Events, Cohabitors of Life’s Stage

Events, cohabitors of life’s stage,

Script our actions like the strings of the puppeteer.

We are helpless, dribbling fools

In the glaring light of potential tragedy.

With nary a warning, change can be thrust upon us,

Rendering us helpless like children.

How awful the feeling,

Being strangled by crises uninvited, we succumb.

What does the universe want from us,

Constantly testing our resolve,

Raining on our parade ‘til we drown;

Then as if a cruel joke, tragedy is replaced by joy,

Happiness diluting stress.

Not that we ever hoped for the worst,

But that it had never transpired at all.

In retrospect doesn’t this all go toward our maturation;

Making us whole, defining who we are

And who we will become.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Is Being “Father” Enough

Is being “Father” enough?

Looking into the face of the son, I’m not sure who I see;

Some of me, some of his mother,

But these are just physical traits.

He has lived a life far different from my own,

Seen and done things that I have never seen or done

Lived the horrors of war,

Witnessed the worst of mankind,

Traveled through the world with a bullseye on his back.

How could this not demand change,

A change that I will never understand?

Me…I’ve sat in my easy chair;

Warm, dry, safe,

Worrying for his safety,

Praying for him to come home.

I read the ticker at the bottom of the screen

Announcing without emotion those that would not return;

Thankful for the call that never came.

Is being “Father” enough?

I cannot alter what was,

Cannot erase what he has seen,

Cannot live his life.

We seem to have less in common these days,

Though I am certain that this is more my problem than his.

Is being “Father” enough?

I suppose that it will have to be.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


It Occurred to Me (Sonnet)

It occurred to me–a mystery of sorts,

How inward and outward my image became.

I think through others witty retorts,

They’ve morphed the person they know by name.


Is this not how we all evolved,

Our identities molded by family and friends?

Who we were born is not who we’ve resolved;

Veering off our path for one that bends.


Rules of life, though they often change

Undeniably forming our moral core

Relations with others and loves they arrange

Knowing right from wrong they ensure


Perhaps it would have been easier to leave me to fate

Than to manufacture a me into this limbotic state.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Pain Of Loss – A Triolet

The pain of loss doth help one grow,

Though for a time a seeming lie.

— A truth of life one surely knows

The pain of loss doth help one grow,

In time tears departed surely show,

   That living breaks deaths scheming lie

The pain of loss doth help one grow,

Though for a time a seeming lie?


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

AUTHORS NOTE: I thought I would give a new (old) form of poetry a try.  This form is called a triolet and dates back to 13th century France.

With The Coming Of Summer

With the coming of summer

The years midlife begins in earnest.

Infancy is replaced by the maturity of time,

The dead forgotten to the wake of new life,

No more is there the barrenness of winter.

Cold, gray nakedness gives way to colors multitude,

Death’s pungent odor yields to the fragrance of flora,

Rebirth is complete…for a time.

Youthful fauna take comfort in nature’s bounty

Feeding in gluttonous fervor,

Instinctively knowing it is but momentary,

With the scarcity of later year fast approaching.

What a wondrous gift is nature;

Our lives mimicking her cyclic clock,

Stages of life revealed since time began.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~



Painful at first blush,

Until you peel away the layers,

Exposing a vulnerable core,

Where some bit of truth lies,

The abrasion is only momentary,

Shallow and unremarkable,

Healing once embraced,

Allowing growth of mind and spirit,

Reinventing that which faltered,

Strengthening all that we are.


~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~