The bad son
Faces his penance
Each day these words
Go unwritten
As desperate attempts
Soon defeat him
With no confidence gained
Pulling back –

An image unclear
In that head
When verbally lashed
If unleashing
This imperfect phrase
Being honest
Like a punk rock tune
Lived out loud

For one period
Briefer than songs
Where notes like screams
Serve it better
Than nastier lines
Sparking lyrics
Spoken by those
Claiming love,

Knowing full well
Secrecy sucks
Since expression
Brings harsher opinions
While suppressing
Such deeper conclusions
Surmised from greed
All around.

He’s barely enough
Though they claim
Those failing dreams
Stay respected
Since sadness feigns
Bitter triumph
Or ignoring
How eyes never see

What strength
Hides childhood tears
And fake boldness
Begs their forgiveness
As rebellious whims
Go unnoticed
Until growing too old
For that shit.

• J. Pigno

I don’t understand
Growing old
And how age could bring
Certain wisdom
When loss itself
Remains constant
As the only truth
Staying unchanged

Where each ending
Offers no choice
But a jadedness
So inconsistent
With happiness past
Spent enjoying
Those memories gone
Now for good –

Our loved ones missed
Every morning
Holding empty hearts
Growing bigger
As friends like dawn
Make their exit
Into endless dusk
We all face.

Funny if death
Brings more fear
Than days less lived
Fighting illness
Or sleepless nights
Always thinking
That axe may fall
Very soon,

While time
Weighs heavier still
Reading headlines
Increasingly heinous
Since dangerous trends
Appear common
Getting worried
Such hate will explode.

Every leap
Brings us back two steps,
Yet forward too far
Towards destruction.

What is faith
Nearing hopeless conclusions?

Why burn so bright
Just to fade?

• J. Pigno

Only artistry
Offers me rain
In the hours between
Each expression

Soon lagging behind
Every moment
Where suffering speaks
Louder still

On that poetry lost
Trying hard
Which captures defeat
After waiting

For one more chance
Spent debating
If pursuing this dream
Remains wise

With those options
Doubting will bring
Against all odds
Seeming senseless,

When endurance
Means uttering phrases
Experience deems
Too unwise –

Growing bored
From facing their fears,
Merely chasing truths
Trailing teardrops,

Spilled by empty hearts
Seeking verses
Finding empty lines
Needing blood

Like sustenance
Pumped through belief
And fueled by hope
Leading charges

As cavalries march
Across wastelands
Now warring so much
They can’t feel.

I keep begging
These skies inside
Just bring one cloud
Dripping crimson –

My soul left parched
Missing substance
Under faithless suns
Causing droughts.

• J. Pigno

There is too much truth
In dichotomies
Like ambiguous holes
Which need healing
Built from aging dolls
Better suited
Living lives less loved
Than their woes

At the hands of boys
Playing rough
Trading formulas learned
Counting losses,

Having questions asked
Though their answers
Becomes what fate
We despise –

This self-fulfilled hate
Towards relief
Only moms could show
Rocking cradles
Where math means warmth
Missing numbers
Yet proved through needs
Soon suppressed

If growing up fast
Watching sunlight
Bring with each gray dawn
Morning ashes
Now invented by men
Feeling angry
When nothing seems right
But success

So women like words
Stay ignored,

Still equations solved
Imply nothing,

After years spent lost
Seeking fusion
Behind a white picket fence
Fear imposed.

Our dream house
Beckons such wars –

Toys broken apart
Over difference,

Never nurturing worlds
Always turning,

Neglecting how flesh
Is enough.

• J. Pigno

I was worried
You might call me back
After months spent
Feeling so jealous,

And hiding this pain
Almost hateful
Over how our lives
Grew apart –

Shedding tears
Friends never could fake
As we swore out loud
Our contrition,

Knowing manhood
Hinges on bonding
Thought platonic
Yet intimate still.

Some are afraid
They might love
Outside what realm
Remains stoic,

But who should care
When emotion
Runs deep
After years being close?

There’s pride
In having two sons
Despite my attempts
More inadequate

At adulthood’s tasks
Seeming harder
While for some
It happens with ease.

Perhaps that’s why
Change can hurt
If the past gets lost
Over decades,

Reduced to texts
Between brothers
Knowing innocence
Never returns.

Good things
Require adjustment
Since tomorrow
Presumes transformation.

Why does God expect
Further distance?

Will these memories
Be difference enough?

• J. Pigno

She dreamed
Of a fortune cookie
Which had no words
That were printed,

Just digits unclear
On it’s backside
Bringing riches
Supposedly ours –

Lacking money
Or worldly success
Like most may hope
Would come easy,

But love more real
Than this ticket
Soon trading such means
For each heart.

All abundance
Could never get close
To what mystery
Brought us together

Where existing
Required some paper
So passing through
Was proposed –

Like exchanging vows
As we had
In daylight’s care
Better savored,

Always trusting God
Knew these numbers
Were lucky enough
When they add

Their total sum
Being told
With symbolic grace
Only witnessed

By soulmates whole
After counting
Every blessing
Cash doesn’t bring.

Your happiness
Will feel less defined
Inside boxes
Demanding investment.

Can security
Satiate hunger
How registers
Eat dollar bills?

• J. Pigno

Life’s lie which
Buffers our death
Just brings me
That much closer,

Like denial
Appearing as freedom
When negligence dwarfs
Every fear

From casting doubts
Upon debt
While agony falls
Over gardens

In the dead of night
Hiding lilies
Drooping too low
Getting lost.

Most plants
Need stabler rains
Than immoral heat
Chasing sunlight

Behind cloudy roles
Always drifting
Such deeper roots
Never take.

Day’s principles
Slowly will fade
Into saddened dusk
Growing jaded

After fashioning
Blossoms so gorgeous
Their only hope
Is to wilt.

Our faith demands
Better dirt
Even though some skies
Never open,

With God himself
Mocking toil
Letting work ensure
Further droughts.

Why try hard
If we burn
Regardless of vines
Bearing roses,

Once per year
Until seasons
Remind us all
Nothing lasts?

• J. Pigno

He’d told me
The theater would close
As if knowing deep down
I was thinking
Of the times spent there
Back in high school
Watching those films
Dreaming big,

Since perhaps one day
They would see them –

Our names up there
Leaving meaning,

Through legacies shot
On wide lenses
Like celluloid prayers
Burnt to ash

After years spent now
Losing faith
Feeling all of us
Gradually light it –

The match which flamed
Ever brighter
With each passing year
Making sparks.

No hope could quell
Raging fire
From wasted youth
Kindling embers
When passionate kids
Never notice
Adulthood chars
Fragile reels –

These smoldering scenes
Missing footage,

And colorful acts
Fading quickly,

Into sepia thoughts
Recollected
Through Hollywood dreams
We still watch.

Perhaps in death
There are cinemas
Where doors like hearts
Remain open,

Letting management
Draw every curtain
For creative souls
Left behind –

Rewinding this past
Barely savored
But acted so well
While things linger,

Having friends take seats
As an audience
Together again
Being home.

I’m always just
Late to the movie,

Minutes before
Trailers finish,

Viewing previews
Flashing their glimpses
Much how life
Teases joy.

• J. Pigno

Why must I only
See family in dreams?

This sleep
Resumes precious remembrance
Of what beauty now falls
Far behind me
Like these visions alive
After dark –

A Christmas long gone
Caught forever
Where presents stay wrapped
Under branches
And those twinkling lights
Offer solace
Beginning with rest
Late at night

As their whispers trail off
Without semblance
When each speaker’s voice
Becomes muddled
Amidst fading laughs
Growing vaguer
Though morning still creeps
Very close.

“Getting almost old”
They will tell me,

Waking up so soon
Nearly thinking
How tomorrow seems wrong
Knowing yesterday
Was harder to face
Than before.

Just let me rejoin
Every party  
Or feast held since
High above me,

Letting uncles and aunts
Laugh with grandmas
While grandpas toast
Distant stars.

There is happiness
Waiting beyond us
Outside my trance
Beneath eyelids,

Between bedsheets
Housing our heaven
For its briefest stay
Slumber brings.

• J. Pigno

There’s a photo of me
During college
With long hair pulled back
Near the TV
Besides its screen
Glowing footage
Of an interview
Showing his face –

The man whose work
Who’d inspire
And lead my fate
Towards creating
As this soul would pine
For attention
Tarantino himself
Did receive.

My cousin took pics
While I watched him,

Devotedly fixed
On each sentence

That director had spilled
When describing
Another dream
Far from my reach.

Perhaps I might
Finish one movie,

Or complete each scene
Growing dormant,

Inside my mind
Raging poems

Still better said now
Than those scripts.

Time passed too fast
For escaping
These talentless words
Begging readers,

Quicker than age
Could determine
And neuter them soon
Feeling numb.

Some losers
Just never get famous,

Seeing each film
Seeking stardom

But instead
Just languish from waiting
Being lazy
Until they can’t write.

• J. Pigno