Poetry
By Steve Mazzulli

Knocking
1/20/05

She explodes in prism-beams
writhing through the cracks
around my front door,
drawing a boundless frame
of light around me until
a trembling hand heaves
from my heart to open the door.

You give me (not a birthday, but) a window
2/17/05

I lean forward
to be frosted by
a view of bright yellow meadows,
some green and blue;
just enough shadows,
invigorating storms;
don't expect the expected
with a pair like us…
so brightly framed
in out light rainbows
gifts out of a window
looking into you.

Two Hearts
3/04

You give me two hearts

Your muscles move in my queue
I know how to watch you
Dance over a rainbow bridge
Flickering like light through tears.

You shake my bones
Like an erection machine
Pounds in syncopation.

A whole of uncanny souls
Colliding and loving, living
Growing Tribe of building
And flying above their
Blue and red parts
Held together with pins and
Stitches and duct tape.

When others ask
How they do it
I fill my four lungs
And my second heart
Can't find the words-
It just feels and explodes.

Candle

The candle
beats to the rhythm
of air:
a burning life.

Don't Mess with a Muse

I wish I could show you
some of my best poems
like the one about
that stream with the heavy water
rumbling rocks-I sat
in the middle, on a dry stone
shaken by the pounding
and grinding rocks but
that one stays
in Sweden, Maine

like the verses on the trains
stay on multi-colored lines
running through the city
like blood, with glances and
poetry every ten minutes…

All those lines I left.
They could not be saved.

Inanimate Objects

In May there was
a ribbon blowing
off a wreath
and a red light
blinking in the rain,
listening to me…

but we did not
exchange words…

it was the ribbon
that shouted.

Pasta Perfect

Linguini like love
hand-molded with care

Linguini of my heart
tender, entangled

Linguini in red sauce
with clams and mussels

Linguini in oil
with garlic, red pepper

Linguini in white sauce
cheese, butter and cream

A Meeting in the Caf
5/04/05

I was afraid to swim in
the dark river of tears again
wondering if the depths would
pull me back down into the
muted pain few understand
but the few were there
bobbing up and down, their
sweet colors shining above
raw, fleshy water and as we sat in fellowship
laughter pierced
even our assembled lights
until a prism reversed its
singular hope to the sky
and the rains
of love trickled gently
over our heads and back
into the great river we swam

Steve Mazzulli is a long-time member of MDDA-Boston .He appreciates the opportunity to share his work.