Dave Sciuto Poetry

Dearest Heart! O! Lonely Heart! Dearest Heart! O! Lonely Heart! Whose roses whither in May, Shall bloom again, in June again It gladdens me to say. And all your dreams, so hopeful dreams! You visioned whilst you slept Shall become true and recall to you The fonder memories kept. Copyright ｩ 1976 Dave Sciuto The Gargoyle Watches Swirling spires, like Scripture's scroll Stretching upward and feeling The gray clouds as they roll Through Celestial's Ceiling. O'er the bell-tower top squats a blackened form, One of God's angels, fallen from the sky With clipped wings and jagged horn, Piercing the Heavens to make them cry. Solid and sinister, cold stony gray, It leers at the distant light divine, As if to say, "I was Michael's prey," "But Man is mine!" Heaven and Earth are reborn in the day: Roll away clouds and brighten the sky With white over black and blue covering gray The wind, in whispering sigh, Wipes the dew from a blind, stony eye. Copyright ｩ 1997 Dave Sciuto Bathtub Madonna Holly and wooden vines clench in a fist Like the gnarled digits of the deceased, Nailed to a cross with shiny steel floss From Phrixus' golden fleece. Midday Ra reigns high above, King and Keeper of the dial, Stands ready to pluck Man's toil from the soil Like the Orphan of the Nile. The fruit of this land's labor Lies deep, buried in the earth. In the darkened shade of Fiacre's spade, It awaits a harvest moon birth. The ring around the porcelain shrine Yields to the crown upon Her head. From the makeshift grotto comes forth the motto, "The Evil here is dead!" Copyright ｩ 1997 Dave Sciuto Violent Bamboo Narcisstic Belladonna in foxgloves, look lively! Jerusalem's Cherry laureled with Devil's Ivy Glide like shades of blacken'd Night And pass betwix beams of Luna's Light Diva East's mind, an oriental puzzle, Bound, gagg'd, and muzzl'd Tied to the gnarled tree of Nature's gallows And shot in vain with Sebastian's arrows. Evil's fruit watch'd by writhing snakes Polished to perfection by William Blake Given to Adam and pluck'd by Eve Lie lifeless & still 'neath a poison'd tree. Through the Garden's prattle The Violent Bamboo writhes Weary from battle. The moon moans & rattles As it scrapes across the gun-metal sky. Fairy light beyond the grove A lighthouse beacon in a Devil's Cove Betwix the Bamboo boughs that part To expose thy thumping, thorny heart. Windswept whispers from yonder grave Sit with me in the grotto's darkest enclave And converse in verses with the Dead below My lover, in life, of long ago. While through the Garden's prattle The Violent Bamboo writhes Weary from battle. The moon moans & rattles As it scrapes across the rusted sky. Copyright ｩ 2002 Dave Sciuto The Hapless Xmas and the Horrible New Year On the morning of Christmas At the Grimalkin estate The children ran screaming down the stairs Though barely awake. They flung open presents under the tree Left by Santa Claus They unwrapped and untied, squeal'd and cried With hardly a breath and a pause. Mama and Papa joined in the fray To witness their children's delight But the ol' retired visiting Uncle Adam Was nowhere in sight. Soon toy trains were whistlin' upon the tracks And dollies wailed and cried Toy guns were ablazin' and it was amazing That no one really died. Breakfast was served that Christmas morn With sausage, syrup, and hotcakes The family, all able, convened at the table Sans Uncle Adam, whom no one would wake. After breakfast, the children played games Of course, there were losers and a winner While Mama stuffed the turkey's carcass And whipped up the family dinner. Papa retired to an easy chair With the morning paper, cigar, and spitoon And nary a gaze upstairs he made To his brother's very quite room. The dinner and day progress'd with splendor As all Grimalkins gather'd 'round Yet their only debunkle, was to forget about Uncle And no one heard a sound. The old year died its last away As a new, bright one was born The family's care ended each day in prayer Minus ol' poor Uncle Adam. On a chilly gray day under snowy sky Young daugther Edna swooned Overcome, they others said, By the stench from Uncle's room. "Why, it's been a while," Papa exclaimed "In fact, it's been a week Since Adam came down for breakfast." "Methinks I should have a peek." Upstairs he crept and bellow'd at his door Like the call to Lazurus' tomb "My brother Adam, come out, I say!" But no response came from the room. He rapp'd upon the door and shook the lock'd knob As if he were at Heaven's Gate Then cried out again, "Adam, come out! I beg of you." "The hour is late." But no response came through that portal Only a sickly sweet, damp stench Papa call'd now for the skeleton key With which to open the door, unwrench'd. The key was brought, the door flung open As the Grimalikins' gasps refrain'd There lay in bed, rats and worms feasting upon his head Poor Uncle Adam remains. Hollowed by the vermin The collapsing corpse was thinn'd By worms and rats who ate this and that And traverse the body, out and in. The Grimalkins stood in horror Frozen and wrought with fear From the gift ol' Uncle gave them That Hapless Christmas And Horrid New Year. Copyright ｩ 2002 Dave Sciuto Memorial Day, 2004 They pass'd into obscurity After lives of fortune and fame. A weeping angel drapes ov'r their grave Her tears dissolve their names. Copyright ｩ 2004 Dave Sciuto

Amass into a mountainous funeral pyre
Multitudes of the dead, dry, wet, and soaked,
Pile high, into the gray November sky, and set afire
Unchaining the release of a ghostly aromatic smoke.

A purring mechanized cat stands at the ready
Pouncing upon scampering flora-mice
That dance at the season's last party with autumnal confetti
Showering a celebration of death's marriage to new life.

"Alas!" I gasped from Morpheus' grasp,
"Release me! This night I shan't be late!"
"For she," I said, "awaits beside my bed
And rouses me a'wake."

I donned the festive vestments of solemnity
She laid upon the chair
I quickly dressed, with shirt,cravat, pantaloons, and vest
But found no shoes to wear.

"What shall I wear upon my feet?", I asked of she
Who wore a hooded black cloak,
"If far I'll trod, I must be shod!"
Yet not a word she spoke.

"Pray tell me dark veiled lady
Why not doth thou speak?"
"Whither we go? I really must know!"
"The truth now I do seek."

She gestured me to leave the room
And down the stairs we crept.
We passed before the open parlor door
Where my loved ones sat and wept.

Again in haste, I questioned her
As we reached the straw covered street
"Why do they cry, I must know why?!"
"Prithee, why doest thou never speak?!"

Out of the night came a horse-drawn cart
"For whom?!" I loudly did implore
The silent lady, who lit a torch and illuminated the porch
Where hung the black wreath upon my door!