LUCA BRASI (Rispetto)

"Luca, dorme con i pesci!"


A boorish brute, loyal to the last.
a henchman, evil and brutal.
He’d seal your fate with one quick blast,
begging for your life was futile.

Don Corleone was your boss,
protect his life at any cost.
Brasi, your death was quite messy.
Luca, dorme con i pesci.*

* Sleeps with the fish



Could it be you did not see me;
out of sight and out of your mind?
It wasn’t easy to be me,
let alone be drawn to your kind.

But years later, you’ve found my words
and think not one of them absurd,
they soothe your mind and warm your heart.
I guess that was the place to start.


I see you in the morning mist, a vision;
my tired eyes welcome it. And your gown flows
in a gentle cascade, my only mission
is to take you up into my arms and show
you all that my love can teach you; a lesson
your mind will learn, but your heart already knows.
In close silhouette, your beauty is revealed.
My longing for you cannot be concealed.


It seems that sleep is elusive,
a sometimes thing that fights my will.
It’s disruptive and effusive;
but wide awake, the room is still.

I listen to the lack of sound,
a gentle respite all around.
The silence of the night soothes deep,
I do not hear it when I sleep.



You were the one my heart had known,
now this emptiness is painful.
And all compassion I had shown
had made this task more disdainful.

These days do pass in bitter dreams,
my soul is tearing at the seams,
And you still live here in my heart
forever pierced by Cupid’s dart.


The trail stretches, amidst the barren trees and forgotten hollow where we used to spent our time. A hidden place, where hearts were given, exposed to the solitude that nature provided. That’s where we would hide all secrets shared and passions exchanged in pangs of wanton desire. It was a fire long smoldering that kept us safe and warm, safe from harm, execpt from that of each other’s love. Above us the clouds would converge sneeking peaks at our private world; infatuate guy and fragile girl. I held you in your fright through an unsure night, offering assurances that the light of day would return to you as long as my shield stay unpenitrable. Here in this venerable place; our sanctuary with nary a nay said to our escape. But, I was exposed as a charlatan, unable to save you from your attacker, your riddled body. It became a waste of time to watch you waste away. The decision to stay was all mine, and I assumed you were fine with it until my banishment. Your declaration that I was to remain unseen and hidden, alone much like that place that heaven envied and no one else knew. It was always just me and you, and that was true until the silence of your pulse rendered yours a heart no longer mine. Time will pass. Days will linger. Your memory will fade. But, apparently not today.


It’s funny how thoughts of the past cleave themselves to the present, flavoring every last savor of an idea with familiarity. Poems rewritten become new like a freshly woven thread through the old swatch of fabric. A cloth well-worn but still stylish. transplanting a smile laced with remembrance. In the final analysis we weave the old and new into an enhanced rumination that serves the ear and the eye. Why not leave well enough alone? It is shown in your history. An unraveled mystery and genealogy. We are all a re-written story. We are a tale of glory that spans a timeline of an infinite nature. Call it what you will, it still links the old with the new; the past and the present. Yesterday is today.


Mere days away,
a coronation is planned
for autumn’s shortened reign.

The temperatures decline
finding their descent hell-bent
on a rapid departure to parts unknown.

The trees have grown fragile;
the color barrage itching to begin
and within her palette the earth is apparent

an inherent nod to the warmth
sought, but not always embraced,
and faced with the scent of must and moth-balls.

And in the sky, standing tall
the harbinger of winter woes (so it goes
around Buffalo) dark and moody, looming

upon the horizon, rising skyward.
Storms  brewing, or memories
of days of storm-filled pasts recalled,

all seeded in the clouds for near future
reference. Your preference
is a temperate fall ending in spring.

But, here’s the thing:
the winds find their thrill in the chill
they provide. An equinox out of the box

stirring dreads of a White Christmas
long before the sleep of the solstice beckons.
Cumulonimbus is your reminder.

Better hasten to find your scarf and gloves
before the snows reign from above.
Ominous and threatening; keep your guard up.

...looming upon the horizon, rising skyward


A principle was attacked amidst
tears and destruction; a surreal snapshot
of a day worth forgetting. But no one did.
How do you forget the sight; the sound?
How do you forget the faces; the screams?
How do you diminish the sacrifice?
The word ‘impossible’ was tailor made
for this moment in time. Despair and
disbelief would be usurped by anger
and determination to not allow those who
put it all on the line, go quietly into that good night.
It became a fight to rise each day to face
the insurmountable task one brick at a time.
As many bricks as there were tears shed.
As many shards of glass as there were screams
of torment and terror. But the greatest error
made by a faceless ideology was assuming
we were broken and defeated. But the foresight
of three brothers of the fraternity most depleted
showed we were not defeated. Through the rubble
it stood in defiance. A naked flagpole planted
among the girders and debris. A symbol; our banner
raised high. A declaration loud and clear.
We are still here. We will not go gently.
Together we stand, a shield for liberty.
You took your shot and failed. An American Tale…
and the flag was still there! America had been blessed.



There were five sides to every story,

in a place where glory was the prize earned

through valiant effort and selfless sacrifice.

It would have been nice to face your attackers,

but cowardly slackers destined to fail their main mission

sat in a position to cause as much damage as they could.

Would they have succeeded, we would have pleaded

for mercy. But we don’t play that way. The heroes

in New York and Pennsylvania had back-up

in the Nation’s capitol. On patrol and wresting control

back from the faceless assailant.  Our own mission clear.

Do not lead out of fear. Defend out of honor and respect

of those who had given so much for the cause of many.

In any instance, there remains five sides to every story.

In honor and glory, they died for a cause,

earning our undying devotion and endless applause.