Hydrants open; the waters gush and flood
the burning road. The children cheer and run
in suits, to feel the flowing cold. While mom
and pop stand side by side, the neighbors prom-
enade, and Mary Jack and Adam splash,
as Becky cools her feet. The Conners dash
with flapping towels, into the flooded lane.
DeMarco tries his best to swim, but blames
the cobble stones. Beside a dirty bin,
a boy stands all alone. His cheeks are thin
and pale; he's almost skin and bone. His eyes
go wide, as little Leslie leaves the light
to take him by the hand, and leads him back
amongst her friends. We all remember Zack.
9-3-2017
Magic happens
behind closed eyelids
It is fading with a blink
And erased from your memory
almost immediately
Like a dream right after you awake
the forgetfulness of true magic is overwhelming,
An amnesia, occluding you from your dream
swallowing your memory whole
It never happened
##-Scene Missing-##
As if you were not meant to know
Consciously
You imagined him standing over your bed
with a wand wiping your mind clean
Go to the old road
The magic persists there
It's in the spaces and crannies
In the holes in the air
Walk in the footsteps of ancients
Tread lightly with care
It's in the paradoxes where they lie
It's in your dreams when you die
This has happened before
##-Scene Missing-##
Like some type of Vuja De
It happened in the past
on a distant day
By: Joseph DeMarco
Twas the day before Summer Break
And all through the school
Not a single kid was studying
or following one single rule
The books were all stacked in the corner with care
while paper and spitballs
were airborne everywhere
The children would not listening to what teacher said
For visions of vacation
danced in their head
They'd have parties and picnics plus get to sleep in
The only downside was dealing
with their family and kin
But that was a really very small price to pay,
Just a very small sum
Because Sweet Summer Break had at long last come.
The clock ticked toward three,soon they'd be free
Half left their seats before teacher could decree,
Have a wonderful summer break
By: Joseph DeMarco
Flip-pity fly,
Swoop-pity sail
Catch a dragonfly
By the tail
If he buzzes
Let him bail
Flip-pity fly,
Swoop-pity sail
My mother said
that looks are only
skin deep
and it's on
the inside that counts
but society has
other ideas
The best ones
are not
the most attractive
they certainly aren't
the nicest
She was after
my money
She was trying
to change me
She wants me
to be more fit
My mother said
to pick
the best one
and you
are
not
it
By: Joseph DeMarco
Swarming like insects
The development is coming
gnats, mosquitoes, and ants
They are destroying all the plants
Their buzzing sound
is more like the cash register going Cha-ching
It matters NOT, where you go,
like a mold or a fungus the develop will grow
They call it progress
They call it for the better
sly as the lie that is St. Nick.
They neglect to tell you nothing grows on brick
More parking lots and strip malls,
More freeways and byways and twenty foot walls,
Where the water runs in the road,
From a cup that has seriously overflowed.
They will definitely prey on the common fear
They are going to tell you things that you want to hear,
Where the stream beds run dry,
And the old man recollects with a sigh,
I plant this seed for the children of the land
In the hopes that we wake up and understand
Stop the development, a three story mall has no worth,
When all that we need can be produced by the Earth.
By Joe DeMarco
The Lizard King has taken up refuge in my
Subconscious
The spell has been cast
I defecate on sacred ground
And the Earth quakes
Sending Tidal vibrations
Across the largest ocean
Cracked and broken
plates
like pieces of my soul
The puzzle doesn't quite fit together
The soul is not whole
You have to make the mold
Carve each jigsaw
into your own Tetris piece
or Jenga blocks
It's just me and a pile of rocks
As the mind struggles
to perceive something
That is beyond comprehension.
By: Joseph DeMarco
We all hear the internal clock ticking,
A self-contained Doomsday device,
Melting like a candle in the desert heat
Shaded by our consciousness,
We try to ignore the Fun House mirrors
That manipulate our memory.
Our minds as flat as pancakes
Are screaming for persistence
And there's something that looks slightly like a deflated goose on the sand.
Our memories are not real
They happen to be past-tense fantasies
Reality souped-up on steroids
Hounding us like a dog
we bargain with memory
and give in to its demands
By: Joseph DeMarco
Black Pearls
and Broken ocean shells
Cannot stop my love for you
We are shipwrecked
on a jagged reef
A pirate's treasure of booty
with nothing to spend it on
The curse is on now
it is the dark time
and the thunder clouds
grumble and groan
The rainbow above us
is not artificial
As Dylan holds that note
like a little kid holding
onto a helium balloon
He yanks it out of the sky
like a promise
not yet fulfilled
an idea incomplete
Our folly is funny
fumbling footloose
through the pillars of time
The color and sounds
continue to fall,
run, sparkle and fade
"And what did you see my darling young one?"
Her lips are dry
her throat parched
The words wobbling in her mouth
"Were you wounded in hatred or love?" she asks.
But she already knows the not-so-simple answer
when she looks in my eyes
By: Joseph DeMarco
We hardly remember the truth
Victims of the Great Forgetting
We hardly recognize that history is popular culture
A screenplay of the past written by the victor
We joke George Washington
Is the Father of our country
Both Literally and Metaphorically
Simply because he fathered so many illegitimate children
Picture Martha knowing that Betsy Ross
is sewing more than just stripes on the flag
As Paul Simon sung,
We hardly picture Joseph's face
as black as night
And Jesus wandered his days
Under African Skies
We hardly look at the big picture
which is that we are destroying ourselves
We cannot continue to keep living
the way we are living
And not expect civilization to collapse
We are so short sighted
We hardly see history repeating itself
We are Rome
And quite sadly Nixon is our Nero
Hardly a hero
It won't be long before
The clock strikes zero
By: Joseph DeMarco
We hardly remember the truth
Victims of the Great Forgetting
We hardly recognize that history is popular culture
A screenplay of the past written by the victor
Just look at Thomas Jefferson
Author of the Declaration of Independence
With his quill scribing the words, "All men are created equal."
We hardly think of him slinking back to his slave plantation
Grabbing one of his African slave mistresses
and having his way with her
His love puppet
Of which he had a harem
My ninth grade teacher (whom had tenure)
whispered from the side of his face
The only thing Columbus discovered
Was those people he called Indians
Which we now call Native Americans
were savages in the sack
And the only thing he brought back
from the New World was syphilis
We hardly look at the big picture
which is that we are destroying ourselves
We cannot continue to keep living
the way we are living
And not expect civilization to collapse
We are so short sighted
We hardly see history repeating itself
We are Rome
And quite sadly Nixon is our Nero
Hardly a hero
It won't be long before
The clock strikes zero
By: Joseph DeMarco
Everytime I bring up the subject
We get caught in the loop
perpetually
It is as if we are frozen in this amber forever
forced to relive the same argument
time and time again
"How could you do this to me?"
Opinions matter not
Neither does the McCarthy/Lennon credo,
"Try to see it my way,"
There is only our way
We cannot see what our eyes perceive
As the truth
We are occluded from
Third Person point of view
like a reader who can't quite
understand the vocabulary
Can't quite comprehend
"You said you loved me?"
Each step closer toward you
Pushes you further away
I tiptoe down the hall
Hearing your whisper's call
I dare not answer
Talking is a waste of my time
"So you woke up one morning
and decided you didn't love me anymore?"
The answers are only slightly more painful
The questions like a Gordian knot in my heart
Here comes the loop,
"How could you do this to me?"
We are trapped
The only way out is
to leave this place.
By: Joseph DeMarco
The Lorax is on top,
I wish it would stop.
All these bad and good memories,
of me and you.
The trees are all green,
and the water (like me) is blue.
The tree's tongues are tied,
and twisted,
searching for the place,
where the Lorax lifted.
If life give you lemons,
Well I guess you're blessed because,
Lemons raise the level of serotonin,
in the body,
The chemical responsible for making,
you happy.
I still feel crappy,
I squeezed a whole lemon into my water.
I'm still wondering how couples stay together,
when they barely have anything in common.
I'm still wondering like Tom Robbins in
Still Life with Woodpecker,
"How do you make love stay?"
And why does it go away?
I know I won't find out today.
I've got a thousand papercuts,
And the citric acid burns.
I'm fishing without worms,
Nightcrawler vision,
sinks inside my brain,
panic attacks,
and I can't stand the pain.
I wish I could turn back the hands of time,
but I can't,
so I'll trade one of my lemons,
for a lime,
cause I plan to drink this twelve pack,
of Corona with or without you,
I'm honestly trying not to feel blue.
By: Joseph DeMarco
From the tops of the skyscrapers
To the freedom bells that ring,
Let all the registered voters
And poor children sing,
"We have had quite enough,
Of this corrupt game;
We must vote them all out
Or suffer more of the same."
Politician marionettes attached to
Wall Street banks and Big Oil,
Public interest groups partying it up,
While citizens suffer and toil.
Health care companies
Drive prices to the skies,
Then manufacture candidates
With a hidden agenda of lies.
Campaign finances are kicked back
Through greed and corruption;
Monuments built to the politician's vanity
That contribute to the environment's destruction.
From our once purple mountain majesties
To our diminishing amber waves of grain,
It is time for the incumbent
To feel some of the pain.
For WE have the power,
And we must take it back,
Chase them politicians,
Go on the attack!
Vote them all out,
Tell their lips that all lie,
Vote them all out,
The Incumbent Must Die.
By: Joseph DeMarco
I climbed to the top of the clock tower,
With the wind lightly at my back.
I positioned myself ever so slightly,
And got ready to attack.
I brought back the bow,
And let the arrow fly.
I aimed straight for the spot in the center of the Bull's eye.
My only intent was to make him die.
I wanted to see how he would like it,
When I shot him through the heart.
I wondered if he could pull it together,
After it all fell apart.
I wanted to prove to him,
How he would react,
When the pain came on so strong,
It felt like a heart attack.
Would he wallow in misery
Longing for her scent
Getting drunken and stupid
With his mind half bent
I bet he would.
I don't think he could handle the pain,
And all the confusion
When it all goes down the drain.
Relationships are tough,
Believe me I know.
I wanted to see if he could handle it though,
I let the slings of outrageous fortune go,
And shot Cupid in the heart
With my arrow and bow.
By: Joseph DeMarco
David Opu had more money than money could buy.
He lived his life wanting more, he was corrupted by a lie.
That money can make you happy and tuck you in at night.
That money replaces love, forget wrong and right.
What David didn't understand is that we are all connected in a symbiosis of Earth.
If he would have learned that he might have saved his net worth.
The recession was bad, still David wasn't losing money.
But business without profit was anything but funny.
David called for layoffs, so that profits would soar.
And fired so many, yet he still wanted more...
He rode about town in his black limousine,
What happened next is easily foreseen.
When David got out, Bob Roach was waiting.
Bob was a disgruntled ex-employee there was no debating.
Bob pulled out a knife, and stabbed David in the gut.
David fell to the ground like a wounded, forgotten, dirty mutt.
And he lay on that pavement, bleeding in the warm sunshine.
A victim of circumstance, fresh out of time.
David died on that sidewalk, his life over in blink,
A living testament that we're all part of the same link.
By Joseph DeMarco
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.