Poetry by Joe Fazio

Yesterdays...yesterday, oh how I yearn for
yesterday. Today, is the tomorrow we thought
about yesterday. Today, hold close to you,
those who you love, for in the cover of darkness,
'today', will slip quietly and forever, into
yesterday. Fill you 'todays' with the goodness
within you and your memories of yesterdays,
will be your salvation tomorrow.

Spring. I stared at the endless, plowed field.
Here, the headlands were even. The ditches straight and clean
and the earth rich furrows, evenly spaced.

My minds eyes pictured the horse drawn plow, as it skipped
along the ground, then finally digging in, leaving in
its wake, long, straight, beautiful furrows.

I am weary and this is the place I had
come, to recapture all that is precious
to me.

As I stood there, I thought life...love, was very
much like this plowed field.
For in my time, I too, have plowed...
the fields of life.

In the springtime of my youth, upon the anvil
of life, I forged the elements, of who I would
become. Forged, did I, the golden dreams,
among the silver lining of mortals. Careful,
as I progress, to bury that I most
cared about, safely below my furrowed
thoughts. There...they would be safe.
There, they would remain, until called upon.

Day...by day, I planted my seeds, of love,
caring and compassion. I planted His word and all
in life, that He would ask of me. Like
the sprouting of the spring planting,
so too, did my seeds begin to sprout.
So to...did my seeds grow, in the
richness, of the sunlight, of life and
living.

I sang amid the pine trees and danced beneath
the stars, when my seeds of love...grew,
and entered me, as the food from the field.

It was time to harvest, my planting of
love. A wonderful, exciting, enchanting
crop, as none I would ever know again.
The crop was rich, producing children,
grandchildren and countless, loving memories.

I received so much...so very much. I often feared,
like the barley in the field, that had
awaited harvesting for too long, that which
I been given, would bend, under its own weight.

I resolved, to not allow this to happen.

I have nurtured my field and tendered it,
with love and caring. Like the water
that irrigated the field, I sustained the
seeds I have planted, with all the
sacrifice necessary, to make them
strong and healthy.

Can it been, that there are no new seeds
left to plant? Can it be, like the withering remains
of the leaves of fall, I too shall dry up,
crumple and disappear into the earth?
Yes, it is so. For that is life. Living.

When my time to part has come,
I will not leave with anger or regret. I will leave
with joy, gratefulness and love, for
that which He has given me.
My seeds. My field, has yielded much.
I shall remain forever thankful, for that
which I have received.

Upon my parting, I shall know the
answers...to all the questions.

Now...it seems, I am to become a
seed once again. Once again, I
shall be returned to the earth.

I make my way, through the heavily treed,
leaf covered path, I suddenly see you.
You're standing there, surrounded by wild flowers.
Behind you, a small stream, trembles it's way down
the mountainside. You are so radiantly beautiful,
I overflow, ache with love for you. No words are
spoken. I find myself bursting, for want of your love.
For the need to hold you...touch you.
Slowly, we make our way toward each other.

We meet amid a bed of soft, green moss.
Our hands reach out, touch, and as if in
slow motion, we find ourselves seated
on this bed of Gods making. Your lips
are moist, my heart pounding. Your breath
quickens, as the rise and fall of your full
breasts seem to try to free themselves.
I'm am inches from those lips, I have long
for. As you move toward me, we kiss.
A long, moist, tender... hungry kiss.
A kiss, that fulfills all the promises of
love. I feel myself, melting into your very soul.
I lay you gently back on the bed of green.
You, touching the pulsating volcano
beneath my pants. I unbutton your blouse,
and free you from the thin veiled garment,
that had covered your hardened nipples.

For a brief moment, I stare at you.
Your breasts, moist with desire and your
eyes fill with love and the promise of ecstasy.
I tremble, as if a magnet, the brown circles of
desire, atop your milky white breasts, draw my lips,
to softly encircle your erect nipples.Your hands slide
behind my head, and crush my lips to your softness.
You rip open my pants, clutching the hard roundness, of
my throbbing flesh. I touch you in your most private part
and it is wet...wanting. We clutch, grab, explore
each other, like two wild animals. You open yourself
to me, and murmur, 'Now...now...please now.'
I can wait no longer, as my missile of love,
on the verge of exploding, seeks the inviting wetness,
between your legs. I can barely contain myself, then....

The phone rings. No! No! Not now!
It keeps ringing...ringing...ringing!
Keeper of dreams, I beg you...not now!
Please...not now.

The vision evaporates! I try to recapture
it. The phone, now sounding like an
alarm, persists. I have lost the dream.
I have lost...her.

Dammit! I curse the reality of the moment!

She knows, as do I, I will go to her again.
I can not give her up. For she has become
me...and I her.

Until tomorrow...or another day...or another
time...or another world.
It matters not where she is. I shall find her.
For she is my love...and I shall yet again,
go to her.

It is the words, that cause the action that cause the wars.

It is the words, that evoke the emotions, that bring the love.

It is the words, that bring the message of doom and death.

It is the words, that bring the action that bring the hate.

It is the words, that can not be called back, that bring regret.

It is the words, that immortalize some and condemn others.

It is the words, that can cause joy or deliver death.

It is the words...no matter how...no matter when...no matter where,
that bring us all-that bring it all...to where it would not have
been...without words.

The true essence of life can not be measured
by material well being, or by social statue,
but rather what lies within the heart and
conscious of ones self.

The Old Shoe Box, with the tattered
covered, lay on my lap.

With wrinkled hands, that trembled
slightly, I lifted the cover.

There, inside, were the reminders, of
precious memories of love.

A fading picture of her, with a smile, that
could brighten the darkest day. And, in my
now hazy memory, I could still hear the
words, that made life worth while; 'I love you.'

There she was, standing on the pier, as
boats dotted the ocean blue and the
warm sun kissed her face. A light
wind, ruffled her golden hair.

I reached in, and picked up a Valentine she
once gave me. As I read her words,
'All my love...All my life', my eyes began to
fill. My minds eye pictured us, holding,
touching, forever committing our love to each other.

A dainty ribbon, with strands
of blond, still clinging there. A half used
tube of lipstick...the glasses she wore,
and a picture of our children, now scattered
to the distant places of the world. All there,
in that Old Shoe Box.

A 45 record, titled, 'Why Did I Choose You? '
I never really understood, why she choose me.
I just thank Him above, that she did.

A tiny heart, she knitted for our first grandchild;
a souvenir from our vacation; a prayer card, from
one of our children, who had passed; our
wedding announcement and an invitation for
our fiftieth anniversary.

Tears streamed down my face, as I picked up,
her obituary. For me, it all ended, when she
had gone. For me, there would be no more beloved
memories, to place... in that Old Shoe Box.

I sat there for hours, as everything in that
Old Shoe Box, brought her back to me.
Returned, the love we had known.

Reluctantly, I replaced the cardboard lid.
I closed my eyes and whispered, 'I miss you.
Love you. Soon...we'll be together again.'

Until then, I can find our life and our love,
stored in that Old Shoe Box.

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

I weep for all the things that use to be.
I weep for all...which will never be.
I weep for those I loved and now, no longer here.
I weep for all I could have done, and didn't.
I weep for all the wasted moments.

It seems there are more regrets, then not.
Perhaps in another time...in another place,
I shall be better. I shall do better.

Long have I lived this life. I have finally come
to the realization, that all the gold in the world,
is not worthy, of one once of love.

Do not vanquish yourself, on the alter
of that which is materialistic or the gathering
of riches.

For in the end, there is not one among us, who
would trade all things of wealth, for yet one
more day of life.

In our final moments, it is love...or the lack of
it, that will define our moments of life and bring
to us...peace.

Many have been wounded on the
battlefield of life. Wounded, in
their homes, streets and back
alleys of social interaction.

In the battle to survive, are there
more formidable enemies, than
grief, loneliness, illness, poverty,
and lost love?

So many, although seemingly
defeated, by an army of foes,
to opposition of life and living,
they fight...go on.

Countless millions, are wounded by
emotional bullets...lethal grenades
of death, taking a loved one... and the
machine gun fire, of cancer and
other devastating diseases.

Yet, with a courage that can not be
measured, these unsung heroes
...go on.

Let there be a Congressional Medal
Of Honor, for life, for those unsung
heroes and their unyielding courage. Let
them know, in their time of need,
we shall provide them with, they emotional
medicine and care they require.
Love, compassion and understanding.

The next time, the word 'hero' is spoken,
look around, for on the battlefield of
life, there are millions, 'of unsung heros.'