Yes! My mother baked bread.

On Sunday! Other days she served customers.

We called her Mom.

Endlessly working!

That was her pleasure.

Serving three sons and two daughters.

And, of course, Dad.

Servitude! That was life.

Dinner every night!

But what pleasure she expressed.

Never in words.

It shone in her manner.

Did we ever hear, “I love you?”

Did we ever say, “I love you, Mom?”

Ashamed to say, “Never.”

Now is the time to believe in spirits.

Mother Spirit can you feel the love?

Can my saying it, now,

Make up for the missed chance long ago? Giving up your life for a cause!

She did it!

Noble, brave, generous, but, at times mean.

Yes, she was normal.

Normal dualities!

As they say! Shout it from the rooftops.

L O V E ! M O M!






Builder of beauty!

Word by word

Revealing the unseen

Giving revelation

To your readers.

Sight and sound,

Loud as the drums

To awaken the sleep-walkers,

Dreaming in fantasies

Of your kisses to nature.

Every heartbeat

Every breath

Every footstep

            Is in your words

Poets on top of a mountain

Asking us to beat in tune.

Hearing the poetic Neruda

Thump, thump the drums

Bring forth the Master


Sing for us!

Play! Pray!

Hallelujah—to the Master!



Marie Vassallo is a small town girl who came to New York City to attend drama school. She is widowed and has a genius son. She enjoys theatre and movie going, and began writing poems in January 2012.


Be the first to comment

Please check your e-mail for a link to activate your account.