Author Archives: Dom DiFrancesco

Golden Beams – A Haiku

Image Credit: wallsfeed.com

Image Credit: wallsfeed.com

Golden beams blinding

Bronzing flesh and warming soul

Springtime renewal

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Sorry

I stammer to speak,

Unable to make things right,

After all I’ve done.

Cursed to suffer shortcomings

Bestowed upon me justly.

Is this destiny?

Sorry is incapable

Of healing your wounds

Inflicted by arrogance,

Bred out of my selfishness.

~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

In The End

Gather up what to you belongs

It serves no purpose once you’re gone

A lifetime spent in hordish gather

In the end what does it matter

We collect and prize our worldly wares

Empty handed we climb the stairs

Meaningless in the grand scheme of things

To claw and scratch for golden ring

This buys you nothing in the end

How sad to see this is the trend

He who has the most stuff losses

If this path the fool doth chooses

Instead look upon your fellow man

Offer them an outstretched hand

For one and all we are the same

In this life a finite game

More wealth derived from acts of kindness

Than all that’s earthly left behind us

Believe or not this must be true

As I strive in all I do

Though I sometimes stumble and often fail

I choose to believe this sober tale

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Lean Close – A Tanka

Lean close and listen

Do you hear the rhythmic beat

The hearts song it sings

Tapping out love’s flamenco

In throes of passion for you

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Scarred

Scars, fresh raised and red

Born of stainless razors edge

Bleed…to make me feel

Numb, I do not understand

What flawed design produced me

Sleeves long– Hide the shame

Attempts for naught this hollow fill

Am I all alone

Left to cut and poke and prod

To wake up the walking dead

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Call Me Friend – A Tanka

Image Credit: flickr.com

Image Credit: flickr.com

You can call me friend

Though this is the first we’ve met

I am your brother

Born, living, dying like you

Race, creed, color matters not

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Scavenging

Scavenging,

Through trash bins,

Rubbish heaps,

Loitering beyond alley doors,

Waiting for “the good stuff”.

Jagged nails,

Through fingerless gloves,

Sort through treasures,

Maybe a doughnut,

Scrap of bread,

Half eaten burger,

A meal fit for a king.

Seen on steam grate mattresses,

Fetal curl for warmth;

Passersby arc wide birth

To avoid their touch.

Rain draws trash bag slickers,

Doorways, cardboard,

Rags for umbrellas,

Taxi’s thrown sludge sprays the invisible

With cities dirt and grim.

Will they be here tomorrow?

Will anyone notice their absence?

As their shopping cart sits idle

Ravaged by fellow unseen.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

I Beg Of Heaven – A Villanelle

I beg of heaven for light of day

For night fills dreams of you with fear

On bended knee in tears I pray

~

What can I do, what dare I say

To break this darkness with love and cheer

I beg of heaven for light of day

~

This deep despair I keep at bay

In hopes you’ll return my cherished dear

On bended knee in tears I pray

~

I never would your heart betray

My passion felt I have made so clear

I beg of heaven for light of day

~

Were I to change would then you stay

Anything I’d do to mend heartbreak severe

On bended knee in tears I pray

~

To you, I promise to never stray

Your honor I’ll guard and never besmear

I beg of heaven for light of day

On bended knee in tears I pray

~~~~~~~~~~~ // ~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

** I thought I would give a new style a try.  The Villanelle is in the form of A1 B A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.  It is very structured, but was interesting to write.  I would appreciate any feedback you may wish to provide.  Thanks.

Humanity – A Tanka

Image Credit: flickr.com

Image Credit: flickr.com

Material wealth

Blinding to what surrounds you

Swallows compassion

If permitted to consume

And supplant humanity

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

The Hands

I remember the hands,

Dark, calloused, weathered,

Like the old leather of my hand-me-down Buster Brown’s.

Skin the shade of olive;

Disfavored for their Napolitan roots,

Unafraid of hard work,

Unrepentant for the right and wrong that they’d done.

They played jacks,

Scuffled in the schoolyard,

Held the hand of their first love

All before the start of the First World War.

Trembled in fear,

Shouldered a carbine,

Took their first life,

Comforted their comrade as they passed on

During the ravages of the Second World War.

Returned home to the embrace of the wife left behind,

Prepared to resume peaceful work,

Lifting crates,

Tossing sacks

Unloading train cars,

Driving trucks

All to support a wife and newborn baby.

Cradled silently to his breast,

Calmed when she cried,

Held her hand on the first day of school

Waltzed during the father daughter dance

Clapped during graduation,

While holding two jobs to make ends meet.

Toiled never ceasing as the family grew,

Their work never eased.

Time bent and broke them making it more difficult,

But nary a complaint did they utter.

Finally age made the decision,

Putting them out to pasture,

A much needed rest ensued.

The years were kind,

Allowing them to pursue their passions,

Until clasped in prayer,

The Lord called them home.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~