Smile Brilliance

When dark as of deep space
suffused my troubled mind,
the smile on your face
brought light of being kind.

The darkness in me shattered at the sight
of your warm smile filled with kindness light.

In darkness I was in,
when hope of light looked gone,
the kindness of your grin
felt to me like a dawn.

The darkness in me shattered at the sight
of your warm smile filled with kindness light.

As darkness fills you too,
remember in that hour,
your light is also true:
you have a solar power.

The darkness in me shattered at the sight
of your warm smile filled with kindness light.

Mario A. Pita

Calathea

Lourdes Pita on Guitar and backing vocals. Production by Linda Chase

I saw you in a garden store
and loved you at first sight.
You seemed a masterpiece
of leaves that drank the light.

Calathea..

You’re not the kind of love
that makes me sweat and pant,
but still I love you and
cherish you, my plant.

I got you from the store,
for I could not resist
the way your leaves looked brushed
as by an impressionist.

Calathea…

You’re not the kind of love
that makes me sweat and pant,
but still I love you and
cherish you, my plant.

I brought you to my home,
where I have plants galore,
where I will care for you,
as one that I adore.

Calathea…

You’re not the kind of love
that makes me sweat and pant,
but still I love you and
cherish you, my plant.

Calathea…
Calathea…

Mario A. Pita

Freckle Archipelago

We made a plan to island hop
across a southern sea.
Our breakup caused that plan to pop,
yet on her own went she.

But islands with their shores of sand
hold less appeal for me
than those I traveled with my hand,
in love, caressingly:

I don’t miss southern islands
where I may never go
but miss the islands of
her freckle archipelago.

The islands where we would’ve traveled
surely have their charms,
but I prefer, though love unraveled,
those sprinkled on her arms:

I don’t miss southern islands
where I may never go
but miss the islands of
her freckle archipelago.

A constellation on a sky of skin,
an archipelago of melanin,
surpassing all the islands where she’s been,
I traveled through the love that we were in:

I don’t miss southern islands
where I may never go
but miss the islands of
her freckle archipelago.

Mario A. Pita

Sappiness License

Song Inspired by Kev G. Mor

You sang with your guitar upon your lap,
a song you worried carried too much sap,
but like a tree draws life from sap within,
your sap brings life because its genuine.

Your sap may span the range from sad to happy,
and you have got a license to be sappy.

Guitars have frets, but you, friend, needn’t fret
for sappiness license you readily get,
for sap allowed to reach infinity,
as authorized by authenticity.

Your sap may span the range from sad to happy,
and you have got a license to be sappy.

Sap licenses won’t work to drive a car,
but nonetheless with one you can go far,
and you can bring a lot of passengers,
transported just by being listeners.

Your sap may span the range from sad to happy,
and you have got a license to be sappy.

Mario A. Pita

Maestro

In Memory of Cookie (2008-2024)

My friend, you are for me a special teacher
of things that I could never learn from books,
though others see in you a different feature,
that I see too: the cuteness of your looks.

You’ve cleared my mind when it’s been veiled in fog,
with your pure love and joy—my friend—my dog.

Your love for everyone is nonjudgmental,
and you greet them with joy when they arrive,
reminding me that love is fundamental,
the reason, I believe, we are alive.

You’ve cleared my mind when it’s been veiled in fog,
with your pure love and joy—my friend—my dog.

Mean behavior often may appall,
and if we dwell on that it makes us sick,
but you don’t hold a grudge, and have a ball
with something simple, like a leafless stick.

You’ve cleared my mind when it’s been veiled in fog,
with your pure love and joy—my friend—my dog.

Mario A. Pita

True Rose

The love that didn’t last forever
is seen as love that wasn’t true.
I treasure, though, our time together
and all the life that we went through.

The love was true, though it fell like a leaf:
A rose is true, although its bloom is brief.

The life that we together built
would wither like a flower,
but though a love in time may wilt,
it still was sweet though it went sour.

The love was true, though it fell like a leaf:
A rose is true, although its bloom is brief.

We yearn for love that’s everlasting,
which won’t with seasons fade,
but love that fell in winter’s blasting
was still a love we made.

The love was true, though it fell like a leaf:
A rose is true, although its bloom is brief.

Mario A.Pita

Kyrie Queries

Is Christianity a freckle
upon the body of Christ?
An infinitesimal sliver
of a cake religion sliced?
Is Christ stashed in a box
with doctrines as its locks?
The answer’s are anyone’s guess,
but I bet they’re Yes, Yes, Yes.

Mario A. Pita

Driftwood Gratefulness

You asked someone to cling to you,
to keep themselves afloat,
as if you were life-saving driftwood,
and they had lost their boat.

That offer feels so beautiful
for someone lost at sea
yet makes me wonder how you keep
your gift of buoyancy…

For in the dark when I felt sure of sinking,
I kept afloat upon your song and singing.

Your words, though meant for someone else,
strung with song-writing craft,
have been, no doubt, for others too,
a life-supporting raft…

For in the dark when I felt sure of sinking,
I kept afloat upon your song and singing.

If, unlike driftwood, you may feel
at times to depths you’ve sunk,
I hope you rise remembering
you’ve salvaged as you’ve sung…

For in the dark when I felt sure of sinking,
I kept afloat upon your song and singing.

* Song inspired by the song Driftwood by Jocelyn Limmer

Mario A. Pita

Guru Allergy

When a guru tells me
the things he says he sees,
it’s like a pile of pollen
that makes me have to sneeze.

When a guru tells me
the things he says he knows,
I need to blow my mind
as if it were my nose…

I’ve got a guuuuuuuuru allergy
I’ve got a guu guu guu guu guu
guu guu guu guu guu guuuru allergy!

When I was young and gullible,
I’d heed what gurus taught,
now they congest my consciousness
that’s way too full of thought.

Be they from East or West,
Confucius or Aquinas,
they stress my mind like dust
wreaks havoc in my sinus…

I’ve got a guuuuuuuuru allergy
I’ve got a guu guu guu guu guu
guu guu guu guu guu guuuru allergy!

They may hold millions in their thrall
with visions dark or sunny,
but when I hear a know-it-all,
I run like a nose that’s runny…

I’ve got a guuuuuuuuru allergy
I’ve got a guu guu guu guu guu
guu guu guu guu guu
guuuru allergy!

a guu guu guu guu guu guu guu
guu guu guu guuuru allergy
a guu guu guu guu guu
guuuru aaaallerrrrrrrgy!

Mario A. Pita

Flutist Muse

For Miriam

When silence is clothed with sound,
its outfit can beat a suit,
especially, I’ve found,
when someone plays a flute.

Who? Who? Who? An owl will hoot.
It’s you, you, you, playing your flute.

Acoustic sweetness savored,
as though of fresh-squeezed fruit,
is delicacy-flavored
when someone plays a flute.

Who? Who? Who? An owl will hoot.
It’s you, you, you, playing your flute.

Computers synthesize
flute sounds but can’t compute
emotions that arise
when someone plays a flute.

Who? Who? Who? An owl will hoot.
It’s you, you, you, playing your flute.

Photo by Kate Cox (https://pixabay.com/photos/piano-flut…)

Mario A. Pita