Telephonic Golgotha

A telephone pole looked like a cross,
the one on which so long ago You hung,
though it appeared to lack a woe and loss
as only wires for phone calls were strung.
And, when I saw, I felt that You had come,
without a need for scientific proof,
although it seems a foolish faith to some,
it felt as sure as wires from a roof.
But suffering was on that phone pole too,
for in the phone calls that I couldn’t hear
there surely was some crying, and I knew
the phone pole bore some agony and fear.
O, Love, I feel You suffer with each soul
whose cry hangs on a telephonic pole.

Electric Golgotha, painting by Jean-Marc Dauvergne
Electric Golgotha by Jean-Marc Dauvergne

Mario A. Pita

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Clenched

Since everything is blooming, why am I
still tightly clenched as if a frozen bud,
while blossoms are unfurling to the sky,
feeling like a stone or piece of crud?
Is there not life in me as in a stem
from which unfurls a plethora of petals?
Can I not too unfurl like one of them,
not be inert like plastics or like metals?
The warmth of spring inspired them to open,
but only Love can do that trick for me;
transcendent Love I’m putting all my hope in,
though it is something that no eye can see.
O, Love, my being is clenched as if a fist.
Help me unfurl like buds by sunshine kissed.

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Mario A. Pita

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Seedling

A seed in the soil can’t see that there’s a sun
yet probes the darkness reaching for its light,
though there are stones that tell it there is none
and it should just resign itself to night.
It is as though the buried seed believes,
though darkness may give cause for it to doubt,
that there is light in which to spread its leaves,
a light that will enable it to sprout.
You too may have a faith in light unseen,
a light that some will say does not exist.
Surrounded by a darkness, like that seed,
you probe the way it does, and you persist.
Because you don’t believe there’s only gloom,
you reach for light in which your being will bloom.

Sapling in Petals

Mario A. Pita

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Woman Moment

The present moment is a woman whom
I love though I have been unkind to her,
inviting other moments to my room:
the past or future that I would prefer.
But she has been with me for all my life
despite my foolish infidelity,
and now I vow to love her like a wife,
not pine for days long gone or yet to be.
To all her loveliness I have been blind
while fretting for the future or the past,
but when I dwell on her I always find
new beauties, so the old ones needn’t last.
I’m working for the future, the past my teacher,
but love the present and can always reach her.

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Sophia Gray performing at the Waltham Steampunk Festival, 2016

Mario A. Pita

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Soil

The darkness that you find yourself now in
is like the darkness that surrounds a seed,
the one from which a new life will begin,
a darkness you resent and yet you need.
You yearn for days when you felt you were part
of something larger, branching in the sun,
and fear that you can only fall apart
and wish for light though now you can see none.
But if you probe the darkness, you will find
the light you felt you had forever lost
and not look to the life you left behind
nor hate that into darkness you were tossed:
within the darkness, you can take deep root,
and reach to light and bear from it much fruit.

On Mount Avalon

Mario A. Pita

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Fruition

The body ripens like a fruit then rots,
and first its ripening, then its decay,
is amplified and looming in your thoughts,
and as you age you wish you could delay
the rotting and extend the ripening,
but nature in the end will have its way,
and you must face the rot time will bring,
despite your effort keeping it at bay.
But in the body fruit there is a seed,
released when decomposing is all done,
an inner core, an essence that’s unseen,
whose life of fruitfulness has just begun.
With rotting fruit you might identify,
but you’re the seed, unfurling to the sky.

Fruition

Mario A. Pita

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Emulating Moonlight

Sea turtles hatching on a southern shore
wobbled toward the lights along the pier.
Their vision and direction sense still poor,
their fates would probably have been severe:
the moon, ideally their proper guide,
was hidden in the sky that wasn’t clear,
and, led astray by bulbs, they could have died
before that ocean beacon could appear.
But people hatched a plan for helping out:
with flashlights emulating lunar guidance,
they coaxed the turtles to the proper route,
employing their instinctive light reliance.
You too help some steer from a lifeless fate
and lead them home with light you emulate.

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Mario A. Pita
reading by Maria I. Pita

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