VJ Ancona Copyright 2006's blog: "MY POEMS ON WILD CHERRY FIRST POEM - ODE TO LOVE"

I long for the cold linoleum of insane asylums... Such white history...how it hisses it's secret's! I long for the cosmic scarletite of lost dreams... How they scream to me, every night- calling, calling... I long for the once resplendent beating heart- It pulsates inside me like a hornet's nest... The dumb vibrations, the sting... I long for my ensanguined purity- though it be tainted by cold steel... I long for the bleeding to stop- though bleeding leads to cleansing... Upon a happenstance... I may even wish - Or perhaps dare... Even believe- in life. VJA 2006

I wrote this poem for an amazing friend who travels the world and inspires with his wisdom. He is as beautiful on the inside as he is on the out. May she rest in peace Christian. UNTITLED Something is missing. The stars in the sky... are fewer but for one. Her's was a fierce light... In the time of remembrance... How oft we forget- The mortality of the human soul, the fragility of life. Sewn together by an ancient seamstress, with nought but time in her vacant eyes... It has looked upon the young one, has embraced her, lovingly, and engaged in the eternal dance. Her hair is sunfire now... Her feet are the ocean... Engaged in a never ending waltz with the universe. She can hear you now... Her ears are the air, Her eyes are the stars... Her hands, your heart. She spreads her cosmic dust down upon us all... daring us to catch it... daring us to live if we can- O, young spirit... watch over us every waking day and dying hour. Make us understand your purity... Make us understand the immortal soul. VJ 2006

Walls, that’s what divides us. Impenetrable walls, celestial walls- I felt my walls come crashing down the other day… In a pile of terrible debris- They did not fall sweetly into place- Like well stacked dominoes… But rather like skyscrapers… In an earthquake- An implosion of sorts… Why do we always build walls? And why are they of such little value? The whole tawdry mess… Collapsing in discord- Why do walls exist? Why do they fail forcing us to Observe, observe, observe… Why do walls force us to abandon The beating heart? VJA 2006

ONE OF MY FAVORITES... Stillborn These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis. They grew their toes and fingers well enough, Their little foreheads bulged with concentration. If they missed out on walking about like people It wasn't for any lack of mother-love. O I cannot explain what happened to them! They are proper in shape and number and every part. They sit so nicely in the pickling fluid! They smile and smile and smile at me. And still the lungs won't fill and the heart won't start. They are not pigs, they are not even fish, Though they have a piggy and a fishy air - It would be better if they were alive, and that's what they were. But they are dead, and their mother near dead with distraction, And they stupidly stare and do not speak of her. Sylvia Plath

Well it's official. This is the first poem I have written that I am placing on CT right away! I hope you all enjoy. Adoption. I think I saw human nature… Cracked open like an egg. Naked and visible- Like bone white sheets… In a hospital bed. Eggs are a special kind of birth. Often still-born they swim- In a sea of oblivion- Naïve to the gases… You might say we all hatch differently- Every egg is an island. An explosion of embryonic gel And angel feathers. Eggs are fragile, they say. I remember dropping one when I was young. Seven ghosts escaping the shell. They looked so ethereal With their unstained skin Abandoning the sweet comforts Of the uterus- Oh, mother you came and went so fast- I hardly knew you at all. You had the boiling water ready… Your vinegar, your salt. I was gift wrapped- For the vultures They pointed and stared Swooning and Swarming My egg was special. It was an adoption A small, white nova Severed from its cosmic knot And the knife, it carved so well… Straight through the genomes All the way to Jupiter. VJA 2006

I Have Learned In this life That greatness Is a careless whisper away And is found where you least Expect it. I have learned. I have witnessed that true love Should be experienced, not sought after. Nor tempted through the wreckage of impatience Pulsating inside the heart's of all men A black worm through the apple I have seen. I have felt that life is short And must be cherished That the clock stops for no one Not even the planets And that time presses forward. I have understood. I have noticed that an indigo dusk Is not permanent That all creations wonders pass by In the blink of an eye That all mens struggles Are not in vain. I have remembered. I have seen how small I am And how great the Universe is How the cosmos so briefly grace us With its solar omnipotence And how one person can change so much I have struggled. I believe that kindness is important And is so frail and fleeting I give freely of myself To nurture the human soul To count my blessings or sheep I have believed. I have strived in this life To be humble and accept all praises Great or small, to be glad for my fellow man To not be dismayed by failure But to rise up out of the ash I have built. I have seen it with my own two eyes Life, Death & Re-Birth I have seen terror, toil and tumult Ive seen the center crash And the bodies remain whole I have pressed on. I have looked in the mirror And seen disintegration Paired with peace and understanding I have been confused and confident Ignorant and Wise I have risen. I have imagined a better world Where everyone is equal And no one is treated cruelly I have seen it perfectly in my minds eye And know it can exist. I have dreamed. I have known terror and elation Unrest and Peace I have seen it all thrown away And the pieces swept up, Reassembled like some awful puzzle I have seen where they go... I have learned. VJA 2006

they said penny was her name copper-tone hair reflecting the ego's innate disatisfaction the inner eye of the universe infinitely bored, eternally shut hair flowing in all the cardinal directions oh, how she wore her seductive asteroid belt. destroyer! even austere aphrodite would not dare inquire of this elliptic elegeance this solar heat... each suitor a bromide... the stars, but a twinkle in her congo red eyes the denouement of uncertain plans come to fruition at last in solid oak and she still looks redoubtable even in shut coffin at eighty six her black dress a terrible glove on the carcass her insane will sallied forth upon the unsuspecting spirits on her desperate fingers, carbuncle her domicile, an empty aerie. VJA 2006

Shift I fear I've run out of time again the old beaten, trodden paths diverging into these forks expansive semi circles, paradigm shifts, zeroes. I've tried not to kill a large part of me, yes I tried to contain the disease but now I must release this raw force before it can divide my jetflow from each new infection it's really all about these transitions... the shift or influx from inflicted pain and the fusion into raw, riveting energy. a new cataclysm. they say this creativity chooses its own scores of ten. Oh, pain how I've endured and owned you! Turned dust into skeptical creation and taken that which was rightfully mine back from you, back from you and let it flow into words left with nothing but this top level sky the scent of life and hope. VJA 2006

I saw your face when we reached Boulder City. The sun beat down flat like a rough hewn plane... soul crushing yet rejuvenating. A chemical broth with too much salt . Strange things grew in sequence out here. Only the vacant eyes of bone white antelope remains understood the nefarious secrets of the mohavi. I felt myself open up to the browness of it all. I sensed a permenant reverence buried underneath things that just didn't belong I knew. I could feel their presence radiating off the combed dunes. You can feel the power in the air without a kite or key... so strong it floors the will- but compels you to move on. To the next batch of cactii and desert rise varietal. The Condors glide by so gracefully. they are so patient! Black and red marble eyes faded into eternity... forging the way to the afterlife. -always with some extra hell to pay. V 2006 NOTE: This poem was written after a series of plane flights, only getting 3 HRS of sleep and spending significant time in the desert prior to my return to the city. I will tweak this poem this weekend. In the meantime what does everone thing for a rough draft

Labor Day It is the end for some. The marking of a season. The energy in the air is palpable. The children are screaming The dogs are barking. My veins are still blue. In my house the silence is so deafening you can hear God. There are no pins dropping here. No laughing voices. Just silence, solitude, and a bastard inertia. The activities carry on as I prepare supper Spreading margerine on the margins Fresh salt to make stock Am I a listless ideal? A relic from the past? The aroma of lives unlived permeate my brain The oils are like snakes, how they hiss! The porcelain timer has no answers. With each caustic tick she carries me closer to the End Of Things. I can lie my hands on the cold linoleum and feel the jetpulse of the World. The mercurochrome is still burgundy. I am really carving a new life like some complex and terrible jigsaw such tedious inconsistancies juxtaposed and violently thrown asunder with the airborne potatoes Metals are flying like mercury the cacaphony is deafening, tearing the very cosmos asunder... with hope and kale and tarragon and heart and soul. There is a desperate wringing of hands and then the wanton thunderclap! Poetry is the juggernaut. Vincent John Ancona 2006