Come Into My World of Poems

Angel of Death . . . from my Memoirs

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Fri, 19 Oct 2018 07:53:00 -0400

When I was young, the Angel of Death was always hanging out in my house, like it was his. I could see the draping folds of his long black cloak pass me by like a dark whisper . . . swoosh . . . around the corner of one room, off to hide behind the door of another. I didn’t know what he was waiting for, or when he would finally come out into full view and grab me by the throat to drag me down to the Underworld. The Underworld wasn’t Hell, you know. There were no flames, I surmised, since he didn’t have horns and a red jumpsuit . No . . . he wasn’t the Devil, just an ugly relative who had his own dark playground down below.

Whatever the case, he wasn’t there to get anyone but me, I was sure, not my sisters, or my brothers, and surely not my poor father, who was working three jobs just to feed us kids, and not have the landlord throw us out on the street. Funny, now that I think of it . . . out on the street would have felt safer than in our old apartment.

There were times when fear just overtook me, and I’d try to hide from that

Demon, thinking I could squeeze into our overstuffed closet and cover myself completely with my Mother’s left-behind wardrobe. Left behind that night when she stole out of the house with just one small suitcase and ran away into the dark.

I would try to shrink and become one with those clothes, praying to be invisible, with my thumping heart pounding loud in my chest, beads of sweat dripping down on my lips, and my shaking fifteen year old body ready to collapse. I would close my eyes so tight and cover my ears, waiting for the closet door to creak open, his long bony hands to reach in and yank me out by the hair. Down, down, down to that place I deserved for yelling that night my Mother left . . . “Don’t you EVER COME BACK!!

I HATE YOU!!!” . . . and she never did.

It Takes a Lifetime

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Wed, 30 May 2018 11:40:00 -0400

Move over soon ~ the young need space to grow.

It’s getting time to pass the torch . . .

And you must pass it on, don’t worry . . . you just

have to let go! And when you do . . . go find your way

to the top of a hill. Stand there and look out far.

See how your one life has blessed the earth,

this beautiful earth that has been your home.

Sing your song to the wind ~ let it fly wild once more.

Touch the earth with your hands and feel the pulse

of the soft mother under foot. This has been your time.

In the span of creation, what footprints will you leave?

How many paths have you carved through the mountain

of struggle? How many trees have you marked so that others

might find their way?

Then come down and walk on the stones you have laid.

Tell your stories and the things you have learned.

Tell of the Great Spirit who lit your way so many times

through the dark nights, till you finally opened your eyes.

Tell the Young Ones of hope, and the journey, and not to despair

for it truly does take a lifetime to make a human heart.

It Comes Again

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Mon, 14 May 2018 09:30:00 -0400

Disaster

rains

pellets of fear

on the

unsuspecting.

After all, who of us

wants to believe

devastation

is on its way?

Yet, it does come

again and again

as centuries pass

and the winds grow

colder

The earth

is growing old

but she is

bound to us

like a Mother and

her child.

And so, we learn

the truth of

her great compassion

with each survival

and each tomorrow

when

a patch of grass

turns

green again.

Joanne Cucinello

2013

This Life

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Fri, 4 May 2018 10:46:00 -0400

Do not take for granted this life

or this face that greets you

tonight in the mirror.

All that you know and believe

can change in an instant

and be no more.

Do not think you are privileged

even though

you may be greatly loved.

Jesus himself was greatly loved

by the Father and yet

he became the womb of suffering

for all mankind.

We cannot truly, or ever,

understand how love can allow this.

We cannot truly, or ever understand why

we are here on this earth

with such uncertainty

so vulnerable to sin and its thorns.

I myself have seen life change

this day, in an instant

and what was once a stone upon my mantle

shatter and blow away like broken glass.

And so, what shall any of us do with this dilemma?

Continue to live, believing something kinder awaits us?

Love . . . even though these embers will die one day?

Yes, and forgive . . .

Let us not cling to the suffering

Love . . . while this moment is ours to live.

Love . . . even though we may never unravel its mystery.

Joanne Cucinello

Suzie’s Sister Blue

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Tue, 1 May 2018 16:08:00 -0400

And she came forth on this

new day

wearing bows in her hair

and bells on her ankles

proclaiming a word . . .

that was simply a lie,

and I believed her . . . .

not because it sounded true

but just because

I remembered

long ago

how much I loved

to hear those bells

and see her smile

and tie the

ribbons round

her curls

and think that she

was mine.

Conspiracy Theory

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sun, 29 Apr 2018 09:40:00 -0400

There is a conspiracy
dark and insidious
creeping on its belly
through the loins of
humanity.

We cannot touch it
with our hands
or see it
with our eyes
but anyone who breathes
must surely smell it
by now.

Can you feel the tentacles
reaching out for our innocent children
stealing their childhood with dark intentions?

Is it still allowed to be a "carefree little kid"?
Do we push and push until their hearts give up?

Are we listening anymore
or just trying to keep our children busy?

Has anyone figured out why ADD is a growing issue?
Attention Deficit Disorder = not enough attention.

Can we still make time to hold
their faces and smile in their eyes
to be truly there for them
when all else is crumbling away
and nothing makes sense or has value anymore?

Are we going to fight these demons
or let them abduct our offspring
and take them into cyberspace for good?

Joanne Cucinello

Possession

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Thu, 19 Apr 2018 11:24:00 -0400

Some people are so frightful or evil-minded, beyond all reasoning, that we might think they are possessed by demons. It’s hard to imagine. But I have seen a different “Possession” take place in these last months, days and hours of my husband’s life.

I must tell you. . . if you’re willing to listen with your heart, that there are people, so wide-open to goodness, that they’ve unknowingly allowed an Angel to step inside their bodies now and then, and use them on earth’s plane, to do unbelievable majestic acts of love. They sometimes become Possessed by such love . . . even if only for a moment, but those moments are extraordinary, and remain alive in the hearts of those they’ve touched forever.

I have seen Doctors, Nurses, Technicians . . . “Strangers”, respond to my husband with such tenderness, kindness and a sudden “recognition” of his goodness . . . as if they knew they were supposed to, in some small way . . . love this man.

And friends who’d call or write or walk through our door . . . to love him at just the right time, when he was beginning to see his body change and weaken so much~ that he was feeling quite unlovable. These were friends who allowed the angels to hop inside and move them past their busy day, to bring some comfort to their slowly dying friend.

But then, there were my grown children and their partners, who for months and days on end, became so comfortable letting angels guide them, that they spent the last few days till his death, selflessly open to the point that they were shining . . . yes, SHINING! The love and care, which took every moment of those last few days and nights, the tenderness and dignity, the cleaning, changing sheets, administering medications every hour, taking turns by my side. They were almost growing wings! They were so full of love for their Dad and for me~ there was no separation. We were bound together to let him safely leave with the angels, when that golden light left his eyes. And they flew away so peacefully, his soul’s spirit wrapped in their wings. The room was silent at 3:33 in the sunlit afternoon when he passed. . . and our hearts were finally lifted. And that was our POSSESSION~

And the Two Became One

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Thu, 19 Apr 2018 10:08:00 -0400

Oh, I knew it would happen one day

but I dreamed we’d die together, like Romeo and Juliette.

After all, . . . how could I live without you, my Romeo?

Yet here I am today . . . just Me, just One of us,

looking at pictures, the two of us together through the years,

remembering your eyes, your smile; wanting never to forget

your voice and how it sounded, when you spoke my name.

And I, so wanting to feel you again, like those times when

you’d playfully sneak up behind me at the kitchen sink.

You'd push my hair aside to plant your lips upon my neck with

kisses, so warmed by your breath, that I’d drop the soap and melt.

Oh God! I was so in love with you!

All these years!

How do I start to live without you?

How do I become just Me?

Joanne 2018

Me Today ~ January 22, 2018

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sat, 17 Feb 2018 08:19:00 -0500

I can’t write anymore. Trying to . . . is like putting an empty pot into the oven, nothing to cook . . . empty, stuck and fearful to know what the filled pot would look like. I am resisting, walking up to the altar and quickly turning away, as if I never came down the aisle. Even now, as I write, my heart is beginning to race. I’m standing on the threshold, a deep crevice in my body’s earth. Holding onto a wild horse’s mane, running wild, never stopping, no destination in sight . . . except death. Almost two years since your diagnosis, and you seemed fine, normal, no pain . . . nothing different except not eating very much, not very hungry, but nothing severe . . . some weight loss, but you could afford it back then.

When we heard the words slip through the Doctor’s teeth . . . “Fourth Stage Liver Cancer! Do you have an Oncologist? Need to see one immediately!” Stunned is a gentle description of the double whammy that punched a hole in our stomachs and made our heads start pounding as if we’d been in a crash. “What? What are you saying? What do we do? Who do we see? What’s going to happen to my husband, the love of my life? Do we put on some armor, polish the swords, get ready to fight? Fight the hardest fight of our lives! Will the treatments change him . . make him sick, weak, lost and close to death . . . this Man of mine, who seemed happy and fine, so full of life and affection . . . my Lover, my dearest Friend?"

What horrible road have we taken you on . . . this Golgotha? And no matter how hard I’m trying . . . to keep you alive . . . I feel so insignificant in the face of your great suffering now. This cross is hard, so hard to help you carry up that hill.

You’ve conquered many demons in your life, overcome difficult illnesses and heartaches. . . but this one is testing you, testing me, to the point of no return at times. Stay strong, my Love. Keep fighting the fight, and know I’m here beside you always.

What if another Miracle is just waiting to happen, like all the others? What if we walked together to top of that fearful hill and found the Cross had disappeared? Then we could roll down in the green grass instead . . . and make love once again.

We Are Dancing the Dance

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Wed, 7 Feb 2018 09:50:00 -0500

Here we are now ~ trying to feel the music

trying to find the steps we took so long ago

and that song . . . what was it?

Can’t remember . . . just your arms

around me strong and tender . . . tender still

but strong, my Love, no more.

It is me who’s holding You now

and a new song is playing

teaching us a different dance

moves and turns so unfamiliar

We never saw it coming, did we?

And all the while a storm was brewing

off the coast of Forever ~ whispering our names

warning us to put up the shutters and get ready

Your beautiful eyes are tired now

your limbs so weak, and yet

you smile at me still, with your precious heart

and we’ll hold each other and dance this dance

until one day the music ends.

Joanne Cucinello 2017

Life Is Love

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sun, 20 Aug 2017 20:20:00 -0400

Life is so fragile

we are all waiting to be born

and held forever

in the palm of God

Life is so beautiful

we've been given a heart

that keeps the beat

for all who've come before

and all who have been promised

Life is so magnetic

attracting, holding fast

the good and bad of humankind

the very best and worst of us

Life is purely gift

forgiving one creation, leaping to another

to please the smiling God whose

only dream is love.

Joanne Cucinello

Moonlight Praise

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Thu, 10 Aug 2017 08:01:00 -0400

O Beauty

that lights the midnight sky,

how faithfully you wax and wane.

I am but one seed sprouted in time

Caught, like those before me,

in the rays of your glowing splendor.

Your rhythm flows through my veins

and all life responds with heartbeat

to your magnetic pull.

You rule the ebb and flow of ancient waters.

All emotions and cycles, comings and goings,

even our dying and our being born,

these things await your perfect timing.

O Moon,

You have lived in our consciousness

Since our first awakening,

Created to be our gift and comfort,

our promise of the morning sun.

Even as Eve first stepped beyond the Gate

that night in lonely silence,

you were there to shine on Adam’s path

and teach the rhythms of your ever-changing face.

They watched the heavens,

awaiting your return each month

and marked the days of your growing brightness

to light the path for the hunt and their returning

journeys home.

Your cycle echoes that of our own,

from the darkness of our mother’s womb

Into the dawning of our life.

We travel toward the brightness of our days

and in time fade like summer’s bloom,

back to the dust of our beginnings.

O glorious faithful Moon,

who signs our destiny and bows before the Sun,

remind us always of our God,

In all life’s changes,

and in all your dances with the stars . . .

For we, like you . . . are made to shine,

each a spark of that One Eternal Light.

Joanne Cucinello

2000

Rim of Gold (revised)

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sat, 15 Jul 2017 09:05:00 -0400

At the edge of my body lies a rim of gold.

I am encased in light and alive within my soul ~

my soul that holds me close and remembers who I am.

My feet may touch the earth, but the crown

of my head points to where I came from.

I am here to learn from this beautiful earth

and from those who walk beside me. And as I do,

the sky receives the rays of my eternal soul ~

the Thread of my Connection.

When I leave this place, I will shed my skin like an overcoat,

my bones will turn to ash, but I will step out into forever

with all my colors shining, and my true heart ablaze

and ready for the ride back home.

There they will know me, and greet me like a new born child

arrived with gifts wrapped in my swaddling clothes

and I will hand them all the earthly pearls

God’s blessed grace bestowed.

Joanne Cucinello 2017

I Dreamed a Dream

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sat, 17 Jun 2017 06:55:00 -0400

I dreamed a dream that took me home to Brooklyn and the home I loved on Linden Street. You know how dreams are. Back and forth I traveled in time, colors dark and light, swirling. A brown wood door stood closed before me and I knocked, listening for feet. They came to the other side shuffling.

A woman, my aunt, old and white haired now, turned the knob and opened it, and I saw a golden light stream into the room and fill it. I told her I was to meet my Mother here. She said she'd come at four this afternoon. All of them, my mother's sisters, were sitting on kitchen chairs shaking their heads and wiping their eyes, saying to each other . . . "She's not coming, poor thing, she never should have said that."

My heart began to sink, another lie, just keep pretending. Then from the corner of my eye, I saw another room, dimly lit and a bed with a worn suitcase on it, opened and strewn with clothes. There she stood, my Mother, still in her coat and frailer than I remembered. My Mother, tear stained and seemingly afraid to come to me. Oh, I was so happy and relieved!

"Mommy!" I cried, and ran to her like a little girl again, wrapping my arms around her saying how much I loved her and missed her for so long. She held me too and I could feel her hair against my cheek. The whole room began to fill with that golden light.

She kissed my face all over, just the way she always did when I was small, and she smiled that smile I've waited to see again . . . for all my life. My gift, my answered prayer . . . She was waiting for me there, and all I had to do was knock.

Joanne Cucinello 2014

No Regrets

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sun, 2 Apr 2017 10:58:00 -0400

The years

are filled with stories

stories woven

with a gilded thread

to make a heart.

Silver hairs are falling

soft upon this loom

like feathers ~

pillows touching

slept on through the years

finding comfort ~

gazing some nights

across the sheets

to that place

where heaven rests

Oh . . . these have been

the best days

the best choice

ever, ever made!

Joanne

Drop the Oars

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sun, 2 Apr 2017 10:51:00 -0400

The edge of morning is dark before sunrise

magical and fertile with imagination.

Expectancy and renewal await the dawn

so different from dusk, when the long night begins.

We must let go of the day

to restore our bodies and walk

through the door of sleep, but

it can be difficult to surrender

to the dark subconscious mind.

It asks us to abandon any thought

of tomorrow's fate. This is not always easy.

Ask any insomniac.

To sleep in that cocoon of dreamtime

requires trust ~ trust that we will rest protected.

Anything can happen while we sleep.

The world we know could end!

We might wake up to hear that war has started

or someone close has died. We fear it could be us.

But then comes the morning! We're alive!!

A new child is born somewhere at daybreak

and our ears are set to hear some joyful news!

That long awaited phone call comes

a friend is at our doorstep,

a note arrives to say "I'm sorry".

The blessed light brings hope.

The God who loves us

guides the boat of our souls in the dark

while we sleep and drop the oars.

A new day breaks filled with possibilities

and we're reborn to live another day.

Marathon

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Mon, 5 Sep 2016 10:22:00 -0400

My life will always be an unfinished story ~ a song with no refrain.

I’m a sprinter in the race, tiring before the finish line

always giving birth to something new . . . and fickle as the wind.

I’m like the Bag Lady, pushing her cart down the street

only mine is full of paper scraps ~ poems and fairytales, unfinished

memoirs and writings I’ve promised to publish . . . someday.

I’ve always found a way to excuse myself from writing a novel.

It takes too long ~ my life has too many distractions ~ I don’t live alone!

I’ve probably started at least fifteen novels, some of which turned into short

stories, most of which became my . . . poems.

But then, here’s the non-fiction part of my life, and there’s no Bag Lady to be found.

It’s Motherhood, and I couldn’t find a pushcart big enough to hold five kids!

Giving birth was the easy part. Labor, with all its pain and fear of death

was a piece of cake compared to raising these “bright ideas” and realizing what’s true.

You can’t sprint through life when it comes to mothering a child . . . since you’ve

already signed on for a Marathon!

It Takes a Lifetime

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Thu, 1 Sep 2016 11:27:00 -0400

Move over soon ~ the young need space to grow.

It’s getting time to pass the torch . . .

And you must pass it on, don’t worry . . . you just

have to let go! And when you do . . . go find your way

to the top of a hill. Stand there and look out far.

See how your one life has blessed the earth,

this beautiful earth that has been your home.

Sing your song to the wind ~ let it fly wild once more.

Touch the earth with your hands and feel the pulse

of the soft mother under foot. This has been your time.

In the span of creation, what footprints will you leave?

How many paths have you carved through the mountain

of struggle? How many trees have you marked so that others

might find their way?

Then come down and walk on the stones you have laid.

Tell your stories and the things you have learned.

Tell of the Great Spirit who lit your way so many times

through the dark nights, till you finally opened your eyes.

Tell the Young Ones of hope, and the journey, and not to despair

for it truly does take a lifetime to make a human heart.

Morning’s Here ~ and So Am I

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Wed, 31 Aug 2016 14:10:00 -0400

I'm so attached to this world

to the flesh and the stones

all around me ~ things that make me

feel safe.

My grip has always been strong

even though, as I write now,

“change” is slipping through my fingers ~

and there's no way to stop it.

All that used to be familiar is changing

morphing into forms that are

hard for me to recognize ~

but I'm trying.

I tend to blame the mirror some nights

so I wait for the shifting light that seems

kinder at dawn . . . and hold my breath

as the sun begins to rise with the truth.

But, hey . . . it’s really okay. Life is "change".

It has to be, and the ride’s been amazing.

Just makes me wonder when I’ll be

brave enough to open my hands ~ and let go.

Joanne 8/30/16

The Finger of God

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Fri, 3 Jun 2016 12:47:00 -0400

So what are we to make

of all this devastation?

Children crushed beneath debris

homes like piles of Pick Up Sticks

empty picture frames and broken glass

everywhere . . . remnants of memories

gone forever. There is pain, there is fear

there is such great suffering.

This ominous funnel, the Finger of God,

dark, swirling, pointing, making ready

to ravish some doomed earthlings

for this cynical game.

What are the rules of engagement anyway

for Mother Nature and her Associates?

Are we chosen on the map, or do they toss the dice

and let it land wherever . . . just for fun?

No one knows, not even the so called "righteous"

who claim to have the inside scoop.

They seem to think they know who’s going up . . .

and who'll be going down,

I say beware of thoughts like that . . .

Many are struck dead by Presumption!

We believe that if we're good

and obey the rules, somehow we'll

be spared and that Finger will not find us

but the truth is . . . some are lucky, some are not

and good doesn't matter, where fate is concerned.

Some of us are made stronger and more human

by disasters, though they bare our bones

and tear our hearts.

We turn to help the bleeding, we turn to search

for answers, but all will turn to dust one day,

and this is our conundrum.

Joanne Cucinello 2013

Loneliness of a Young Mother ( A Memoir )

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Thu, 2 Jun 2016 13:54:00 -0400

It's a very real fact that many young mothers experience deep periods of loneliness and feelings of isolation. It seems to begin soon after delivery. The excitement of bringing a child into the world, the feelings of wonder and pride, the combined exhaustion and elation of childbirth . . . all fleeting, as reality slips in and baby comes home . . . for the rest of your life.
I remember the apprehensive feelings that came over me after childbirth. Here was my first baby at last in my arms, our child with the whole world out there in front of her and totally dependent on ME . . . to keep her alive right now! I would have dreams that I lost her and would find her days later, starving and near death or I'd dream that I forgot I had a baby and weeks later remember . . . just in time, before she withered away.
Other feelings were flooding me with sadness too at this time when I felt I should be so happy. The first nights without her in my belly strangely brought on waves of melancholy. I was just me again, after 9 months of being and feeling "we". Loneliness engulfed me. I could swear I felt her moving still inside me when I slept, as if she left her little ghost behind and I missed wrapping my arms around my baby belly.
My body took care of her while I was pregnant and protected my baby from the world outside, but now things would be different. Doubt and misgivings were threatening to make me feel unworthy of my new rank and title . . . Mother.
I remember coming home from the hospital in the car with my sleeping little Cherub. As my husband pulled up the driveway, I looked at our front door and let out a deep sigh thinking ~ "Now we'll be a family". I had told my mother-in-law that "No thanks, I won't be needing you to stay with us right now. We need time to bond . . . just the three of us." (a statement I would live to regret). I was now Donna Reed and we were both in love with our new baby girl. Everything would be perfect. After all, the nurse at the hospital assured me that newborns sleep for almost 18 hours a day! LIAR!! We walked into our quiet little lovenest and I laid my little sleepyhead in her cradle thinking, well, let's see, she was just fed and changed a half hour ago before we left the hospital. The nurse said "She'll probably wake up hungry in about 3 hours . . . don't worry, she'll let you know." I have never trusted a nurse again!
My coat was barely off when she started screaming . . . and screaming . . . and screaming! What could be wrong? Could she be wet? Check! Nope! Screaming louder now. She can't be hungry, she just ate! My husband said "Look at her, she's starving! Do something . . . QUICK!" Okay, okay,I thought. Calm down, she's an Italian baby, of course she's hungry! This response was the beginning of my bout with cracked nipples.
Three days later, when I came to realize that I was going to DIE . . . I sheepishly called my unappreciated mother-in-law in desperation, pouring my heart out. She was on the train that afternoon and knocking on my door with her suitcase in one hand and a burping cloth in the other. This was a stellar moment in my life; Mary Poppins was closing her umbrella and marching through the door. "What about the bonding?" she asked with a smile. And I said "To hell with the bonding! Thank God you're here!" Little did that sweet Lady know, she'd become my Mary Poppins four more times over the next seven years! My own mother had passed away long before and I felt stranded and alone out in the boondocks of budding Long Island.
Elvira became a lifeline for me as the years went by, my confidant, my helper . . . the mother and grandmother my family came to cherish. After her retirement, she lived with us till she was 93. Elvira was Mom in every way I could have hoped for and her love is legend still to all our family.
She was family and she helped heal the loneliness of a young mother named

Joanne.

Dreams

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Wed, 1 Jun 2016 13:03:00 -0400

My dreams are seeping and

weaving into daytime

haunting places so real they test my sanity.

I can't remember if they were once

a part of my conscious life

or some fantasy landscape I've created

repeating itself over and over

behind my lids as I sleep and dream.

There is a place so familiar

a place that returns again and again

where I swim unafraid and calm

in green murky waters

aware that reeds and seaweed

are reaching up from the bottom

swirling around me as I swim

Strangely, I'm not afraid

I just keep swimming in that

dark green water towards the other

side without struggle or fear . . . even though

I never seem to get there.

What are dreams?

What are we to learn from them?

I often wonder, as so many have,

which is reality . . . this life I'm living, or my dreams?

Perhaps both . . . perhaps they are one.

I still wonder; am I making another life for myself?

Or are the bits and pieces of my days

painting the palate of my brain

trying to make some connection at night

with that wild spirit bound in chains

the deeper meaning of my life

hoping to form a bridge to the other side?

Joanne Cucinello

My Credo

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Sun, 28 Feb 2016 09:22:00 -0500

I believe in the power of the written word and that writing is revelation and no matter how well you think you know a person... a part of them lies hidden or dormant most of the time and is only revealed when pen touches paper and hand reveals the heart. I love discovering hearts!!

I believe in true love and soul mates and journeys through lifetimes intertwined. I know I've found mine!

I believe that there's more to us than flesh and bone and that somehow, someway our spirits will go on forever.

I believe in my five children and their unabashed honesty, their creativity and amazing talents. No matter what I'll ever achieve in life, bringing them into this world is the greatest thing I've ever done.

And yes, I believe in a loving God who knows my name and will take me home some day.

Life has carved its colors on my soul through sad times and glad times and given me my rainbow to live with...

So Familiar Now

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Thu, 25 Feb 2016 15:07:00 -0500

I lie beside you every night so blessed

that I am not alone here in this bed,

that you and I still have each other.

I've come to know the sounds

of your sleeping body

your soft breathing

the shifting of your legs

beneath the sheets

as you turn again to face me

and touch my skin,

your nightly reassurance that

I'm still here.

We are lovers growing old

so familiar now with every hair

and every look that passes

back and forth throughout the day.

At times we read each other's mind

so clearly that I wonder

if we've melded into one new life form

but no . . . we are really just

so familiar.

Joanne Cucinello

Our Tree In the Attic

wilopent@gmail.com (Joanne Cucinello) — Tue, 22 Dec 2015 15:20:00 -0500

Our tree in the attic is

cardboard boxed and labeled

"Memories are Here"

it is waiting once again

to sit by the window

all lit up and smiling.

Some buy

a new tree every year

cut fresh and forest-scented

but this has not been the way for us

and those with pine tree allergies

Our little tree of wire branches

and plastic pine needles

like the Velveteen Rabbit

waiting to become real

becomes our Christmas ritual each year

of love and transformation

The magic happens

as we hang each treasured ornament

and swag the tiny crystal lights

remembering the days

when our children were small

and full of nothing but giggles and fairy dust

The little tree in the attic

our door to the past and all the love

we've gathered through the years

I wouldn't trade it for the world.