Five Poems by Concetta Pipia

 

Embrace of Vulnerability” 

 

In twilight’s hush, my heart begins to bare, 

A fragile truth that trembles on my tongue, 

Each whispered fear, a thread of deep despair, 

Yet love's sweet song in tangled silence sung. 

 

I stand exposed, my soul a canvas bright, 

Where shadows paint the doubts that pierce the day, 

But in your gaze, I find the strength to fight, 

To dance on edges where the wild hearts play. 

 

For love, a labyrinth of light and shade, 

Holds beauty in the scars that mark my skin, 

In every touch, the tender truth displayed, 

A journey woven, where both lose and win. 

 

So let me love you in this raw embrace, 

Where vulnerability finds its rightful place. 

 

Previously published in "Stencils" online writing magazine

Beauty in the Mess 

 

the streets are full of broken bottles 

and old men with crumpled faces, 

but there’s a woman with a smile 

so crooked it could light a city 

and I don’t care if the world 

is falling apart 

because for a second, 

her laugh makes it all seem worth it. 

 

the bar’s dirty, 

and the floor’s sticky with years of spilled whiskey, 

but there’s a neon sign 

flickering in the back— 

it’s the colour of a dream, 

even if it’s just a half-wake 

in a half-sleep world. 

 

we don’t need the polished, 

the pretty or the clean, 

we just need 

a moment, 

a broken thing with fire 

to hold onto 

before it all turns 

grey again. 

 

 

Ash and Amber 

 

The alley hums with neon ghosts, 

Cigarette smoke curling like old spells. 

A man with clockwork fingers plays 

A song that bends the night in half. 

 

Under a broken streetlamp’s eye, 

A woman trades secrets for silver teeth. 

Her shadow moves before she does— 

Some things forget how to stay. 

 

A rat scurries, whispering names, 

And the moon flickers like a dying charm. 

The city breathes, restless, waiting, 

As magic rusts beneath its skin. 

 

Ember

 

A match flares— 
bright, trembling, brief. 
Smoke lingers, 
but the warmth is gone. 

 

Silhouette 

 

She stands at the edge of dusk, 

A shadow cut from dying light. 

The wind threads through her hair, 

But never quite finds her face. 

 

City lights bloom behind her, 

Soft halos on an absent form. 

She is here, and not— 

A memory waiting to fade. 

Concetta Pipia is a writer, poet,  and editor raised and living in New York City.

Her work has been published in international anthologies and literary magazines including "The Raven's Perch," (2023) and "The Wise Owl" (November, 2023) and "The Suffolk County Poetry Review," (2024). She is an Administrator of several online writing groups and a Moderator as well.

Ms. Pipia attended Parsons School of Design (BFA), Touro University School of Law (J.D.), and the University of Phoenix (MBA/HRM).