Friday, April 27, 2012


by Dawn Pisturino
Wind, wind, holler and cry,
The windows are shaking, the doors want to fly!
The old tree is creaking, it surely must fall;
The chimney is cracking, bricks, mortar and all!
How everything shudders! I mustn't delay:
We have, it would seem, a tornado today.

May 3, 1986

Au Vent                                                             To the Wind
Souffles, O vent,                                                Blow, O wind,
Dis à mon oreille                                               Speak into my ear
Un doux mot d’amour;                                     A sweet word of love;
Emportes mes rêves,                                         Carry away my dreams,
Rapportes mes souhaits,                                   Bring back my wishes,
Et n’oublies pas, pour toujours,                       And don’t forget, always,
Ὰ chanter une belle chanson.                            To sing a beautiful song.

5 mai 1985                                                            May 5, 1985

pour mon ami, J.J.                                              for my friend, J.J.

Paris, France                                                        Paris, France
 Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

First Party at Ken Kesey's with Hell's Angels

by Allen Ginsberg
Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets. In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little weed in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.
December 1965
BIO: Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) was a leader of the beat generation and the anti-Vietnam war movement. He wrote in the tradition of William Blake and Walt Whitman, heavily influenced by William Carlos Williams and Jack Kerouac.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012


by Dawn Pisturino
Springtime struggles to survive
The clasping arms of winter,
Stirring up the honey-hive
And bringing forth the flower.

She hastens to restore the sun:
The melting snows recede;
And when the sap begins to run,
The worm returns to feed.

A flock of sparrows in the sky;
A big, red-breasted robin
Perched to catch a passing fly,
His little heart a-throbbin'.

Daffodils with yellow heads
Bobbing in a row;
Rich brown fields and grassy beds
Waiting for the plow.

Winter, dying in the wake
Of Springtime's warmer rain,
Thaws the river and the lake
And disappears again.

February 21, 1986

Won HONORABLE MENTION award in the Pot o' Gold contest sponsored by World of Poetry, March 1986. Awarded 1986 GOLDEN POET award. Published in World of Poetry Anthology, 1987 and Best New Poets of 1988.

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.