Poetries by Charles Cingolani
Butler Woman She would come every day
to visit her son, thirty-seven now,
who had been sent
to the County Prison
for murder.
I am only doing
what a mother does, she said.
At night she would dream
she had seen him
coming home from school
with books under his arm,
smiling, waving to her
standing at her kitchen window,
waiting.
Charles
to visit her son, thirty-seven now,
who had been sent
to the County Prison
for murder.
I am only doing
what a mother does, she said.
At night she would dream
she had seen him
coming home from school
with books under his arm,
smiling, waving to her
standing at her kitchen window,
waiting.
Charles
Monday Morning Ritual Monday morning
marked the passage of time
with gently rippling white sheets
drying on clotheslines
on green lawns
behind houses.
And even though
we failed to see
Time strolling by,
we saw busy mothers
with wicker clothes-baskets
fixing gleaming white
with one-piece wooden
clothespins. Charles
marked the passage of time
with gently rippling white sheets
drying on clotheslines
on green lawns
behind houses.
And even though
we failed to see
Time strolling by,
we saw busy mothers
with wicker clothes-baskets
fixing gleaming white
with one-piece wooden
clothespins. Charles
To a Despondent Boy ~ To a Despondent Boy
Has anyone ever told you
a time is coming when,
without your doing,
something great will happen to you?
A waking experience,
that will shake you
to the depths of your being.
Know that it is coming,
so that when it does
you will not run away from it.
Be not afraid.
It will all happen
before you realize what it is.
But once it does
it will become a new person.
You will find yourself in a wild storm,
you will be battered and born aloft,
you will lose all orientation and
be set out on a path
you never knew existed.
The life you had lived
will be overturned,
and you will look out and find
a new world.
You will discover
forces in you
that you knew nothing about.
Forces stronger than you
that you must soon
learn to harness,
lest they run away with you.
You will taste rapture
and feel a new unknown strength
from out of your heart.
It will frighten you.
You will try
to rid yourself of it,
but you will no be able,
for it has become part of you.
A fire will be enkindled
that you will not be able to escape.
A devastating fire
that will lay waste to your past.
You will be confronted with
a fascinating, strange newness
and will slowly learn how
to live with it.
You will be greatly amazed
at the potential you have found.
You will be invited
to understand things,
to experience fullness and fruition.
You will become creative.
You will not know where to go
to find peace or hide away
with your ecstatic,
overflowing happiness.
You will have been
born again in a world
you never knew existed
and you will be new.
And when you are old
you will look back on what happened then,
always with amazement and wonder,
still not knowing
what it was,
but you will ever gravitate back
to that highest summit of your life.
Charles
Has anyone ever told you
a time is coming when,
without your doing,
something great will happen to you?
A waking experience,
that will shake you
to the depths of your being.
Know that it is coming,
so that when it does
you will not run away from it.
Be not afraid.
It will all happen
before you realize what it is.
But once it does
it will become a new person.
You will find yourself in a wild storm,
you will be battered and born aloft,
you will lose all orientation and
be set out on a path
you never knew existed.
The life you had lived
will be overturned,
and you will look out and find
a new world.
You will discover
forces in you
that you knew nothing about.
Forces stronger than you
that you must soon
learn to harness,
lest they run away with you.
You will taste rapture
and feel a new unknown strength
from out of your heart.
It will frighten you.
You will try
to rid yourself of it,
but you will no be able,
for it has become part of you.
A fire will be enkindled
that you will not be able to escape.
A devastating fire
that will lay waste to your past.
You will be confronted with
a fascinating, strange newness
and will slowly learn how
to live with it.
You will be greatly amazed
at the potential you have found.
You will be invited
to understand things,
to experience fullness and fruition.
You will become creative.
You will not know where to go
to find peace or hide away
with your ecstatic,
overflowing happiness.
You will have been
born again in a world
you never knew existed
and you will be new.
And when you are old
you will look back on what happened then,
always with amazement and wonder,
still not knowing
what it was,
but you will ever gravitate back
to that highest summit of your life.
Charles
To the Mothers of the Fallen ~ To the Mothers of the Fallen
by Charles L. Cingolani
It is the season of the barren trees
The gossamer that floats over the damp sod.
This is the time when mothers don black dresses
Walk across the frozen turf to the gaping womb
That awaits their sons.
We stand aloof inventing their grief
To suit our souls yet untouched by the ruthless wrench,
Watching their silken veils flutter in the wind.
Do not stand, Mother.
Sit and let the tears fall in salty streams
Across your streaked wearied face,
Taste the salt of tears and wail loud
Across deaf space to the uncaring trees.
No pain greater than yours
On losing your son—to have to offer him
To unkind war, the thief that tore him
From your breast.
What collision will the loss
Of your synchronized heartbeats
Bring about?
There is no solace, no word, no comfort
To take away the gnaw of loss
You have encountered.
Near you we sit weeping,
Reaching for your hands.
Charles
by Charles L. Cingolani
It is the season of the barren trees
The gossamer that floats over the damp sod.
This is the time when mothers don black dresses
Walk across the frozen turf to the gaping womb
That awaits their sons.
We stand aloof inventing their grief
To suit our souls yet untouched by the ruthless wrench,
Watching their silken veils flutter in the wind.
Do not stand, Mother.
Sit and let the tears fall in salty streams
Across your streaked wearied face,
Taste the salt of tears and wail loud
Across deaf space to the uncaring trees.
No pain greater than yours
On losing your son—to have to offer him
To unkind war, the thief that tore him
From your breast.
What collision will the loss
Of your synchronized heartbeats
Bring about?
There is no solace, no word, no comfort
To take away the gnaw of loss
You have encountered.
Near you we sit weeping,
Reaching for your hands.
Charles
Dressing Table She watched her combing the young girl's hair
And thought back fifty years
To when her own mother stood combing hers.
She felt the pleasant tugging
The warm hands touching her neck
Saw the smile on their faces in the mirror.
How she longed to have her own combed
Like that mother was doing
With the same love she saw the girl receiving.
But she had no one,
So she became that girl for that minute
Until her mother had finished. Charles Cingolani
And thought back fifty years
To when her own mother stood combing hers.
She felt the pleasant tugging
The warm hands touching her neck
Saw the smile on their faces in the mirror.
How she longed to have her own combed
Like that mother was doing
With the same love she saw the girl receiving.
But she had no one,
So she became that girl for that minute
Until her mother had finished. Charles Cingolani
