Danse Macabre du Jour -- Stars Fade

I'm happy to announce that my dark poem, "Stars Fade," has been published on

Danse Macabre du Jour.

 

Here's the link:

http://dmdujour.wordpress.com/2012/05/18/dawn-pisturino-stars-fade

And my first writer's interview was published March 9, 2012 on

Underneath the Juniper Tree.

Here's the link:

http://underneaththejunipertree.com/?p=1564

Thank you so much for stopping by!

Dawn Pisturino

Wind

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.

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.

Springtime

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.

Christ's Sorrow

by Dawn Pisturino

A Sonnet

I was not born for pleasure but for pain;

For blood and thorns and thirst beneath the sun;

And ev'ry man who doubts I am the One

Has lost the only treasure he could gain.

Blasted with hate, betrayed, and marked like Caine,

My fate was sealed; nor was there place to run.

Standing trial and defended by none,

The case was clear; acquittal was in vain.

You hung me high; you nailed me to the cross;

On either side, the outcasts hung with me.

O enemies mine, I died on that hill

With bitterest gall; but mourn not my loss:

You have helped fulfill my great destiny.

My pain is this:--You do not love me still.

September 16, 1986

Won Honorable Mention in New Golden Poetry Contest, World of Poetry. Published in New American Poetry Anthology, 1988. Won 1988 GOLDEN POET AWARD.

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

HAPPY EASTER 2012!

Strings in the Earth and Air

by James Joyce

Strings in the earth and air

Make music sweet;

Strings by the river where

The willows meet.

There's music along the river

For Love wanders there,

Pale flowers on his mantle,

Dark leaves on his hair.

All softly playing,

With head to the music bent,

And fingers straying

Upon an instrument.

1907, from his collection, Chamber Music

BIO:  James Joyce (1882-1941) is best known for his unique use of language in such works as Dubliners (1914), A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), Ulysses (1922), and Finnegan's Wake (1939).  He pioneered the "stream of consciousness" movement which influenced such prodigious authors as William Faulkner and Joyce Carol Oates.

Sunlight

by Seamus Heaney

from "Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication"

for Marie Heaney

There was a sunlit absence.

The helmeted pump in the yard

heated its iron,

water honeyed

in the slung bucket

and the sun stood

like a griddle cooling

against the wall

of each long afternoon.

So, her hands scuffed

over the bakeboard,

the reddening stove

sent its plaque of heat

against her where she stood

in a floury apron

by the window.

Now she dusts the board

with a goose's wing,

now sits, broad-lapped,

with whitened nails,

and measling shins:

here is a space

again, the scone rising

to the tick of two clocks.

And here is love

like a tinsmith's scoop

sunk past its gleam

in the metal-bin.

From Selected Poems 1965-1975, published by Faber and Faber

BIO: Seamus Heaney was born in 1939 in County Derry, Northern Ireland. Considered a major modern poet, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995.

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!