BLIND
WALLS OF TWISTED LOVE
I met Dante and Beatrice for an expresso
at Café Paradiso.
My unrequited desire was immense
as we talked past midnight
while the waning moon overhead softened our prudence
and tempered my hopelessness of the erratic spheres.
Faith and fortitude shook my ascent
as a mandolin strummed in the piazza echoing off
blind walls of twisted love.
The wheel turns at a single speed
justified by charity and clarity of the stars.
The soul.
Wise force.
The sheer comedy of the night that merges into
Empyrean light.
NOCTURNAL FEVER
The coyotes prowl in the city park
after the people leave.
Their green eyes illuminate the darkness
searching for a stray
a loner left behind.
The people are sleep yet the coyotes roam.
The streetlights reflect jagged shadows
under an immense moon obscured by clouds,
as cottonwood trees
convey a lurking of nocturnal fever
breaking before daylight and fading in the pale blue
moon
FIREFLY NIGHT
Alone in dusky forest
as fireflies
cover my face
flashing like a yellow construction sign.
Splintered hickory bark
hangs from my arms,
poison ivy tendrils
climb around my bare legs,
a rash decision
to hop a boxcar
in the middle of the night
heading to Montana
alone with homeless men
eating dented cans of beans
huddled around the torn soul.
At the Oregon junction
I unfasten the coupling hitch
from the remainder of the train
and roll downhill toward
topaz mountains of craggy
Pacific shore,
coming to a
rolling stop
past darkness
as fireflies vanish.
PLANET
Earth's craters
behind blinders of Anthropocene era-
a lifeless twilight of inferno breezes
as glaciers backslide
on parched cosmic soils
a tormented asteroid lingers
upon beaches of plankton seas.
A fossil chain of recycled hydrogen
facing an icy dilemma into
dim distant sun
of ammonia sky and cathartic ocean,
a solitary buzzard with frozen wings
circles the equator following winds
blinded by evolutionary frost that
awaits human language
after the sixth extinction.
MOTIVES
While wandering the sewers of Paris under Rue
Montmartre,
pondering a surreal painting by de Chirico, while
sipping anisette-
I spotted Edith Piaf singing La Vie en Rose which echoed into the night tunnels.
She was attempting to find an exit for some fresh air
waving me to join her, we climbed onto the street and
found a café.
She demanded another anisette while speaking of Yves
Montand and his exile from Tuscany.
Patrons recognized her and wondered why the little
sparrow was with me,
perhaps a tryst or just another ragged poet trying to
convince the world
of his prophesy.
Edith ignored the people and looked deeply in my eyes
considering my motives,
while I considered hers in boneless light.
JOHN RAFFETTO
A
lifelong resident of Chicago.Some of his poetry has been published in print and
various online magazine such as Gloom Cupboard, Wilderness House, BlazeVox,
Literary Orphans, Arial Chart, Olentangy Review & Exact
Change.
Nominated for Pushcart Prize 2017. His book Human Botany was released in
2020. Holds degrees from the University of Illinois and Northeastern
Illinois University. Worked as a horticulturalist and landscape designer for
many years at the Chicago Park District which was a rich environment for
drawing inspiration for poems concerning nature, people and the city. Formally
an adjunct professor.
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