Liquid Milieu

It’s possible that in each glass we drink
there’s a sip of Cleopatra, experts say,
so when we toast and crystal goblets clink,
we savor a pharaoh in our chardonnay.
In times to come, other drinkers may
unwittingly imbibe in pleasant sips
substance once a part of us as they
mingle us anew with different lips.
Why wait until our cellular selves dissolve,
a fate that no one in the world is spared,
to join in oneness vintage? We can solve
divisions knowing substance all is shared.
Let’s toast to a mixed up species in our drink
and help to step back from extinction’s brink.

Feline Dinner

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Parts

The part of me that tells me I have lost
all that is most important – which is You –
and that I’m nothing but a leaf that’s tossed
no matter what in my brief life I do;
the part of me that thinks of me as doomed,
with all my prospects near to being gone,
and with a fear of futures is consumed
and sees itself as nothing but a pawn,
is not the part in which I place my trust:
that part can’t speak for all of me, the whole–
if I’m a world, then it’s the flaky crust,
but there are depths of earth, and sea, and soul.
No part of me encapsulates me wholly,
but wholeness comes through You, Love, who are holy.

DSC_0593

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Hooligan Longing

A dandelion wants to be an oak,
absurdly hopeless though its wish may be,
and while this seems the setup for a joke,
it’s not: the fool I’m speaking of is me.
I dreamed of growing lofty for an eon,
a home to forest creatures in each limb,
but I turned out to be a garden peon,
my stem, no giant trunk, short-lived and slim.
Most see me as a menace – ugly weed,
with nothing like an oak to offer – shade,
or acorns to a hungry squirrel in need,
just a simple blossom quick to fade.
And yet my yellow bloom is like a sun.
Is it not splendid, though a little one?

Untitled

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Nuvole

Low clouds move in a hurry when a wind
is pushing them as if to sweep the sky,
so that the speeding, puffy shapes are thinned
till there’s just clearness and the day is dry.
You watch them through the window in their rush
and feel that there is something they are saying
with swiftly shifting shapes appearing plush
that go without an interest in staying.
We’re solid, unlike them, yet we are moved
as if by wind that’s of a different sort,
and where we go from here cannot be proved
though some have glimpsed and given their report:
we’re swept away like clouds, yet have a clue
that we’ll be safe beyond the sky of blue.

Untitled

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Talkativeness

When foliage has rustled in a breeze,
you heard it as a gorgeous conversation
between the talkative and lofty trees,
inducing in you awe and contemplation
of what the trees were saying as they spoke,
concluding that their words defied translation,
mysterious the speech of beech and oak
that moved your soul in rapture’s transportation.
But you observe that though their talk is lovely,
the trees need more than one another’s talk:
they need the sunlight for their growing lofty,
for a trunk to thicken from a slender stalk.
It’s great to speak, like each leaf on its stem,
but we need light beyond ourselves, like them.

Untitled

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Otherness

A tree won’t look within itself for light
nor would a bee look in itself for nectar,
yet in yourself when it’s a starless night,
you’ve looked for light as if with some detector.
No tree would ever find the light it seeks
nor would a bee be able to make honey;
no stems would ever reach out from their seeds,
if they sought in themselves a day that’s sunny.
You looked for light within yourself but found
a darkness as of soil in your soul,
the pitch black darkness of the fertile ground
from where seeds reach to sunlight that’s their goal.
On light within yourself you can’t rely,
like trees that need a light that’s in the sky.

DSC_0286

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Release

How wonderful it is to step outside
myself as though I were a tiny hut,
to feel as though my narrow ego died,
so I can move beyond my mind long shut.
How beautiful to see that what seemed huge,
the thoughts that cluttered in my narrow mind,
are washed away within a sweet deluge
of visions and new beauties that I find.
Though I am stuck within myself for now,
I can imagine other points of view,
as of a tree, a bird, the sky, a cow,
and, hopefully, if even faintly, You.
How marvelous to leave myself and see
the world from everywhere outside of me.

Untitled

Mario A. Pita

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment