War Relic

An island fort that played a role in war
is now a scenic ruin where kids play,
instilling hope the same fate lies in store
for conflict installations of today.
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Time swallowed history. Now swallows nest
in rooms encrusted with a haunting mood.
Periodic squeals of swallow chicks attest
to begging for and being given food.
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Discovering a nest, thrilled children seek
for others, finding more to their delight:
the fort has been inherited by the meek
though formerly it showed a nation’s might.
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The guns and cannons gone, we’re left with fun
of finding nesting birds. Wars ended. They won.
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Mario A. Pita

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Chopin Plantings

We hope that we can do as Chopin did,
afflicted though he was by maladies
of which in his brief life he wasn’t rid,
profusely planting gorgeous melodies.
He showed us how to live: in spite of woe,
you plant for others beauty that will grow.

Chopin Plantings

Mario A. Pita

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Summer Portraits

Things I’m thankful for are lots to list,
beginning with the fact that you exist.
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A sculpture of a cat will never scratch you,
yet better to hold a cat instead of a statue.
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To grow its roots in rocks, a plant will toil
though it would much prefer a porous soil.
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Your boundary appears to be your skin,
but it’s not where you end or you begin.
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Your breaths move in and out, as though a tide,
suggesting you’re the shore of a sea that’s wide.
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Your thoughts are blooming in your brain – a vase –
but were they grown and plucked some other place?
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All kinds of thoughts sprout in your fertile mind,
but you may choose to nurture the kindest kind.
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Mario A. Pita

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Gallery Display

The following works, most of which have appeared in Snapshot Couplets over the past
few years, will be displayed as large canvas prints in the Piper Gallery of the The Cary
Memorial Library, Lexington, MA, during the month of July, 2015.
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Keys of black and white open me
to realms of multicolored melody.
Piano Mantras - 1

Without a match, a pianist lights a fire,
a sonic blaze which needs no amplifier.
Piano Mantras - 2

Sheet musical notes, eggs of black and white,
hatch when played, from fingers taking flight.
Piano Mantras - 3

That melody in your mind is solely mental,
but you can play and make it instrumental.
Piano Mantras - 4

Chopin had it right– at times the singers
are not our voices but our supple fingers.*
Piano Mantras - 5

Beginner at the piano – excited and humble –
like children learning to walk, fingers stumble.
Piano Mantras - 6

Wordlessly, whole worlds can be relayed
as music landscapes from a piano played.
Piano Mantras - 7

A pianist presses, a guitarist plucks and strums;
through countless ways a beautiful music comes.
Piano Mantras - 8

You have to turn some keys to unlock doors,
but other keys are touched and music pours.
Piano Mantras - 9

Infinities incarnate, sensationally expressed
in touch as when a piano’s keys are pressed.
Piano Mantras - 10

We each will see truth from a different angle,
but points of view converge around an angel.
January Vertigo

While clothed in thick illusions, reality will strip,
where you can glimpse the space-time fabric rip.
Reality Balance

Before it was chopped down, this gorgeous tree
held concerts played by wind and birds for free.
Treble Tree

Those physicists think all is made of strings.
Like music from guitars the cosmos springs.
Cosmic Music

Putting in words what you mean to my soul
is like squeezing a galaxy into a cereal bowl.
Mind Food 5

Sparks at night shot from my black cat’s paws,
small lightnings with a blanket-plucking cause.
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On summer nights – without a need for tickets –
it’s sweet attending concerts played by crickets.
Cricket Concert

From charted data we may learn a lot,
but there are truths we can never plot.
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They are priceless – sparrows shattering my sleep,
outside the window chirping, “cheap, cheap, cheap.”
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Your loveliness eludes all adjectives,
like waterfalls can’t be held in sieves.
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Mario A. Pita

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Prayer Sprouts – 2

I’m not the light. In darkness, I’m certain,
You are the light – I only open the curtain.
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The body is a dead end street, and You,
for reaching to heaven, the only avenue.
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Your walking on the waves has not been beat,
though stepping on the moon was quite a feat.
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Although, by now, my many years have piled,
I hope – O Love – I’m nonetheless your child.
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Because I love to write for You, I’m wordy,
but may I – more importantly – be worthy.
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My deepest plea, O please do not refuse me,
is that You will, despite my failings, use me.
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May I belong to You from whom life pours,
forever – Creator and Savior – solely yours.
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Mario A. Pita

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Condensed Songs

1
You couldn’t care less for drunkenness from booze:
you’re tipsy from fresh air – intoxicant you choose.
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2
The kisses that return as ghosts aren’t wanted:
much more than any house, a heart is haunted.
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3
You needn’t live in fear of being shattered:
like seeds from pods, everyone is scattered.
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4
You’re sad your conscience isn’t pure. At least
you have a conscience since you aren’t a beast.
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5
When I was lost, the forest didn’t find me,
but if I forget the way, it could remind me.
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6
A century passed away. Its corpse looked bleak,
but you felt hope in songs from a thrush’s beak.
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7
Like a beautiful melody, a picture poser
reminds me the cosmos has a composer.
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Inspired by 1) Emily Dickinson, I taste a liquor never brewed 2) Carl Sandburg, Kisses, Can You Come Back Like Ghosts? 3) Richard Wilbur, Two Voices In A Meadow 4) Wislawa Szymborska, In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself  5) David Wagoner, Lost 6) Thomas Hardy, The Darkling Thrush 7) W.H. Auden, The Composer

Mario A. Pita

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Choir Reveries

The men sing lower and the women higher:
we range from earth to heaven in the choir.
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“Does God exist and love us?” you inquire.
I answer – singing – with a church’s choir.
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We’ll die, our prospects evidently dire,
but we affirm life’s triumph in a choir.
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As current for a light flows through a wire,
a melody’s delight flows through the choir.
Boston Angel

A soul is clothed in flesh, and that attire
is woven by the one praised by the choir.
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Though discord forces globally conspire,
may harmonies prevail – as in the choir.
Somerville Angel

We don’t live for possessions we acquire
but for the Love we’re praising in a choir.
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Mario A. Pita

Inspired by the choir of Saint John The Evangelist, Cambridge, MA

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