INTO THE WOODS
The great American beech stands tall,
its autumn foliage scattered about,
the scaly cones of the eastern white
pines have run their course and lay
with broken twigs and whatever else
the forest has decided to discard. The
crunch beneath my feet fills the quiet.
No one travels here other than the deer
and the squirrel, and the wood thrush
that sings its songs. There are fresh
scrapes on the fissured bark of the mighty
tulip, the black bear speaking a language
only nature hears. I have no claws with
which to speak and my voice has no melody.
Even the wind can be heard as it carries
the words of the chattering forest, with
the creaking and cracking of branches,
the rustling of leaves as they tumble
along. The aging white birch with its
unfolding papery skin leans toward me
and whispers, “Where are you going?”
I’ve been here and there and all around,
rubbed my hands against the poplars
and spruces, spotted the white-tailed
stag as it grazed on tree shoots. I’ve
heard the morning dove coo and searched
for the great horned owl at night, yet
this woodland looks unfamiliar to me.
In the distance, the sound of rushing
water is grounding. The babbling brook
bobs and weaves around roots and age-
worn stone, through lush flora and down
steep slopes, until it trails off to where
the forest meets the open waters,
carrying with it the silt of the world.
Originally published on Medium.com on December 30, 2022
OCEAN WATERS
I stand alone in the peaceful
ocean waters of New England.
My feet adjust
to the coarse sands,
the broken shells and rocks
dig into the soles of my feet
as I steady myself;
the waves lap against
my chest as they pass
on by and gently fold
themselves onto
shoreline behind me;
the sun shimmers
and sparkles on top
of the cresting waters,
light reflecting off
of a million diamonds;
a flock of piping plovers
fly over my head
and skim the horizon
as quickly as their sand-coloured
wings will take them.
In this very moment I want
to let go and just drift away.
Originally Published on Medium.com on January 6, 2023
VANISHING
I feel them slipping away,
fragments of memory slowly
detaching from the frontal lobe,
floating like dandelion pappi,
fluffy parachutes drifting off
with the wind. I chase after them,
but look foolish, a frenzied flailing of fists
trying to recover pieces of me.
I don’t want to forget. Like sand
in an hourglass, each lost episode
carries with it the weight of time,
and the days lately are tipping the scale
toward oblivion. So, i fill the hours
with crosswords, sudokus, and other
puzzles to exercise the mind
and delay the inevitable.
Though the fondness of yesterday
continues its slippery decline,
and the sound of my father’s voice
fades like the mist, I choose to live
for today, and take in every lived
moment with the depth of breath
that fills the lungs with the memories
of dreamers and lovers.
Originally published on Medium.com on January 30, 2023
Sam Aureli, born in Italy but raised as a citizen of the globe, hopping from country to country (Italy, Australia, US) before finally settling in the US at 18. 33 years later, the "immigrant" label feels distant, but the rich tapestry of cultures experienced shapes who they are.
Sam's heart overflows with love for my two amazing young adult children. When not with them, Sam is immersed in the worlds of poetry, art, and music – their true passions.
Professionally, Sam has spent decades building a successful career in real estate development, leveraging their architecture degree and construction management expertise.
Sam is an incurable romantic, believing in the power of love, compassion, and understanding. Life's nuances fascinate Sam – it's far richer than we often think. Deep conversations about life, love, and faith are best enjoyed over drinks, fostering genuine connection.
Sam firmly believes life is a journey meant to be shared with loved ones. So, let's raise a glass to the adventure ahead, cherishing every step along the way!
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