Dom DiFrancesco

Musings of an Aspiring Author and Poet

Recent Posts

  • Plight of the Homeless

    By D. R. DiFrancesco

    Shadow people abound,

    Faceless and nameless they inhabit our streets,

    Forgotten amongst the urban sound,

    Left to stifle in summer’s heat.

     

    Shadow people trapped,

    Passed by like trash littering the walkway,

    Feeble hands outstretched for scraps,

    Passersby strain to look away.

     

    Shadow people lost,

    Beaten down by an iron fist,

    Society tries to subdue them at any cost,

    Acting as though they don’t exist.

     

    Shadow people remain,

    Vagrants, homeless, bums, call them what you will,

    Put a hand out to ease their strain,

    Comfort and humanity and faith instill.

     

    Shadow people no more,

    Take them in, in body and soul,

    End the battle of class; end the poverty of war,

    Lift them up, our brothers and sisters, their urgency behold.

  • Son

    By D. R. DiFrancesco

    Son,

    I still remember the day you were born,

    Our first,

    Blonde hair,

    Blue eyes,

    Colic, your tears and cries brought tears to my eyes.

    Then you grew,

    Grew out of the innocent helpless stage of infancy,

    Standing on your own two feet,

    Speaking in incoherent tones,

    Trying to form words,

    You knew what you were saying,

    Frustrated that others didn’t.

    With age came clarity,

    Your words became sentences,

    You thought for yourself,

    Such the little man you were.

    School was so difficult for you,

    Younger than the rest of the class,

    The agony of seeing you struggle,

    Given one more year to catch up with your friends.

    Sensitive,

    So much abuse,

    So much pain,

    Kids can be so cruel,

    Yet you overcame adversity and became more resilient for it.

    The teen years, your talents flourished,

    Maturity and confidence raised their heads,

    Still a sense of humor persisted,

    Highlighting that which makes you who you are,

    Sensitive, caring, intelligent and funny.

    Now you are a man,

    A better man than your father,

    Strong, confident, brave…fearless in the face of distress,

    Sacrificing unselfishly for the benefit of others.

    We swell with pride at the thought of what you have become,

    Independent,

    Letting us know that we taught you well,

    Doing more in your short life than we ever dreamed was possible,

    Son.

  • With Privilege Comes Corruption

    Think about this often

    How petty we have become

    Money, power, the big house; is this really important?

    Money distorts,

    Power corrupts,

    The big house…a symbol of unnecessary opulence.

    Those of unlike kind are frowned upon,

    Lazy,

    Bloodsuckers,

    A drain on the system,

    Is this what we have become?

    Those with means holding us hostage,

    Our station in life seals our fate,

    Threatening to exterminate ones less fortunate,

    All in the name of progressing their adgenda.

    Civility and compassion tossed aside like so many feathers to the wind,

    Cast out as unimportant,

    So unnecessary in this capitalist system,

    The needs of the few eclipse those of the many.

    Talking heads and bureaucrats tow the line,

    Telling us that this is our foundation,

    Lies and deceit disguise their motives,

    Their pockets lined with fools gold.

    Still they profit at societies expense,

    And we buy in to the hollow rhetoric,

    Smiling and clapping as they spew their bile,

    Blind to the parade marching to it’s own demise.

    Our representation sold for profit,

    With wealth comes power and the rise of aristocracy,

    This was not the proclivity of our fathers,

    Yet we watch it happen with hardly a noise.

    Is this what is desired or desirable?

    It can’t be…it mustn’t be our expectation,

    Like mice we scurry away from that which is distasteful,

    Rise up, speak up, demand your just due,

    Tenacity in numbers can rejuvenate our future,

    Forcing the tyrants to bow to our intentions.

  • Disturbed?

    White noise

    Distorting my senses

    Images like flashbacks fill my mind

    Thoughts, past, present and future

    Blur the lines between fantasy and reality

    Sanity or insanity

    Who is to say which is which

    Its difficult to tell anymore

    Dreams materialize in painful rushes of sound and color

    Awake…No rest, can’t sleep

    Unfolding into vivid nightmares

    They seem so real

    Glimpses of my innermost fears

    Each breath becomes more labored

    Struggling to claw back to consciousness

    I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins

    Rapid, it battles to sustain me

    The pounding in my head clouds my vision

    Strong burnt coffee the medicine

    Nerves steady…Fog recedes

    Jarred back to life  by the caffine

    Another day of subsistence

    Endeavoring to crawl out of the darkness

    Alone and lonely.

  • Piety and Hypocrisy

    Father, Savior, Lord, Jehovah

    Faith in the unknown

    The eternal struggle never ceasing, never compromising

    What to believe, that is the question.

    Eons pass, bloodshed abounds

    Differences mediated through conflict

    Crusade or Jihad, neither is virtuous.

    Blinded by rightousness, no one can see

    Their lives spent and lost in pursuit of utopia

    Yet contentment in this moment is never realized.

    Is this the end to which the righteous aspire?

    They gather in the name of peace

    Projecting their false tolerance

    A show…insincere in all its pageantry.

    Beneath the surface bubbles hatred and hostility

    Vowing to disencumber this world of the other

    While smiling and greeting with a warm embrace.

    Is this what the supreme being wants from us?

    Are differing opinions to be snuffed out?

    Our traditions say yes with a deafening roar.

    Are not love and charity mightier than the sword?

    More palettable then pain and suffering

    To say yea would be only logical.

    Still man endeavors to distort the infalable word

    All for his own selfish devices

    Leading the unquestioning flock to slaughter

    Mindless and oblivious they follow their master.

    To petition for truth, is construed as heresy

    Faith the only path to eternal salvation

    Yet acrimony toward our neighbors persists.

    Does prejudice or averice have any authority to prevail?

    An emphatic no should be the only a reply

    If common decency were the essence of all relations

    Peace and harmony would be all that exist.

  • Loves Transformation

    By D. DiFrancesco

     

    Fires burn,

    They start out white hot

    Then cool to a shimmering blue.

    It’s not that the flame has diminished

    The passion still glows, but its appearance changes with time.

    We find comfort in one another, by being in each other’s presence.

    A look,

    Says more than words ever could.

    Nothing can be said that you haven’t already heard.

    Love, anger, sadness, all my feelings expressed in a glance

    Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.

    Maybe you do after all these years.

    A caress,

    Something tender and sweet

    Your warmth, skin against skin, your beauty

    Isn’t it fascinating how each of life’s seasons seems frozen in time?

    My vision of you, still a twenty-something

    So precious to me because of the spirit that is you.

    Our lives,

    The bond we share through adulation

    Through friendship, endearment, and adoration

    We have become one.

    That nothing in heaven or earth can decimate.

    My best friend, mate, and truelove for all eternity.

  • Those Left At Home

    By D. DiFrancesco

    Are they ok?
    Where are they?
    Questions asked daily by parents of children
    But they aren’t really children any more
    Only to us.

    A letter home
    The occasional telephone call
    Pictures and postcards
    Somehow it isn’t enough to quell the fears
    While serving in a land so far away.

    We can’t hold them
    We can’t advise them
    We can’t comfort them
    All we can do is worry about them
    So Many more questions than answers.

    The military says they will take care of them
    They say they will try to bring them home safe
    “Try” doesn’t make this any easier
    But they can’t make such promises
    No one can see into the future.

    Parcels are sent regardless of cost
    Trying to provide some comfort to them
    Little things to remind them of home
    A little thing to make us feel useful
    Yet it doesn’t change anything.

    This is what they chose to do
    We swell with pride at the thought
    We fly our flags and display our yellow ribbons
    Small signs to the rest of the world of the their sacrifice
    And our sacrifice.

    They are a gift
    Given to all of us to cherish
    They pay the price for our freedom
    They weren’t asked to, they weren’t told to
    They give because it is their destiny.

    Remember these heros in your prayers
    Because you know them or someone like them
    And because they deserve it and have earned it
    This is the very least we can do
    Don’t let their sacrifices be for naught.

    The telephone rings
    Our hearts skip a beat
    Hello, is answered with an endless silence
    Angst gives way to elation
    Hi…Mom…Dad, its me.

  • Desolate Beauty

    By D. DiFrancesco

     

    Pale blue cloudless skies

    God’s of granite rise to meet it

    Hawks and buzzards scream their cries

    Parched and cracking earth crumbles bit by bit.

     

    Yet life does thrive in this barren wasteland

    Angry flora and fauna its solemn masters

    Brown and tan the palette at hand

    Landscape the pupil, sun the headmaster.

     

    Cliff dwellings and hieroglyphs call home this domain

    Once proud inhabitants have faded and gone

    Arachnids and echoes are all that remain

    Of an era that is all but bygone.

     

    Still man insists on taming the unattainable

    Its lifeblood rerouted and dammed

    For cities and towns, its inhabitants expendable

    The resultant effects unplanned.

     

    Yet with all the scrub and cactus and scorpion

    Its peace and beauty abound

    The mountains and valleys elicit euphoria

    No greater gift can be found.

     

    Try as we might to alter its reality

    The eagle keeps watch over this land

    Man and machine try to prove natures frailty

    But nature does refuse their demand.

     

    As the celestial heat wave succumbs to twilight

    Nocturnal denizens hiss and bay

    Under constellations hunters commence the fight

    For the strong to live another day.

     

    With each days pass the circle unbroken

    The animal and land meld into one

    Of mountains and desert, lore has been spoken

    In God’s own will be done.

     

  • A Personal Story, Is this Coincidence or Something Else?

    I feel compelled to share a brief story with you  that has both touched me greatly and amazed me at the same time.

    Yesterday afternoon I completed and posted a poem, “Wither Away“, that was a very personal poem about my grandmother.  Suffering with chest pains, she had been diagnosed with congestive heart failure about 4 months ago and her doctors gave her 6 months to a year to live.   The doctors also made it clear that there was nothing that they could do other than to prescribe medications to make her comfortable.

    Initially after diagnosis she had more good days than bad, but of late the opposite was true and she became unable to get out of bed without being carried.   As you can imagine this is a very hard thing to watch happen to someone you love.

    Now to my point.   Whether by fate, a premonition unrecognized by me, coincidence, or something else that I can’t explain I received a call from my parents last night to tell me that my grandmother had died early yesterday morning.   They chose to wait to tell me until I had gotten home from work so that I didn’t have this on my mind all day.

    I know that this type of thing is not unheard of, but it does make me wonder how something as seemingly random as posting a poem could turn out to be so prophetic, at least to me anyway.  I guess it will just have to remain one of those strange occurrences that happens to a person during the course of their life.

    My grandmother was 92 years old when she passed on.  I will miss her deeply.

    T.G.M.

    March 16, 1920 – June 7, 2012

    Rest In Peace

  • Wither Away

    By: D. DiFrancesco

    The pain of watching one wither away
    Indescribable and yet inescapable
    Remembering how vibrant and energetic they were
    We think they will never go away.

    I can still see her
    In the kitchen apron on making a meal
    It doesn’t matter which one it was
    They all are precious memories to me.

    I was a child
    She was everything to me back then
    Eyes shining, the silkiness of her voice
    These were some of my happiest days.

    Then childhood passes
    Like the sweep of the second hand
    Harsh reality clings like beads of sweat
    Those once so virile commence to fade.

    We try to stave off the inevitable for as long as we can
    But alas it proves useless
    No magic elixer can halt the decline
    How swift does frailty overcome us.

    Her eyes have sunk into evenings dark abyss
    The hunch in the back, a sign of a life of burden
    Her stride gives way to a shuffle
    The mercy of others her only salvation.

    No longer able to self-sustain
    Twilights arms embrace who she once was
    A child returns from where it started
    The circle of life incarnate.

    Her mobility has vanished, now forever prone
    But oddly the memories of her past are clear
    Thoughts from more modern times she can’t remember
    Eternities multitude is calling her home.

    She’s withered away, her grace in passing inspires
    In her destiny we see ourselves
    We fear this most as our time here is finite
    To our maker we must trust our mortal souls…farewell.