We live our lives behind a cloak of carefully woven emotions that we allow others to see. FINE: POETIC THOUGHTS FROM BEHIND THE MASK is a collection of poetry that reveals the honest thoughts that we hide behind at times. It is simply the outcome of living life and learning what emotions we do and do not feel comfortable exposing to others. How many times has someone asked you how you are doing or feeling? The quick and often thoughtless reply is, "Fine; everything's just fine" The poetry in this collection offers insight into ourselves and the emotions we really feel. No matter how deep or difficult they might be, they make our lives rich and our journeys through life rewarding. It is when we acknowledge our innermost feelings that we find the true measure of life's worth. And you will come to see that time is our true mortal measure. And you will judge it wisely thus As intimacy's treasure. For I suspect that in the night, when dark and all alone, Your soul cries out with tired spite to call your heart back home.

fine

POETIC THOUGHTS FROM BEHIND THE MASKBy ciara mucci

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Ciara Mucci
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-0530-7

Contents

The Fine Art of "The Worry".................................3Willow Tree.................................................5Crack.......................................................6Woman.......................................................8New Orleans.................................................10Dark Thoughts...............................................12Dance.......................................................14Used to Be..................................................17Soul Mate...................................................18Modern......................................................20Illusion....................................................21Lost Soul...................................................25Red Hands...................................................27Dust........................................................28Choice......................................................30Life's Challenge............................................31Fine........................................................32Moon........................................................34Winter......................................................36Time........................................................37Happy New Year..............................................39America.....................................................41Diversity...................................................43The Secret..................................................45The Search..................................................48Life........................................................49Ice Cream...................................................50My Son......................................................52The Fart....................................................56Death's Collateral Damage...................................58Thoughts My Late Husband Might Have Had.....................61The Visit...................................................62Cemetery....................................................64Pain........................................................66Intestinal Fortitude........................................69In Tribute to Li Bai........................................71The Cannibal's Meal.........................................73My Rap Song.................................................75Recipe......................................................77High Voltage Power Lines....................................79Night.......................................................82Wet.........................................................84Eve.........................................................86Mechanical Children.........................................88Blonde......................................................90Ciara.......................................................92

Chapter One

        The Fine Art of "The Worry"

    Does it make you feel alive
    To court anxiety?
    Everything,
    All the time:

    Endless inputs,
    Finding Reasons,
    Justification of your thoughts,
    Isolation to everything
    But "the worry"—

    I am tired of carrying
    This burden around.
    I want to feel light-hearted joy.
    I want to smile
    And mean it!

    I want to answer the question,
    When someone asks how I feel,

    And mean it—

    Fine
    Fine
    Fine
    Fine
    Fine!


         Willow Tree

    She fancies herself a willow tree
    Whose roots run deep
    And limbs sway freely.
    The sunshine sparkles off greened leaves
    Deceptively,
    For there is so much more to see.

    She fancies herself a willow tree.

    As darkness comes over the valley by the stream—
    She sets off running and laughing
    Mysteriously,
    Feet splashing
    Across the running water,
    Deep
    Looking for the stranger's keep.
    "Foolish mortals, come out to play! For I am different night to day—
    Enter my world of fantasy!"

    She fancies herself a willow tree.

    Dawn comes too soon and she is there,
    In stately manner with carefree air.
    The sunshine sparkles off greened leaves
    Deceptively.
    Limbs curved in jest of those
    Too blind to see.

    She fancies herself a willow tree.


       Crack

    The building has stood many centuries tall,
    With its marble floors and its logical walls.
    With precision design and cold beauty,
    It feels
    Only what it chooses,
    Only passion with steel.

    And the building sees time
    As a necessary continuum
    It can do without and do without.
    There is no need,
    For it will last forever,
    Forever without fault.

    Until one night he entered,
    A full moon shining,
    Exposing the way to her entrance,
    Highlighting her cracks.
    Oh! She does age
    And feels
    Not only what she chooses,
    Not only passion with steel.

    He saw her soul—many centuries old—
    And the passion behind the stone walls,
    Though she concealed it well and very well.
    There is no need.
    He knew and could sow.
    He planted the seed.

    And taking her hand—though it trembled with fright—
    He walked her out to the moon,
    Into the night.
    He kissed her deeply and the feeling suspended time.
    She loves,
    And with all of her soul,
    And with all of her mind.

    The building has stood many centuries tall,
    With its marble floors and its logical walls.
    With its precision design and cold beauty,
    She feels ...


          Woman

    Run with me to the rolling green hills
    Of my secret place.
    Laugh openly with the day.
    Drink in the soul of the wind.
    Come with me and play.

    Hold me close on these rolling green hills
    And touch me
    In my secret place.
    Erase the pain of emptiness.
    Trace the lines of your prior time
    Onto my willing face.

    I give myself to you in the rolling green hills
    Of my secret place.
    In them, in you,
    Wear my skin fully
    Over yours.
    Embrace.


       New Orleans

    Sometimes I wonder why
    A jazz player is not sitting
    At the foot of my bed,
    Or why I cannot fly into
    The thick of a jasmine-scented night

    And run down the streets of the Garden District.
    The wet, warm ground would feel so right,
    Earthy and connected,
    Hungry almost.

    Sometimes I wonder why
    You aren't making love to me.
    The scent of you reminds me
    Of a trapped wildness,

    Like the untamed vine growing
    In the garden,
    Hidden
    Beside the aged fence.
    Your skin and mine
    Slowly
    Taking our release,
    Reveling in it
    With the mutual understanding
    We have wasted no more time.

    I wonder ...


      Dark Thoughts

    The night has come again.
    I glide out to the darkness there,

    My solitude
    And not ...

    I am restless at night
    When I can hear the trees talking,

    And I come out to beg,
    "Seduce me with your wisdom."
    Let us dance with the wind in your leaves.
    Take me and the night and the moonlight

    Just once.
    Oh, my love, just once.

    For I do not, at this moment, want anything else

    But you inside of me.


           Dance

    I danced on the sides of trees last night,
    With all inhibitions abandoned
    In the twilight of the moon,
    Laughing
    And hair flowing wildly.

    I outstretched my arms
    As they gave me their branches.
    We swayed together,
    Keeping time with the sound of rustling leaves
    That the gentle breeze conducted.

    Higher and higher we danced,
    To the tree tops and the stars beyond,
    Exhilarated,
    Free.
    I cried out with joy.
    My darling ones,
    Full of mystery and strength,
    You are always there for me.

    Below,
    The thick green foliage and wildflowers
    Scattered on the forest floor
    Make a beautiful carpet
    At our feet.

    Anticipation
    Of how good it will feel
    To be embraced
    By their velvet smoothness
    As I float back down to earth.


         Used to Be

    My blue woman,
    Cold and alone:
    I can see her lying in the water below,
    Her distorted reflection mimicking my dimming memories.

    I can feel her,
    Though,
    In my blood,

    Sense
    From the first days
    I could love her.

    Now
    She is just
    Blue.


      Soul Mate

    The snow fell early one morning
    And mated with the ground,
    Still fresh with leaves from
    The newly barren trees.

    I remember the sky being bright,
    Light gray—almost sensuous,
    And the wind was strong enough
    To lift the snow-covered leaves,
    Kissing my face—

    I touched my mouth unconsciously and
    Opened my arms
    To embrace this wonder.
    It would be hard to imagine a more
    Perfect scene.

    Why are we surprised when
    The earth can make us feel so insignificant?

    And how impotent,

    For at this moment
    A realization—

    Who could I share my thoughts with?
    It is so rare to be able to give that simple gift to someone

    And have them understand.


        Modern

    She is actually very fragile
    When allowed to be (allowed by whom?),
    And she hides the dreams
    She knows so well
    In the face of reality.

    She dreams of loving so complete
    She can wrap herself inside,
    Yet have the power to make things change,
    The strength to turn the tide.

    So the struggle continues on,
    Knowing herself to be
    A woman longing for someone's hand
    Only to set him free


          Illusion

    A shadow fell over the man
    From the moon outside the window.
    He was standing in the room
    Of his past inspirations.
    His shadow spilled into one of them.
    It was too quiet.

    He threw open his arms,
    Physically trying to bare his soul
    To the moon.
    He began feeling the words of the song
    That seemed to speak to his soul,
    And the music came out of him,
    Its passion breaking the glass of the window,
    And the rush of night air filled the place.

    It was quiet again,
    And the broken pieces of glass
    Lay at his bare feet.
    He wanted to walk in it,
    Feel his feet cut,
    Feel the blood,
    Feel the pain,
    Feel something.

    The rush of night air filled the place,
    Scattering the glass away from him
    Like crystal rain.
    It danced away—picking up the pieces of moonlight,
    He threw open his arms
    To his past inspirations.
    It was too quiet.

    He looked around the room in earnest,
    The moonlight seductively enhancing his work,
    What he had made
    Or tried so desperately to mold
    And fit the image of his soul's desire.

    For they were all there—in some piece or another,
    A smile, the passionate eyes, or yearning mouth,
    But what of the soul?
    He could not find her complete anywhere.
    Crying silently to himself,
    No one truly understands.
    It was too quiet.

    Rain began to fall,
    And walking slowly to the window
    He threw open his arms,
    Face up,
    To cleanse his soul and take away the pain.
    (What pain?)
    He opened his eyes
    To her illusion—made real by his desire.

    The man stood in the room
    Of his past inspirations,
    Yet renewed,
    Again.
    He knew
    It was time to begin
    Again.


      Lost Soul

    I stood under the moonlight—
    Not quite a full moon,
    Certainly not a perfect night,
    But I am not quite right,
    And somehow it all fit.

    Somehow

    I am transformed
    In the deep of the night
    As the wind blows
    Through me,
    Right through me,
    And takes a piece of my soul
    Away.

    Away

    I feel jagged.
    Better,
    Not better,
    But always intense,
    Deep
    And dark
    And blood
    And soul
    And sweat
    (Fuck tears)

    Free

    And not free—


      Red Hands

    Your blood is flowing through my fingers.
    I just let it flow,
    Fascinated
    To see the color and feel the texture of it.

    I lift my blood-soaked hand
    To my lips
    And taste you
    In a way that I had never done before,
    In the final way ...


        Dust

    Do not let yourself be ruled by guilt.
    It will lead you back to places
    You would choose not to go,
    With grievous introspection,
    Slow and so slow,

    To believe finally
    Things
    You do not begin to feel,
    Or act toward purpose
    You never meant to fulfill.

    Move forward

    Even more so
    In the middle of the night.
    Let your soul
    Guide you
    Beyond the contrite.

    Take an occasional step backward
    If you will and
    Fine—

    Just let the dust of that
    Carefully measured gilt
    Fall to your feet
    And not
    Cloud your mind.


          Choice

    There is a freedom
    Long past
    That I recognize I have lost,
    Not to another person
    Or because of another's actions:

    I have relinquished it myself.

    A choice was made.
    I made the choice.

    I can retrieve it tomorrow,
    But I will not.
    Perhaps another day will bid me to serious contemplation.
    Yes, perhaps a distant day,

    But for now I go on
    In the mode of past choices.
    And yet, not so clear
    When each was made.

    I determine not
    What I have determined,
    And yet live—not so fully—
    With the outcomes.


      Life's Challenge
    Do not be afraid
    To hear your story told.
    Rise up and act,
    Or life will die
    And you will not grow old.

    For pain becomes the subtlety
    In which we hide our need,
    Pack away our best belongings,
    Promote the fallow seed.

    So do not let the gray of life
    Inhibit your desires.
    Feed your soul,
    Strive for your goals:
    'Tis life's eternal fire.


          Fine

    People ask me how I am,
    But I don't really know.
    Am I a product of my times?
    Or of my inner soul?

    Can I confess to know the reason
    Why we choose to live
    And not give in to mortal fears
    That consume our fight instead?

    Or why the sunset makes me cry
    When I'm alone in bed,
    Arrested from activity,
    Neither mate nor date?
    Reclusivity:
    A safer form of head.

    People rush along their way,
    Not waiting for an answer,
    So it doesn't really matter
    What I say.

    People program what they want to hear,
    The usual form of chatter,
    So I respond with the expected repartee:
    Fine.


        Moon

    Pile up all the people
    You have no use for.
    Stack their bodies one on top
    Of another:

    The ignorant, arrogant, selfish, too selfless,
    Egotistical, political, immoral, proud,
    Impotent, omnipotent, suffering, stumbling,
    Bumbling, bullshit artist lot of them,

    The masses.

    The guy who dumped you cold,
    Your ex-girlfriend who betrayed you,
    The one who said your breasts were too small,
    Your boss who deflated you,
    Your president who disappointed you,
    The family who deserted you, misunderstood you,
    Loved you too much,
    The teacher who taught you nothing,
    And on and on:

    Pile them high,
    Climb to the top,

    And touch the moon.

    Do you feel better now?


        Winter

    A state of mind
    I want to evolve,
    And not the placid end of line
    As it is often described.

    The peace of knowing you have found
    The fire to keep you warm,
    Knowing, too, you are the spark:
    A flame
    Given in return,
    Growing stronger over time.

    No longer rushing toward
    The end of life,
    I pretend,
    In your arms so warm at night,

    A different kind of calm.
    You come to understand
    That over time

    It is okay;
    You are not mine.


            Time

    And you will come to see that time is our true mortal measure.
    And you will judge it wisely thus
    As intimacy's treasure.
    For I suspect that in the night, when dark and all alone,
    Your soul cries out with tired spite to call your heart back home.


        Happy New Year

    Beneath the white is brilliant light,
    And icelike—more than cold.
    The wind is fiercely howling.
    Above, the sun shines bright and bold.

    There is nothing to confuse the sign
    Telling and touching,
    Taking its hold.
    All stand beneath the Gulf of Souls,
    Awaiting life
    Again.

    The journey begins again
    And,
    Until the Seventh Sign,
    Will always make amends.

    So smile and laugh
    As unafraid.
    Be true unto yourself.

    The new year comes to those who sense it,
    And endless time
    All else.


        America

    Grab hold of my hand,
    Brother.
    Walk with me
    As friend
    And thought lovers
    Down the vacant and narrow streets,
    Where other kindred soldiers meet.

    Take the truth
    As it was given.
    Do not question
    Fallow soil.
    Bothersome morality—
    What childish woe!
    Take life and live it!

    Let the theories of today
    Keep you warm,
    Keep us at bay.

    I will warn no further,
    Brother.
    Soul to soul,
    You must recover.
    Let your careless, visionary thoughts drift away.
    Rejoin the crowd.
    Keep us at bay.

    I do not want to—
    Don't make me—
    Have to—
    I beseech you—
    Do not forsake me.

    Come on,
    Brother,
    Take my hand.
    Be my thought-lover.

    'Tis foolishness to carry on this way.

    You will not be allowed to carry on this way,

    Brother.


       Diversity

    Root cause
    Is not my color skin,
    Or boobs and painted nails.
    It's not the balls
    Or the impaler,

    Although these things
    Do shape the flight,
    They do not pilot
    Satellites.

    For in my soul
    Ideas spring,
    To take the hand
    Of kindred beings.

    And you too may come to understand,
    Not cast me out,
    My soul in hand,
    Or retire me to
    A barren land.

    Listen to my thoughts.

    Don't shut your mind
    When my mind speaks,
    Or perceive in me
    What closed eyes see.

    And take the chance:
    Set thoughts expand.
    Do not retire me to
    A Bergeron land.

    Will that day come?
    I hope to survive,
    Not change my spots
    To stay alive.
    May it come soon.

    There's much to do,
    And
    We
    Can't
    Wait
    Forever
    For
    You.


        The Secret

    Great strength
    Invites the opportunity
    To show great weakness—
    And, therefore,
    Great strength

    Take the boundaries of
    Your inner soul down,
    Vulnerable,
    Invites loyalty.
    Hard?
    So be it.

    Do you know what you want?
    What you want to be when you grow up?

    Leadership comes
    From the head
    And the heart.
    It is the heart
    And the personal pain
    Of putting it out there
    That makes you whole.

    What do you remember of the person who taught you the secret?
    At the end of whatever—
    Strength?
    Weakness?
    Head?
    Heart?

    Or

    The beautiful melody of it all?


       The Search

    God bless thee and keep thee.
    God bless and keep thee well,
    For I will cherish thy very thought
    In final dawn,
    When all the 'morrows fall.

    Thou warm my lonely passing
    And make all bitters sweet.
    I vow to keep you safe inside
    Until we someday meet.

    Till then, my dearest longing
    Will hold me—to be sure
    And fill my passing
    With tempered joy
    And life,
    Some meaning,
    Still.


        Life

    Look at the grace and lightness of trees,
    Where the breeze sings with quiet awe
    Peacefully
    Through their green leaves,
    And the sun sparkles its rain down upon me.

    I smile,
    For in my heart, at this moment, I know it is true:
    Joy resides in nature's mysteries,
    And chasing happiness is for fools.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from fineby ciara mucci Copyright © 2011 by Ciara Mucci. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.