Hand Poised On Knob

Hand Poised On Knob

You’ve had your bags packed
For a very long time
No chance to think it over
Just grabbed your essentials
Essentially you’re gone.

But still you remain
For what or why
You’re not sure yourself
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

And that’s a problem
Isn’t it?

Remaining behind the door
Hand on knob
Certain of the monster behind you
Not sure of the monsters beyond
Duffle bag on your back
Mouth dry as cotton
Frozen
So you remain another day.

But your bags are packed
And in your head you’re gone
Living your life this way
One day at a time
One monster clawing at your back
God knows what waiting beyond.

© Copyright 2012 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

Complete

Complete

I‘ll take what’s left of you

And reassemble your pieces

No need for glue

No use for twine

For you’re perfect broken

Shattered

Pieces long gone.

I’ll lay you across the table,

my jigsaw.

The sum of your parts

Telling a story

Filled with gaping holes

That make perfect sense

Only for me.

Copyright © 2012 Joseph A. Pinto – All Rights Reserved.

Treason

Treason

(acoustic guitar)

 

My words they’ve been swept away

Feeling much the castaway

If only I could bring back yesterday now,

It’s all treason

It’s all treason

Your eyes blaze like July.

Still there’s nothing I remember

Of your cold heart December

Such subtleties whispering goodbye.

My thoughts they’ve been led astray

Searching for the right of way

If only I could have the right to say now,

What’s your reason

What’s your reason

Your eyes blaze like July.

Still there’s nothing I remember

Of our snowbound December

Such casualties of war and of lies.

It’s all treason

It’s all treason

Your eyes blaze like July.

Still there’s nothing I remember

Of your cold heart December

Such subtleties whispering goodbye.

It’s all treason

It’s all treason

It’s all treason

It’s all treason

Such subtleties whispering goodbye.

Copyright © 2013 Joseph A. Pinto – All Rights Reserved.

My dearest THINK

I won my six-figure deal last week.

My contract signed inside my daughter’s preschool classroom of all places.  Her teacher asked if I would participate in Read Across America week, and I agreed.  It was a tough crowd; preschoolers know what they want and when they want it.  Straight shooters, these preschoolers.  Rougher and more critical than any literary agent or editor I’ve come across.

I settled into a rocking chair set solely for this purpose. Looking up, I saw their tiny faces scrunched before me.  Scrutinizing.  My daughter’s included.  Interested neither in adjectives nor metaphors, sentence structure as useless to them as a wrapper with no candy hidden inside, they waited.  Give them what they desire; magic! And you had better deliver in its telling…

Carefully and reverently, I opened the tome upon my lap.  “You can think up some birds…”  I began, my mouth dreadfully parched, fingers trembling upon the book’s gleaming surface.

“Excuse me, where’s your hair?”

Along my brow broke a bead of sweat.  My eyes flicked away from the tale for a moment; trepidation mounting.  Confidence shaken.  I tremulously stumbled, “Umm…that’s what you can do.  You can think about yellow or think about—”

“Athena’s daddy, I asked where’s your hair?”

All eyes…all narrowed, measuring eyes…upon me.  Did I mention they were a tough crowd?  I reached into my back pocket, pulled forth my last vestige of hope then extended a sealed fist to my diminutive blond heckler.  “Take this,” I croaked, engulfing his open palm.  “It’s my last hair seed.  Grow this for me so one day I can plant it back on my head.”

Silence. What had I done?  Awful, black tombed silence.  Time stood still.  Then an eruption of unearthly shrieks.  Earsplitting giggles.  Tiny bodies jumping in delirium.  My daughter beaming.

Give them what they desire.

“Think!  Think and wonder.  Wonder and think,” I proclaimed, nailing each verse to perfection, my inflection as never before.  Enchanting the room.  “How much water can fifty-five elephants drink?”

Magic.  It had better be in the telling.

I finished my book reading, ears humming to the roar of joyous children.  My goddess rushed to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.  “Thank you for reading to us, Daddy.”

I won my six-figure deal last week.  Signed and sealed forever in my heart.

I Just Want

In some past life, I lived in New Orleans.  I’m quite sure of it.

Perched on the stoop of a jazz club, guitar in hand.  Crooning some laid back melody.  A sultry connection of souls.

In some past life, I lived in New Orleans.  Sang for the living.  Made music for the dead.

I wrote this song some time ago.  Who knows…maybe even longer than that.  I fancy I was a silky tongued musician.  Nothing more than a smoky silhouette in a Big Easy doorway.

You might have heard me sing this before.  In some past life.

I’m quite sure of it…

I Just Want

I don’t want to take your clothes off, baby

I just want to lay here and look deep into your eyes.

I don’t want to take your clothes off, baby

I just want to lay here and look deep into your eyes.

Feel the magic grow between us, darling

A man never felt so alive

So alive.

(instrumental)

I don’t want to scare you, baby

I just want to steal your breath away.

I don’t want to scare you, baby

I just want to steal your breath away.

Feel your hair brush against my neck, darling

Melt this night down into day

Into day.

What you got I want a piece of, sugar

From your toes straight to your fingertips.

You know you’re always on my mind, sugar

I can’t wait to kiss your honey lips.

I’ll be the shoulder you can lean on

I’ll be the mountain you can’t miss.

(instrumental)

I don’t want to take your clothes off, baby

I just want to undress you with my eyes.

I don’t want to take your clothes off, baby

I just want to undress you with my eyes.

Feel you tremble beneath my fingers, darling

Make your tender heart come alive

Come alive.

I don’t want you to frown no more, baby

I just want to keep all your clouds away.

I don’t want you to frown no more, baby

I just want to keep all your clouds away.

Be the sun to keep you growing, darling

Be the music behind all you say

All you say.

Copyright © 2013 Joseph A. Pinto – All Rights Reserved.

Turkey Day Giveaway

Thanksgiving is nearly here, & I hope everyone has a safe & happy day.  Please take time to reflect on the individuals & families that may not have one this season, whether as a result of that cruel disease known as homelessness, or as a direct result of Hurricane Sandy here in the tri-state area.

I’m giving thanks to all you of by hosting a giveaway: a free Kindle e-book copy of two recent anthologies featuring my work.  My story “Memorial” in Sirens Call Publications ‘Of Myth and Monstrosity‘ and my story “Sweet Nectar of Life” in Cruentus Libri Press‘ ‘The Dark Side of the Womb.’  Each tale is written in an entirely different vein, and I have no doubt that each will chill you to the core.

All you need to do is leave a comment at the end of this post; something as simple as “hello,” even.  That’s it, kiddies.  I’ll be picking names at random; the more people who comment, the more winners there will be!  The giveaway will end Friday, November 23 at midnight.

Good luck & happy turkey day!

Of Myth and Monstrosity – you can be certain that ‘Memorial’ is no fable

The Dark Side of the Womb – inside lurks my tale “Sweet Nectar of Life”

Water Runs Thicker

I don’t know

You say that you’re blood

But water runs thicker than you do.

You don’t disguise it that well

You’re as fake as hell

And you don’t fool me no more.

No, you don’t fool me no more.

Well thanks

Thanks for nothing

Should I commend you for your lack of support

I must admit I once fell for your lies

And all those kind thoughts you purport.

You go on living your life while you use mine as your dump

So pick up your litter, why can’t you just figure out

I’m sick of being the chump

I don’t know

I thought you were blood

But it seems I bleed easier than you do.

You don’t disguise it that well

You’re as clueless as hell

And I don’t want you round here no more.

No, you’re not welcome here no more.

Well thanks

Thanks for nothing

Should I commend you for your lack of support

I must admit I once fell for your lies

And all those kind thoughts you purport.

You go on living your life while you use mine as your dump

So pick up your litter, why can’t you just figure out

I’m sick of being the chump

I don’t know

You say that you’re blood

But water runs thicker than you do.

Water runs thicker than you do.

You don’t disguise it that well

You’re as fake as hell

And you don’t fool me no more.

No, you don’t fool me no more.

You go on living your life while you use mine as your dump

So pick up your litter, why can’t you just figure out

I’m sick of being the chump

So sick of being the chump.

I’m so tired of being your chump.

Copyright © 2012 Joseph A. Pinto – All Rights Reserved.

Always yours

Athena.  The goddess.  The wise.

More than I could ever dream.

My daughter started her first full day of pre K yesterday.  Has nearly a year and a half gone by since she first entered the school system (  http://wp.me/pQvQq-6b ‘Of  gods and goddesses’ )?  A peanut of a little girl – a smile that could move an elephant aside.  Yes, I suppose it has been that long.  Seems like yesterday.  So much has changed since then.  So much I’ve had to let go.

That’s the case when raising a child.  With each setting sun, they grow up just a wee bit more; with every fade of the sky to a purple dusk, they slip another hair’s whisper away from you.  The clothes they wear; a program they might watch.  The twinkle in their eye somehow a flash more knowing, yet that warmth, that innocence undisguised.  All signs of a maturity that wasn’t there the day before.  All signs there will be more to find the day after.

It’s difficult.  Not the growing up part.  That, of course, is natural, even if you do try in vain to slow it down.  But realizing you must surrender your child to the great big machine of life – it’s downright painful.  A dull, aching throb.  It’s not the hard choices but the easiest that feel that way.  Because the easiest choices, whether you admit it or not, are the correct ones to be made.

If you love something, set it free.  If it returns to you, you’ll know it was always yours.

Athena has overcome so much.  Developmental delays.  Her very DNA working against her.  Initial limitations of her speech.  Yet through it all, that smile of hers melts glaciers, pushes those elephants gently from her way.  Her heart grows and grows.  And she teaches me – even through her crocodile tears, and that mesmerizing bat of her soft imploring eyes.  Always teaching me with a subtle grace belying her tender years; God how she teaches me.

She started her first full day of pre K the way she starts every day, by attacking it.  Took the challenge, plowed right through it.  “I am so very proud of you, Athena,” I whispered into her ear as she sat at the table, coloring, crayons much duller than the light radiating from within her.  “You do your very best today and have fun.  I love you.”  Whispered through a constricted throat as my eyes suddenly blurred.

“Okay, Daddy,” her voice a feather, soothing.  Somewhere within her angelic timbre, another lesson for me to learn.

So much I’ve had to let go.

But when so much of yourself is poured and shared into another’s heart, when the sacrifice is that great for another’s soul, they never truly leave, do they?

They return.

Always yours.

Athena.  The goddess.  The wise.

My daughter.

Get Myself Warm

Another of my songs…

Get Myself Warm

I’ve got a bullet on the table right next to me,

But my brain’s already loaded with lead.

Cause I’ve taken more shots than I care for,

And I’ve since been left here for dead.

Sooner or later I’ll rise again

Push myself up from the ground

Before new shots ring out, please leave me some whiskey

So I can at least get myself warm.

I’ve got an arrow on the chair just across from me,

But my heart’s been pierced by this sword.

I should learn not to play with these sharp toys,

Lest I strike this same sorry old chord.

Sooner or later I’ll rise again

Push myself up from the ground

Before new shots ring out, please leave me some whiskey

So I can at least get myself warm.

I don’t recall wearing this bull’s-eye

I don’t recall wearing this mark

Is it something I can purge myself free of

Or am I destined to suffer this course?

I’ve got a bullet on the table right next to me,

But my brain’s already loaded with lead.

Cause I’ve taken more shots than I care for,

And I’ve since been left here for dead.

Sooner or later I’ll rise again

Push myself up from the ground

Before new shots ring out, please leave me some whiskey

So I can at least get myself warm.

Sooner or later I’ll rise again

Push myself up from the ground

Before new shots ring out, please leave me some whiskey

So I can at least get myself warm.

Copyright © 2012 Joseph A. Pinto – All Rights Reserved.

West Coast Masquerade

Silence

November 1, 1946 – June 28, 2007

Rest well, Pops