Long Altar boy Poems

The language and images of Mario Vitale's poetry are so closely bound to the natural cycles of seasons, of generations, of the body's functioning, that is surprising to realize how many of his poems deal...

Read More

he came to us on a woven beaded hamoc as a flower bedded excursion taunt to the sun
there was a man among men who would deliver a specific message to the masses with lashes
planted as...

Read More

"Drip, drip" said the mildew-stained stone cellar walls of St. Peter's cathedral,
Where a goblet of wine dripped into a priest dressed in robes violet and medieval.

Down into the crypts beneath the church's alter he had...

Read More

God

touch the flame God is a consuming fire let me explain
a radiant night couples run to the pier for a chance to splash but then
frozen from deep within there is a resistance to pull back...

Read More

I put my lips to his cheek 
Reminded me of winter time, not ice cold
Without warmth yes, but with texture
hard to the touch like a rubber glove on a rock

Thoughts will never leave me
Sad thing...

Read More

Lie to men, but not to God,
I'm sorry for those I'll hurt,
For this is what I must write,
I'm not writing because I'm holier than thou,
Neither am I better than thou.
I know I'm better than nothing.

Lie...

Read More

The language and images of Mario Vitale's poetry are so closely bound to the natural cycles of seasons, of generations, of the body's functioning, that is surprising to realize how many of his poems deal...

Read More

A Sacred Trust
An old cleric sits in his rocking chair
He is on the porch of a lakeside cabin
He is remembering with tears in his eyes
A boy many years ago making his confession
*
After pushing the mauve...

Read More

The Holy Cross Church with its neo-Gothic facade was too beauteous and too rare,
so clustered among the aristocratic neat palaces,
choked by the shadows of less ancient buildings;
I often looked up to glance at its tall...

Read More

His name it's Johnny Rebel
You may have heard it said
That Angels weep
In their pious sleep
At the foot of Johnnies bed

Don't you lay with him girl
Just like Adam and Eve
His truth doesn't trust
But the shackles of...

Read More

Kenneth Standish
1912-1919

We lived on Newlin Street in a gray house,
Across from the Catholic church, St. Mary’s.
I loved going to the Mass every morning,
Which I did daily with my shirt tucked in.
Until my kidney sickness stopped...

Read More

The great change
I have a mask made of plestic glass covers the whole
face to avoid touching my face, of the type dogs, were
not to scratch their ears.
Surgical gloves are must when going to the shop,...

Read More

Sitting amid her theatre many years ago now; three children their brothers....
This common thread and ushering in, a themeful tune; tubular bells ? Autumnal's
Winds rustling leaves stirring these scenes: dream like the haunting face to...

Read More

Roaming the village with black
beautiful girl tucked in arms
was Johnny the village god

Adored by older boys with
the world under his sure feet
As he stepped on his darling
round village girl.

Other boys his age cried:
no girlfriends of...

Read More

From when we leave the womb, said Freud (or Jung), 
until the day we die, life's one long try 
to climb back in. That cold air hits our lungs 
with such a shock, we cannot...

Read More

My first-ever, worst-ever crush who made me blush was an altar boy
Golden blonde hair and a face so fair graced the frame of my altar boy

And not in the least, he wished to be a...

Read More

Blue velvet circles spinning in my mind
Archaic fabled days of sadness and desperation
Feeling so blue
Like the drifting sea anemone in ocean blue
While spirits swirl about me
Feeling so blue

Those enigmatic swirls of hazy mountain crests
Lingering through...

Read More