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     Verses: A Small Collection of Poems on Love & Life, p.1

       Anthony Pellegrino
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Verses: A Small Collection of Poems on Love & Life


Copyright 2017 Anthony Pellegrino

Table of Contents

Part 1: To Walk Alone

Part 2: A Poetic Discourse on Love


This collection of verses is from years past when youthful na?vete played a role in my life. The writings are the ones that were not lost, thrown away, or among other items stolen within a desk drawer. Although one may classify the lines as poetry, I wrote most of them before I ever read a poem or had a true concept of "poetic structure". Furthermore, the following utterances were originally recorded on notebook paper, cocktail napkins, drink coasters, and other mediums receptive to pens and pencils. I kept the final written copies in Black Notebooks marked "Verses". The notebooks and most of the early poems are lost victims to time. These mere lines of connected words are a product of an introspective and philosophical mind. Although a psyche in a search for truth, the poetic mind is a companion to hope. I do not write poems anymore...

Part 1: To Walk Alone

A fool needs not his anonymity
For one may never hide from solitude.
Listen, has it ever been this silent?

The Escape

A couple solemnly walks
Then stopping at a stone.
A winter day's remembrance
Of the one who is gone.
The flutter of an eyelash
To send a tear away
From the fretful fragile source
A reddened cheek to stray.
It crawls along so slowly
The destination near.
A flit from the frosty lash
Sends down another tear.
The second tear to follow
But captured by a kiss
The first escapes off the chin
To freefall in the mist.

Living upon older days
Young faculties to find.
Existing in a youthful day
But aged within a mind.
Astute is the erudite
Who realizes ignorance.
Too old to be- too young to see
Aged cognizance.
I lean back unto the sky
So far away my gleaming eye.
I grasp unto a hand of air
Indicative of our despair.
Thus for now I shall exist
Exist within a tree
A tree which has given
To perspicacity.
But if I didn't breathe
I'd never lose my breath
And this tree shall never heed
To an utterance of death.

The Insane Poet

From an institution a scream
Cries for a revolution.
A fallen mind's contribution.
Yes, a breath I have spoke before
But if then a fallen mind
What is now rendered?
I hear the call of withered will
From the cellar I hear weeping
Scarcely a frustrated yell.
The persecuting empathy
Upon feeble legs the burden
And what of pain, may we learn?
But there is not to be reason!
Merely false axioms.
Ah, the placating utterance
The curse of self importance.
Belief, another condition
Heed thus a divine volition.
I incessantly battle truth!
I shall condemn opposition!
But I shall condemn no person?
May I question causality?
Yes, to realize I am nothing.
To digress from this a mental death.
Thus speaks an insane poet...
A walk in the rain, such peace I attain.
I jump and wave in oddning guise
Unto a man who cannot see.
But many others passing by
Wave unto, though never she.
She passes, sweetly
As the birds who fly discretely.
I enter thru the edifice
The edifying slur.
Sylphonic greetings float along
Arriving thus as words.
I imbibe the syllables
Again they dissipate
Twisting, undeciphered
Intoxicating the brain.
I to sit befuddled
Behind a wall, a glass.
Marbles role in kindness
I flutter she to pass.
Foolish, quixotic
A difference embraced.
Mingling, intervening
So much differentiates.

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