Thursday, May 18, 2017

The Queen of Hearts


The Queen of Hearts made cherry tarts
On Cupid's Special Day.
The Knave of Hearts threw out those tarts
And stole the Queen away.

His bow was strong, his arrows sharp,
He drew with deadly force.
His missile pierced the tender heart,
Killing her, of course.
With hungry zeal, he yanked the heart

From Queenie's bloody chest
And feasted on her royal blood,
Rating it the best!
Dawn Pisturino
December 16, 2011
Copyright 2011-2017 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Poems by Joaquin Miller

The Voice of the Dove
Come, listen O love, to the voice of the dove,
Come, hearken and hear him say,
"There are many Tomorrows, my love, my love,
There is only one Today."
Dedicated to his daughter, Juanita, on her 10th birthday.



To lord all Godland! lift the brow

Familiar to the moon, to top

The universal world, to prop

The hollow heavens up, to vow

Stern constancy with stars, to keep

Eternal watch while eons sleep;

To tower proudly up and touch

God's purple garment-hems that sweep

The cold blue north! Oh, this were much!

Where storm-born shadows hide and hunt

I knew thee, in thy glorious youth,

And loved thy vast face, white as truth;

I stood where thunderbolts were wont

To smite thy Titan-fashioned front,

And heard dark mountains rock and roll;

I saw the lightning's gleaming rod

Reach forth and write on heaven's scroll

The awful autograph of God!

The Ship in the Desert
By Arizona's sea of sand
Some bearded miners, gray and old,
And resolute in search of gold,
Sat down to tap the savage land.
They tented in a canñon's mouth
That gaped against the warm wide south,
And underneath a wave-wash'd wall,
Where now nor rains nor winds may fall,
They delved the level salt-white sands
For gold, with bold and hornéd hands.
A miner stood beside his mine,
He pull'd his beard, then look'd away
Across the level sea of sand,
Beneath his broad and hairy hand,
A hand as hard as knots of pine.
"It looks so like a sea," said he.
He pull'd his beard, and he did say,
"It looks just like a dried-up sea."
Again he pull'd that beard of his,
But said no other thing than this.
A stalwart miner dealt a stroke,
And struck a buried beam of oak.
An old ship's beam the shaft appear'd,
With storm-worn faded figure-head.
The miner twisted, twirled his beard,
Lean'd on his pick-axe as he spoke:
"'Tis from some long-lost ship," he said,
"Some laden ship of Solomon
That sail'd these lonesome seas upon
In search of Ophir's mine, ah me!
That sail'd this dried-up desert sea." ...
Nay, nay, 'tis not a tale of gold,
But ghostly land storm-slain and old.
BIO: "Joaquin Miller" was the pseudonym for Cincinnatus Heine Miller, who was born September 8, 1837 and died February 17, 1913. He is celebrated as the "Poet of the Sierras." He moved to California during the Gold Rush Era and became a frontier man. His adventures in the West included Indian fighting, mining camp cook, lawyer, judge, newspaper writer and editor, Pony Express Rider, and horse thief. He was a Confederate sympathizer. In 1897, he traveled to Alaska as a newspaper correspondent. He had a lifelong reputation for dishonesty and womanizing. His wife, Theresa Dyer Miller, divorced him for neglect.

Monday, March 6, 2017

Silly Poems by Dawn Pisturino

My Grandmother's Nose

My grandmother's nose was too long for her face
So it lay ninety years on the floor.
It was longer by half than my poor Grandma Grace,
And it weighed not a feather-weight more.

She was scorned on the morn
Of the day that she was born,
But my grandmother took it in stride.
She colored that schnozzola
With a cherry red Crayola
And painted yellow polka dots inside!

April 12, 2012

Raggedy Ann Loses Heart

Raggedy Ann liked to dress up and play
By the fire on a cold winter day.
When flames burned her dress, she cried in distress
As her candy heart melted away.

November 1, 2011

The Postman and the Snail

A postman delivering mail
Was attacked by a slithery snail.
Quickly, he trod on that fierce gastropod,
Fighting him off tooth and nail!

July 19, 2011

The Sailor and the Whale (1)

A sailor who kidnapped a whale
Got the ransom but landed in jail.
"Am I dumb!" said the crumb,
As he sucked on his thumb.
"I shouldn't have sent him by mail!"

July 19, 2011

The Sailor and the Whale (2)

A sailor who kidnapped a whale
Got the ransom but landed in jail.
"Am I dumb!" said the crumb,
As he sucked on his thumb.
"There isn't enough to make bail!"

July 19, 2011

The Man from New York

There was a young man from New York
Who stuffed down a very large pork.
He doubled in size, for he wasn't too wise,
And popped off his head like a cork!

July 11, 2011

Dawn Pisturino
Copyright 2011-2017 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Where is the Good Lord? (In French and English)

Où est le bon Dieu?
pour J.J.
Où est le bon Dieu
Quand j’ai besoin de lui?
     Il est ici, dans ma coeur,
     Mon esprit, et mon ậme.

Où est le bon Dieu
Quand je ne le vois pas?
     Il est là, avec le soleil,
     La lune, et les étoiles;
L’oiseau dans le ciel
Et le loup dans le forệt.
Il est avec mes amis, mes ennemies,
     Et moi-mệme;
Dans les montagnes et les vallées,
Partout et nulle part;
Avec le bien et le mal,
Le plus grand et le moindre;
     Il est tout et rien:
          Il soit.

9 Septembre 1985

Where is the Good Lord? 
For J.J.

Where is the good Lord
When I need Him?
     He is here, in my heart,
     My spirit, and my soul.

Where is the good Lord
When I cannot see Him?
     He is here, in the sun,
     The moon, and the stars;
The bird in the sky
And the wolf in the forest.
He is with my friends, my enemies,
     And myself.
In the mountains and the valleys,
Everywhere and nowhere;
With the good and the bad,
The greatest and the least;
     He is all and nothing:
          He is.

September 9, 1985

Poem and Photo by Dawn Pisturino
©1985-2017 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Friday, November 11, 2016


by Dawn Pisturino
Honey drips with sweet sensation from her vampire lips,
And the naked round bosom swells with invitation;
Chick is not impressed though his loins beg urgently,
For Death lurks in those baby blue eyes,
And Chick is not prepared to die
For the satisfaction of his loins.
Suddenly the man who bedded a thousand
Is a man with feelings and a sense of pride.
His eyes see new visions in the morning sun.
Life, for him, is more than an elongated erection.
The big word looms in his brain: RELATIONSHIP.
He surveys the choice of women as a connoisseur,
Checking dates and labels, going for the blue ribbon prize.
He awakes alone most mornings now,
But once in a while, in the shadows of night,
A sweet sensation of honey-dew lips caresses his ears,
And Chick is pleasantly surprised:
The woman has a brain.
March 3, 1988
Published in The National Poetry Anthology, 1988
Copyright 1988-2016 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

My Grave

My Grave

Poem by Dawn Pisturino
Illustration by Richard Cunningbot

I think that I shall never crave
A home as lovely as a grave.
A restful place deep in the ground
Without a trace of light or sound.
A grassy mound high on a hill,
Host to yellow daffodil.
And when the snow begins to fall,
I will not be disturbed at all.
A pleasant park is all I need
And visitors who stop to read
The granite marker at my head:
"Rest in Peace to All the Dead!"

October 5, 2011

Published in the November 2011 issue of

Copyright 2011-2016 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Down in the Graveyard

Down in the Graveyard
by Dawn Pisturino
Illustration by Job van Gelder
Down in the graveyard by the old oak tree
Roamed an old mother zombie and her little zombies three.
"Fresh meat!" cried the mother. "Tastes sweet!" cried the three.
And they ripped out the intestines from the caretaker, Lee.
Down in the graveyard by the mausoleum door
Lived an old mother werewolf and her little wolfies four.
"Fresh fat!" howled the mother. "Tastes great!" howled the four.
And they tore into the belly of the visitor, Lenore.
Down in the graveyard by the rusty old gate
Hung an old mother vampire and her little vampies eight.
"Fresh blood!" squeaked the mother. "Tastes good!" squeaked the eight.
And they sank their greedy fangs into the gravedigger, Nate.
Published in the September 2012 issue of Underneath the Juniper Tree.
Copyright 2012-2016 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.