Pepe Nero

"Living In The Negative World"

another dawn
the green sun pokes up slowly
brightening into orange the sky
illuminating black popcorn clouds

the lady love, sexy in her white panties and bra
against her smooth pale blue skin
has painted her nails green again

slowly she opens her deep orange eyes and smiles, stretches,
her black teeth sparkling in the morning light

It is summer and the trees are multitudinous reds in glory
soon fall will come and they will be clothe in green splendor

Tonight, if the sky is clear
my lady and I will venture out
and marvel
at the full purplish moon
and the thousands of black stars
in the light night
© 2003

"Taken Down Paths"

taken,
led, down paths
that are,
at once,
familiar and not.

paths I thought I knew.

sudden shiftings,
all my landscapes
new again.

from atop each hilltop
a new panoramic vista.
at every turn
new creatures.

strange twistings,
flowers, exotic plants,
trees, fruits, grasses.
or was it that everything
just seemed reformed.

hails, sleets and winds
tornados, seasons, tital waves,
earthquakes, floods,
beautiful dawns,
terrifying nights,
threatening strangers,
friendly folk,
lovers,
killers,
came and went.
now safety,
now shelter,
now peril,
now death.

I drowned,
was resurrected.

there were deep black holes
to fall into,
branches to trip over,
angry fires
to lick me lifeless.
boulders falling
without warning.

blue still waters
eased body and soul
beautiful women
tempted me,
feasts
sated my hungers.

I had no way of knowing
what was coming,
what was going
on.

I floated,

despaired,

flew,

sank,

was a werewolf.

I laughed,
cried,
mourned the dead,
questioned sanity,
languages,
beliefs,
being.

I met strangers,
some old friends too.
saw murder committed,
presidents scorned,
movie stars made love to,
the dead brought back to life.

many proudly stood naked,
I loved them for it,
longed to be naked also.
still others wore suits of armor,
some of iron, some of shining platinum.

one in lead tried to slay me.

a man
hid
behind a sheet
of cryptic words,
another wore
a sandwich board
of esoteric scribblings.

a lady carrying a sign
saying,¹Please Respond¹
stood back to back
with a man
holding it's echo.

up in a tree
a man
clipped and dropped names
from his book collection.

a beautiful young girl
let her lovely black hair fall to her hips
to frame her golden brown body in glory.

people were drowning,
crying for help

some
saved themselves,
others were saved
by yet others.

a man,
who knew he was to die,
cried
and I cried.

the sun got brighter,
brighter still.

the sky bluer,
clouds whiter,
and all the colors of the world
blazing hues
lit from behind.

Thanks poets

"The Naked Line"

not much more than a reed,
thin in space.
a starving steeple
retaining heavenly
aspirations.
like a Giocometti
shaved down
to it's thinnest indivisible
vertical being

the gentle breeze
of your breath
stirs up the hot dust
of remembered days
and things.
hopes, dreams, loves...
letter by letter
speck by speck
particle by particle,
point by point,
dab by dab,
layer by layer,
it builds

the line,
is now a sculpture,
a poem

yours

"Caged Hope"

I had hoped
to make you see
that which is hidden
inside of me
like a mad dog
ready to tear itself
free

silently desperate
this aging fool
sits, without cards,
at the game table.

that hope
is held
in my cupped hands
like the bee
that I captured
when I was
very young

"DiPaulo's"

the Italian importer deli
in Little Italy,
DiPaulo's by name,
where I shop,
is now a tourist attraction

I just got back,
the place was packed.
two guys, holding camcorders
high over the heads
of the crowd,
shot away

all four intersections,
just out the door,
had been barricaded off
as RAI television
arrived from Italy
to do a story

go-fers,
go-fers,
sound men,
script girls,
camera men,
kids with walkie talkies,
trying to keep
the crowds outside
controlled

lights!
action!
cameras!

I look at my stub number
101
a look at the board
32!

hell, I'll wait.
I just gotta have
a handful of olives

it ain't like I want
100 year aged grating cheese
at 300 a pound,
or that Modena DOCG
Balsamic Vinegar
bottle number 375,
fifty dollars per
@ 4 oz. limited edition,
signed at the estate,
a bargain

no.
I just want a few
humble olives
fer christ's sake,
to go with my
Sicilian sauced spaghetti,
and red wine

everyone
seems to be buying
the place out.
six of these,
a dozen of those,
3 pounds of this,
a big slice of that

like this is
The Last Chance Italian Deli,
or something

Maria smiles patiently
while her brother
gives a customer
the origins of
the word mortadella

I listen too.
hey! I never knew that!

In the corner stall
a man makes mozzarella
the way it's been made
for hundreds of years,
squeezed by hand
and into the boiling water.

the past is present

Outside the cameras whirl
then shove their ways
through the door
to join their two
neoephite kin

the future is also present