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Best Poems Written by John Rockk-Fiordelisi

Below are the all-time best John Rockk-Fiordelisi poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Behind Smiled

Under a grin, redirected, 
A sniff of grief claws
Through, revealing
A sad blue artery,
A pain 24-7.
Underscored with carefully
Emoted verbs, 
And adjectives imbedded with
Mock sincerity, 
A simple sentence: a right to be honest. 
Beneath the pulse in heartbeats encephalo
A few tearful regrets
Lob empty phrases into
A field with no guilt, washed and dried, 
And returned unlabeled.

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Sort Out the New

Sort out the new
one of the New
Sort of the New
Millennium I am
Sort out the new
one of those 
Reluctant recalcitrant reprobates
Sort of the most
High Speed
Falling in love
In a moment
To tell
To view
To sort out the new
To gift in the old.

Details | John Rockk-Fiordelisi Poem

The Half Life of a Setting Sun ,1993

Preamble: In the half life of a setting sun, time travel exists.  In the naked singularity of a blackhole, when a sun is truly dying, you become what you want to.

This is the song. 

Born of the night, in the sky's own light. 
Left to the sun, to die on the run.
Born of the stars, near the ballroom of Mars.
My life on the run,  the half life of a sun.

Chorus:
We know that it's ending soon,
We know the band's out of tune.  We know.

Slave to the earth,  to my death, from birth.
Life on the edge?  Have you "the Edge"?
Loved till I lost,  such a cost.
My feelings are numb, the half life of a Son.

From the start of it all, I've run with the ball.
You must pay your dues?  Walk a mile in my shoes. 
For better or worse,  I've turned to my verse.
I've seen what's to come,  the half life of a sun.

It's a hurricane of pain, to know the insane.
Begin at the start, find a key to my heart.
In all that's been said, I should have been dead.
To all that I've done, the half life of the Son.

For the song that is sung,  my gold not yet spun,  
We've not yet begun, goodbye and for one,
The Half Life of the Sun.

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Sex, and the Couple

A poem re: sex.
All I think about
According to her.
Just once in while, ultimately. 
It's not all about sex.
I agree.
But it is a part,  yeah?
With you it's all the time.
So can we agree it's not that important?
No, it's not. 
Good, cause I bounced and balled three young thangs today.
You betrayed me, you cheated,  you're the worst ever...
Vinnie Barbarino says
"I'm so confused."

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Science

I think too much about science,
Worthless lot of apes;
Spoken for so as never to speak
For themselves. 
I think too much about
Religion, 
Worthless lot of apes;
I stack tarot cards on bibles
Fishing for magical faith. 
I think too much about politics, 
Worthless lot of apes,
I grease the wrong palms,
And lobby the other industry.
I think enough about words,
To fill a bowl of verbs, and
A plate of nouns and gerunds.

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Charleston, Pre Spring

Pollen green 3 inches
Of allergen confection, powders outdoor landmarks. 
A few ticks past dawn,
New birds, preflight,
Tune up their chirping cords, 
Like nature's philharmonic, knowing the neighborhood
Is soon to enter their amphitheater, in, from their rooms of sleep. 
Little lizards scurry, large clouds puff up and move through,
Steel blue, morning skies.

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Courage, 1984

Curio cabinet full of
Memories; a small dent from a wild child
All hopped on penny candy, running on
Giggle energy, because of the excitement
Of the Little Orphan Annie radio program,
Stopped in her tracks, and stopped in her breath. 
Scraped on the lion paw spindle leg, 
From when nervous grandson watched
One small man shoot 3 small bullets into one small skull,
Like a whole book depository landed on point.
A stain mimicking the Grecian coastline, 
On the drum top, from the spill
From the redwine from the news of pa-pa's death, 
A slip and fall when reaching for the remote.
The drawer can't close correctly because
Daddy's head landed sideways after the bullet
Pierced his temple; how many times can you be laid off
On December 24th?
Curious cabinet guarded loosely
With skips in posture and hiccoughs in time.
Maker o maker, 
Here is my resume.

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Felony

Standing commissioned, 
A coffee and a croissant, 
Hot and black, or light and sweet.
Insistent, startled and
Hands in pocket:
Smelling like crack smoldering in a stem. 
Eyes dancing like nervous grapes,
Dressed head to toe 
In high yella Virginia zoot suit,
The, aging to be honest, 
Resistant to genuine disease,
Anyman, anytime, USA.

Details | John Rockk-Fiordelisi Poem

The Argument For Death

Swirling about are the loved ones
And the guy next in line
And your tiny congregation
Of friends.
 That one face you put on
It may have different expressions,
But just one face.
The you that puts it on
Is so different.
It's the scared child
Hiding behind the recliner
When your ears bleed
And your dad screams drunkenness.
The you that puts on that one face
Is the teenager who takes that first hit of pot
Because your friend Jeff said so.
The you that scrapes up the courage
To put on that face is the beer dude
At the sports bar, farting and belching just to be heard.
Keeping your masterbatory fantasies to yourself.
And as your skin becomes drier
The you that frames that face for everyone,
Is the young groom, walking down the aisle to a mistake
That only you can't see.
The ever widening man boy who gave some sperm
In exchange for a child you could never live as much
As they need to be loved.
And you see that face with bags of baggage under those eyes
Look back at you in the mirror every morning and you stare
And wait for the visage to change, but it won't.  
It can't.
That face that laugh's on time for your worst best friend's joke
Is in front of the brain that is addicted to suffering and pain.
It's fond of taking the good and crumpling it up until
It is bad, over and over again.
So it is for that face and that brain and that ever self
Torturing soul, that we say death is not for the gloomy rain,
But to wash away our sin of trying to be just a bit happy.

Details | John Rockk-Fiordelisi Poem

Gift Me Radiant Smiles

Gift me radiant smiles and
And the beauty of a horse's neck.
Gift me glens of green, 
Pastures pure, and distant tideless shores.
Gift me red velvet bows of Christmas spirit, 
And happy-drunk uncles, and cousins and pets. 
Get me a photo of last time,
When grandpa and grandma were alive,
And the kitchen and basted turkey were one scent. 
Find me a family growing, eager to toot political
Hoopla to the family dining, or the aunt
Not related, never speaking, ingenious
And quietly correct.
Stop the now and rewind this scene,
I long for the gift of those years forgotten, 
ego's urge unrelenting
To further move out of the sharpness of youngness, into the blur
Of since then.