worlds beyond my touch.
I had no need for cheap sensations
Built on simple constellationsThen Love’s hand touched me through your heart
And I knew that stars were heaven’s art
No, I don’t profess to understand
The power of Love’s transforming handBut I can’t deny what’s plain to see
Loving you is changing me
When I write, it is as though a murmuration of swallows
has taken flight within my mind. I am stupefied and mesmerized
by words flying about in an almost geometric dance,
each word seemingly afraid to be the first to land upon my page.
It’s both a beautiful and frightening process,
but when the first letter of that first word finally alights,
something intense and magical happens:
the sky of my imagination opens up
like a storm cloud on a summer afternoon,
releasing a torrential rain of verse or rhyme.
My job is to run around with bucket in hand and catch what I can.
When the pail is full, I carefully pour it upon a page.
To approach this in any other way would drown me
in my own vain attempts at creativity.
When the pail is dry, I walk away, and the poem is born.
The Winter Bites My Bones 