Monochrome Dreams

The businesses in town seemed mundane, mostly,
then sunlit glass formed gowns appearing ghostly.

Our paths are singular or they are joint,
but all are going to the vanishing point.

Transmitted from our hearts or from church spires,
our prayers stream to You as though through wires.

My grandmother was first to reach the light.
My grandfather was next to pass from sight.

As melancholy loads us with its weights,
we can’t imagine then what bliss awaits.

The sculpture made of rock can’t be a star
the way that you, my rock star sibling, are.

You cultivate your heart, soul soil field,
so love can be the crop that it will yield.

As sunlight weaves in fences, scenes are clad
in patterns, like a skirt’s, crisscrossing, plaid.

We want to stay on track with plans yet know,
beyond the one-track mind, tall feelings grow.

You beckon us, Abuelo, right hand raised,
serenely to the Love through ages praised.

Mario A. Pita

Prayer Sprouts

As words, when read aloud, escape a paper,
your spirit surges from your flesh in prayer.

The future’s face is covered with a veil.
May goodness escalate and love prevail.

Our bodies are of stuff the Earth recycles,
but we hope to endure as Love’s disciples.

You cleansed a soul that had been full of vermin
but did so through your love, not with a sermon.

Within a dream, no load too much to carry,
disguised as lady bug, you raised me, Mary.

Varied stories that we clothe You with
help us to see, but You are not a myth.

May I awake within Your arms, O Lord,
from life, a dream, adoring and adored.

Mario A. Pita

Image Marriages – 8

We’ve added to suffering. Let’s subtract.
There’s mathematics with our every act.

A building clothed in vines has charm for me:
our harming of Earth could turn to harmony.

Significance is not just scaled in size:
the universe is vast, but you are wise.

As you breathe music, full of sentiment,
you are—at any age—Love’s instrument.

They do their work but not in business suits,
probing through the dirt for moisture, roots.

We see ourselves as separate yet know
as foliage from the tree of life we grow.

From dust of stars, our bodies coalesce.
Differently than them, we shine no less.

The senses can’t perceive where the spirit goes
like you can’t hear a symphony with your nose.

Your beauty hasn’t launched a thousand ships
but has been sipped in glances, countless sips.

Mario A. Pita

Mind Food

The feel and smell of bread against your lips
returns you to a sense some thoughts eclipse.

We want to taste all truths as if with forks,
but most elude us – like subatomic quarks.

You twirl your fork in a silverware ballet
for noodles wrap around it best that way.

Your love, like loaves, is given out in slices,
or else as many grains, the way that rice is.

Putting in words what you mean to my soul
is like squeezing a galaxy into a cereal bowl.

The foods for mind and soul that a writer cooks
are feasts for free when offered as library books.

Because we can’t yet taste the infinite,
we nibble substitutes – like chocolate.


Mario A. Pita

Swan Drama

A sparkle constellation frames a swan,
galactic fledglings, scintillating spawn.

When offspring sparkles disappear, the swan
appears concerned: where have they all gone?

Sunbathing turtles may have helpful tips
for the swan that’s searching, taking sips.

The group of turtles in noon sunshine basks
while others go about their quests and tasks.

As though an ostrich with its head in sand, a swan,
with face immersed, can seem morose, withdrawn.

While sparkles on the pond remain unseen,
the swan looks regal, mirrored, and serene.

Enchanted moments, from a certain view,
the swan once again has a sparkle retinue.

Mario A. Pita

Image Marriages – 7

When wind made clouds far overhead a heart,
you witnessed – stunned – a stratospheric art.

Through life, we learn to heed the vital signs;
a breath, a beat, a meaning between the lines.

A rose can’t grow from a dandelion seed,
but a plant will never think itself a weed.

Exuberant, abstract, expressionistic limbs,
meander, scribbles, at the breezes’ whims.

We may declare our minds are open, but
what’s the good of that if hearts are shut?

The sun just shines and doesn’t have to preach
for trees to strive toward it though out of reach.

Mountain slopes, if looked at properly,
become a woman – no one’s property.

Mario A. Pita

Image Marriages – 6

This loveliness intoxicates like liquors:
eclipsed by foliage, the sunlight flickers.

As we wash dishes, time swirls down the drain,
unless we’re mindful, then nothing is mundane.

Each time I point, the dog looks at my hand.
The point of pointing he doesn’t understand.

While birds declare with songs their territory,
the ways of men, in contrast, have been gory.

In you – behind the flesh and bone facade –
an unseen essence shines – the face of God.

What do we achieve by way of worry?
It makes a blizzard out of every flurry.

Created sacred, wholly holy – you
are blossoming in my field of view.

Mario A. Pita