by Rochelle Del Borrello
Vagrant dressed in dark rags
he walks with his dead limbs against his side,
his face shrouded by unexpressed suffering.
What woes has he seen?
To make him become this sketch of a man.
He takes off his crown and kisses the ground
no one sees him but me
no one to call him mad,
his boots heavy, shuffle upon his holy land
he walks towards the infinite sea his dark face glaring blankly
acting out a pagan salute to the gods of the earth
his rite of passage before departure.
I'm not big on New Year's resolutions but this year I've decided simply to do a little more of what I've been doing so far.
I don't like resolutions, I prefer goals. I can get many little goals done during the year rather than a big, scary and impossible life-changing idea. Breaking things down into healthy daily, weekly and monthly routines is the best way to go. Keep working and making things everyday and you will see the results.
I've promised myself to do more writing, more creativity, more self care, to be more present for my family and friends.
We've just got to keep on keeping on through all the tribulations and challenges of life.
The only real resolution we all have to keep in mind is the one of simply being. All we can really do is be ourselves, be whatever we need to keep going, be the things we need for ourselves, our friends, family and the world.
So on this first month of the year, I wish for you to simply be whatever you need right now.
Love and light
I confess I am lost
without hope
free falling through life
doing enough to barely
keep breathing
is that enough?
To live with each breathe
holding onto this existence
through inhaling and exhaling
in the most basic of actions,
hoping death doesn’t come
filling the lungs with air and
expelling carbon dioxide.
It seems so little a thing to do
when a new plague
robs people of this
simple action
taking their lives
by taking away
the abililty to breathe.
(for George Floyd and others)
Well I can’t keep silent anymore
I’ve got to say my peace
else it’s just going to make me sick
I have to say I love you
and I can’t see you being hurt anymore
Stop hurting my friend, can’t you see
he’s innocent.
Why do you stomp him down
with your fear?
He’s just trying to breathe,
needing to live like the rest of us
we need to live together,
why can’t you let him live?
Why do you choose to choke the life out of him?
Stop, don’t shoot, don’t hate, just breathe and think.
Choose love, choose peace and choose kindness
don’t be silent, stop this madness.
My home is filled with ghosts
it is a haunted house.
Like those eerie places
where holocausts have occurred
covered in a thick layer of genocidal misery
from violent acts that have torn souls
away from this world.
The spirits and bad energy linger in the air
making me uneasy
giving me goosebumps
and the strange sensation
someone is trying to whisper something to me
but I cannot make out the words.
Memories flash in my mind as I am where my childhood was played out.
Each step brings me back to the memories and people who will never return.
For one moment and I am a child.
I wish I had been kinder, taken more time to appreciate them.
I turn to look for those beautiful souls, and they are gone
like that sinking feeling when a once vibrant house is now still
the soul is abscent.
I'm always more and more alone as family and friends disappear.
One moment they are here, I can touch them, I feel them,
talk to them, bask in their company, have their advice
and support.
Their laughter and tears are my music.
Then there is silence, and the memories haunt me reminding me they are gone,
my home is filled with ghosts.
I want to be like a child
in awe of the world around me
generous with love and affection
accepting of change, always
growing and learning.
I want to always expect the best
and even if it doesn't happen
simply continue to hope
get back up and move through
life with a naive energy
which keeps you moving
in a mixture of creativity,
curiosity and determination.
Children are so flexible
they are like a cup filling
and overflowing with water
A piece of magic
when the world seems dark
be like a child
live with hope
and endless faith.
There have been better days than now,
felt less lost and confused
not so sad or deflated
I wish for one of those
better days
instead of smack
bang in one of the worst ones.
Nothing going right
love went to waste
efforts all worthless
and so, so far away
from everyone I love.
The hurt comes in tears
that bastard blows up in
your face,
whether you like it or not
that emotion's going to come
knock you over and make you
wish for better days
they will come, just be patient.
A funny thing about the heart
is that it keeps beating
even though it's broken.
Even if the pieces go missing
it still keeps you alive.
Unless it has something else wrong with it
the heartbreak won't kill you.
Even though you feel dead on the inside
it keeps ticking along.
Why? Because that's the way life is supposed to be lived
always shuffling forward.
Children are pushing the years onwards impatiently
willing the time to move more quickly,
youth makes us want to run
in a hurry to achieve something.
Other moments life make us stop
like smashing into a light pole at high speed.
We survive the car crashes life gives us,
slowly re-habilitating ourselves,
because even though we are forced to stop at times
to catch our breath, we never can stop the moment.
It helps us this motion, keeps us putting one foot in front of the other
this gives us a future to look forward to, a past filled with memories,
a way to cope with loss, disappointment and grief.
We are humans who survive it all, growing through strength and love.
Passing on our intuition, drive and knowledge onto the universe
who takes us always onwards.
I know a little bit about grief.
It's the moment you realise
you cannot go back on your own steps
you can't make it better
or say I love you again
see someone's face every day,
hear their laugh, trace the outline of their smile,
hold their hand or give them a hug.
When you learn what it feels like to run out of time.
No more silent pauses in conversations
seeing them across the table,
passing the salad bowl at dinner.
All of those moments you take for granted
stop in your mind,
they are gathered up in memories
and the grieving begins.
I've learnt grief isn't bad,
it's all we have, really,
for our tears are our love
which used to go out
towards those we love.
After they are gone it has nowhere to go,
so our unexpressed love
becomes our grief.
And as our passion is as undying,
as our mourning.
This will never leave
not until our dying days.
It may seem ironic
but I hope we never
stop grieving
because it keeps our
dearly departed near us.
Life doesn't stop
when someone dies,
it merely shifts
and changes into another
gear and somehow
we live with it.
I don’t care what other people think of me because I’m intelligent, empathetic, sensitive, creative, reflective, and worthy.
I’m willing to take up space, contribute, make something new and create worthy connections in the world.
I’m here to seek knowledge and understanding, listen and see different points of view.
I want to be a kind ear, an encouraging and reassuring voice for others.
I’m growing every day, making mistakes and stumbling along, always moving forward and looking to become a better person.
I can change my mind and opinions because life is about evolving and living this moment at its greatest potential.
I dreamt of blue
a deep dark Russian blue
I painted with my blue
and it made me feel like
I was swimming in the sea.
Usually, I’m frightened when I
see this deepness in the ocean
as soon as I see the change
in the underwater light
so dark as to hide the seafloor
I panic and flee back to shore
anything can be hiding in the depths.
It terrifies me.
But inside of my dark blue
I am safe, fascinated by its
possibility and swaddled
inside the murky beauty.
Fragile beauty gives way to pulsating fluctuations
enigmatic expressions of epic grief
Such is the end of an era of beauty
that surrenders to the ravages of time
To live again in each performance
trumpeted scenes of past grandeur
The bass-baritone undertone of the sinister
single beating echoes in the caves of darkness
Soprano sketching out expansive emotion
she holds each note in the flux of heaven
Chorus connects to human consciousness
humming the grieving reaction to a death
As the punctured skin bleeds
so too does the wounded soul sigh
and in these sighs, one hears music.
(Dedicated to T.P)
Steinway voluptuousness
poised seductively upon the stage
Spotlit footsteps disrupt the moment of admiration
pages turn to the beginning
the anticipation felt as musical inspiration is inhaled
beauteous voice exhaled
Seeing him play
beholding a dreamer’s dream
voyeuristic fantasy
he is not here
he has stolen the moment to share
with his beloved, Music
in an intimate embrace
Hearing him play
flawless interpretation boldly resonates
how could each note echo a heartbeat?
lest it is from the one heart
as familiar voice whispers
sensuous secrets to delight
each nuance fully expressed
Remembering the moment
emotions evoked
the inner pool stirred with each finger
stillness rippled by the dimensions of emotion
the body recalls
visceral performance
shaped by the hands of an artist.
We only have these moments
tiny connections
to hold onto
as life slips through our fingers.
My poetry is a constant whisper in my ear
a dark, haunting and persistent dream
my inner voice leaking out of my head
a constant weeping emotion
which is eerie, untamed and real
it is always uncomfortable
to share as the words come from an awkward place
yet they feel beautiful just the same
They are like little deformities
which express a deep insecurity
unpleasing to the eye
yet satisfying for the soul.
I coax them out of me like untamed wild animals
I watch as they slowly show me their savage power
I am always in awe of the epicness of human emotion
And how it can consume itself.
The idea came to commemorate my dearest ancestors
by planting them a garden.
Lavander sprigs for stillborn Estella.
Delicate violets from Nonna’s garden.
An all-enveloping ivy that covers and embraces
everything for Nonno.
Daddy would be an aubergine flower as that's
what he left for us in his garden.
Mum will be an exotic caper flower after she is gone.
I will plant them on my skin,
they will slowly grow up my arm
and cover my body in death's garden.
Added to with every loss
I choose a new plant to sow
for my family and friends
and add to the artwork
with each ghost.
Death loves us deeply
like a child gathering flowers
and leaving them to dry in the sun
He cannot resist the beauty
of our immortal souls
which shimmer and glow
before his eyes
He loves the warmth which comes
from our hearts, the energy
which emanates from our lives
he is infatuated.
What love death has for us
he cannot stop himself
from touching and caressing
with every touch
he takes a piece of us
slowly stealing our lives
His gentle embrace is a lover
trying to possess his love
he makes fear disappear
overcome by a passion
deeper than ourselves
we are helpless
despite life’s distractions
we surrender to
the love affair
of death.
This poem is from the poetry collection zine Trinacria Poems currently available on Amazon
Read more about what I’ve been creating and how to support me here on The Art of Asking page.
Oozing creativity from every pore
her mind ticks over incessantly
as she welcomes solutions to her problems
and offers a comfortable place for
new ideas to rest themselves
many of her endless thoughts
are consumed by the monster called doubt
one by one she fishes out the shredded fragments
patch them up and try to move on
those who survive her own doubt will survive anything.
The tired gardens of Autumn are beginning to slumber, dry out and wither.
The smell of rotting fruit is somewhat enticing like burnt cake, pungent and warm
everything is left to rot, too late to ripen and even to be picked or eaten.
Rotten stink bugs rub themselves with us, our clothes buzzing in their attempts
to flee and fly away.
I grab one inside my fist and throw it making it fly even if it doesn’t want to,
it leaves behind its perfume on my palm
a strange incense smell that many think is disgusting
The odour reminds me of these short gloomy days with intermittent bursts of sunshine
and the inevitable promise of the encroaching winter
that bring moments of deathly silence.
Strangely these are my favourite days
to reflect and create upon.
Bury me, there under the olive tree
where my ancestors sighed as they worked
where they whipped up dustbowls and thorns
where the songs and prayers were once sung
with tired voices and broken bodies
on whose branches some hung to harvest
and others to choke the very life out of themselves.
I want to rest under the ancient olives filled with endless spirits
and where the ghosts wait to possess innocent souls
each tree growing around in knotted branches, tying themselves
into the ground, holding onto the magical fruit
which revives the weary and contains the flavour of life.
There where the work is done like a religious rite,
with honest hands stained in dark oil spots
together with families who warmed themselves
with the hot coal filled conca
moved from tree to tree
during the once dark winter.
Where everything felt inevitable, everyone knew
their place, where the work was true and when done
you could rest.
I've never been able to let go of my delicate impossibilities
the airheaded dreamer holds onto what if moments
what would have happened along another path
with different people by my side
or even by myself.
I delight myself in remembering the gentle caresses
standing too close or too long with someone
regretting not leaning over and kissing
or not following someone to the train station
losing touch, moving on while holding on to a first love
never forgetting shared intimacies and always desiring more.
There is one fleeting moment which constantly
haunts me, a man I loved when he was but a boy
I worry perhaps he was my soul mate
he was a reflection of myself, and I have always loved him
I still have his perfume, I smell the odour of our youth
my innocence.
I wish him all my love
and still, I dream of him.
Did he see himself in me and flee
Perhaps he believed I forgot him
I'm a good actress
I can never forget that piece of me
I found myself with him
and I want to let him know
I will always remember you,
soul mate and love
even if you make yourself invisible
the delicate impossibilities will remain.
