A Much Needed Change of Scenery











I've changed careers and decided to stop writing poetry. My psychotherapist said I was addicted to poetry and had to stop immediately. Actually, a high school friend invited me to join him in his used car business. It's something I have always wanted to do. Used car sales is a meaningful business--one that helps others mobilize their dreams. It's too late to turn back since I've invested in a whole closet full of plaid blazers.

In light of this career shift, I will be discontinuing Conscious Living Poetry Journal. Four years of this poetic nonsense is enough. Don't you think?

Had ya going, didn't I? Actually, I've simply shifted my poetry to a new blog hosted by Wordpress. It's called the Poetic Alchemist, and you can find it here: http://poeticalchemist.wordpress.com. Please change your bookmark for me to the new site. Thank you.

See you over at the Poetic Alchemist!

Best wishes,

Don

Overtaken

By Don Iannone

Can you fathom

the beauty of spring

and where it carries you,

when you allow it

to overtake you

like a herd of wild butterflies

that gently pummel you into submission,

coaxing the newborn inside you

and forever tickling your imagination

until tears of joy stream down your cheeks

and you allow yourself

to plop down in a bed of cool clover

and watch wistful clouds coast

across the cornflower blue sky?

I can fathom it

and hope you allow yourself

to do just the same.

Spring Morning
By Don Iannone

streaming through the trees

mellow yellow morning sun

in the cool shadows

plump red robin struts his stuff

ever playful cat watches on

Virginia Tech, April 16, 2007

By Don Iannone

o


o


o


o


o

how and why, they ask
no answers remove the pain
one disturbed young man
guns blaze, blood spills, souls depart
thirty-two innocent lives gone

*

*

First Tulips

By Don Iannone

first tulips open

we close all around to see

a new world appears

spring is no small miracle

our hearts fill and the tears flow

yellow goldfinches
feverishly feed on thistle
sprightly sweet voices
rise like the ocean tide
clouds hitchhike across the sky

Note: Don's first taiga

Self-Indulgent Despair
By Don Iannone

Don't be too quick to assume
That this poem is about me.
After all, it might be about you,
Or the neighbor next door,
Or the guy you work with,
Or even your mother.

There is a tendency we show
Towards self-indulgent despair.

You know what I mean,
If you have ever revelled
In writhing over your own pain.

For some reason we think
Something greater will come
From the pain we inflict upon ourselves.
That's not what self-sacrifice is all about.

Compassion, empathy, and
Giving to others is something entirely different.
Self-sacrifice is hanging yourself on a cross,
Thinking your pain will free another.
Instead, your self-inflicted pain will cause others
To hang themselves, for no reason.

We believe there is some price
We must pay for happiness or peace.
We seem obsessed with the notion
That we must suffer
To get what we need in life.
That good things happen only
To those walking the path of suffering.

Suffer we do,
Every time we turn the whip of fear
Upon ourselves, thrashing last drops
Of decency out of our beings.

Suffer we do,
When we turn the club of doubt
Upon ourselves, bludgeoning hope,
The best friend we'll ever have,
Until we shovel ourselves
Into some weepy dark grave.

But why shed tears then?
We've already lived our hell.

It's fashionable these days
To be narcissistic, like everyone else.
To be self-absorbed, like some fish
Drinking up the water it lives in.

Catch yourself before it's too late.
Look in the mirror and see for once
Your own desperation,
And then, let it go,
Like you'd release the rope
Around your own neck--
For that is what it is.

Return to yourself.
This time the real you,
Absent the self-indulgent despair
That robs you of the joy
Of being fully human.

April Haiku 3
By Don Iannone

wistful marbled clouds
Kurt Vonnegut will be missed
a legend is gone

early morning sun
too soon for shadows in life
a crow in my dream

sweet scent of lilac
intoxicated crow laughs
too good to be true

April Haiku 2
Don Iannone

April winds howling
...white birches dance side to side
......rain showers coming

plump robins gather
...trees still naked from winter
......sunlight leaks through clouds

red-tailed hawk circles
...smaller birds scatter away
......blue jays standing watch

April Haiku 1
By Don Iannone

morning sun through trees
...young buds bursting wide open
......life sprouting anew

sun and shadows mix
...light frost on silver grass blades
......doves sing spring praises

wild turkeys gather
...fanned blue and green tail feathers
......life's magic unfolds

Rejoice
By Don Iannone

Rejoice in knowing
your happiness
does not depend upon

you knowing anything.

Rejoice in discovering
the discoverer
who needn't search any further
to find himself.

Rejoice in accepting
that the moment
is all you have
and all you will ever need.

Rejoice for the sake of rejoicing
for in so doing

you find happiness.

Celebrating the Rain that Washes Away the Snow

By Don Iannone

The rain came

and washed away fifteen inches

of unwelcomed April snow.

The earth rejoiced

when the rain fell

and washed away the snow

that covered its greening surface.

The birds sang out

at the sight of the rich dark earth

where the fallen daffodils

once stood tall and smiled in sunshine.

The cats in our front window

frisked and played in the fresh air

drifting through the bedroom window.

I jumped up and down

as the rain fell and washed away the snow.

Who knows...maybe I will run buck naked

out into the front yard

if the sun shines tomorrow

and the temperature hovers in the mid-70s.

Be the Candle

By Don Iannone

All of us at times

need encouragement

to stay the path.

Not one of us is above

needing help from others.

We should encourage each other

to have faith in ourselves.

We should encourage each other

to be the unique truth that we are.

Let us remind ourselves and each other

that there is no turning back

once we have discovered the way--

our way of being in the truth.

And whenever we experience doubt,

let us help each other

seek our god of self-understanding

that forever lies at the core of our being.

Let us trust the power that lies within--

the power that knows us

better than all else.

Be the candle

that lights the way

for your spirit and others.

Warriors of the Light

By Don Iannone

Each of us

in our own way

gives light

to the world.

Each of us

in our own way

fights

for what we believe

is right.

Some carry torches.

Some raise the flag.

Some sit quietly and pray.

Even some write poetry

because it enlightens them

and hopefully others.

We are

crusaders for truth,

for justice,

for freedom,

and for so much more

We are

in our own unique ways

warriors of the light

that shines within

and through us.

Let your light shine.

May it iluminate your path

and others

that all may find their way.

Venus on Some April Eve

By Don Iannone

Brilliant beacon Venus glows
like some ancient golden coin
in the dark northwest sky.

Wedded as she is to the sun,
she never strays from his side
for more than a moment.

And always with ever adoring eyes
she gazes down
upon her impatient earthly sister,
who like some blue-green cat's eye,
stares back at her golden luster.

Always brighter than the brightest star,
she casts her light for all to see
like a transiting soul off to Heaven.

A wandering star to many she seems,
those knowing her best will forever attest
her eternal celestial family ties.

Helpless I am
to stray from her midst--
for in her shadow
my heart hangs deep.
And to her always I shall look
for sacred beauty and love.

April Snow

By Don Iannone

We file federal income tax returns next week

and it's still snowing and cold in Cleveland.

Six inches of wet whiteness

dropped on the area

over the past couple days.

Temperatures dive-bombed

from the high 70s to the mid 20s

in the past week.

The daffodils have succumbed

to the suffocating slush of winter.

Baseball games across the midwest

have been called off

because pitchers are throwing snowballs

instead of fast balls.

Mother Nature knows her business

much better than I do, but

how ever will the Easter Bunny

hide those colorful eggs under budding tulips

that are nowhere to be seen?

Always in the Moment We Are

By Don Iannone

The world is changing

in ways we can't begin to imagine.

This time is different

than the last time, or even the times before.

This time it's not about anything new.

This time it has nothing to do

with going any place we've never been.

This time we will return

to the place we were born--

the first time, and all times after that.

We will return

to the place that came before

all other places we've known.

We will return

to the real ground zero.

This time we will discover

our unfolding in the moment.

This time we will sit and observe

how we gather ourselves

in the stillpoint of now.

The world is constantly changing

in ways we can't begin to imagine.

This time we will go back

and when we return

everything will be different.

This time nothing will separate us

from the moment and our infinite becoming.

Man and Nature

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A sad man on a summer day
Did look upon the earth, and say--
"Purple cloud the hill-top binding;
Folded hills, the valleys wind in;
Valleys, with fresh streams among you;
Streams, with bosky trees along you;
Trees, with many birds and blossoms;
Birds, with music-trembling bosoms;
Blossoms, dropping dews that wreathe you,
To your fellow flowers beneath you;
Flowers, that constellate on earth;
Earth, that shakest to the mirth
Of the merry Titan ocean,
All his shining hair in motion!
Why am I thus the only one
Who can be dark beneath the sun?"

But when the summer day was past,
He looked to heaven, and smiled at last,
Self-answered so--
"Because, O cloud,
Pressing with thy crumpled shroud
Heavily on mountain top;
Hills that almost seem to drop,
Stricken with a misty death,
To the valleys underneath;
Valleys, sighing with the torrent;
Waters, streaked with branches horrent;
Branchless trees, that shake your head
Wildly o'er your blossoms spread
Where the common flowers are found;
Flowers, with foreheads to the ground;
Ground, that shriekest while the sea
With his iron smiteth thee--
I am, besides, the only one
Who can be bright without the sun."

Pretending

By Don Iannone

We pretend at times

that things are better

than they really are

because we want our life to be

better than it really is.

We pretend at times

that things are worse

than they really are

because we can't stop clinging

to our deepest fears.

When we pretend

we fill in the empty spaces

in our lives

because we cannot accept

our not knowing

how things really are.

We pretend because pretense is a place

where we hide from the truth

that eventually reveals itself

and changes us forever.

Red Lake Indian Brothers

By Don Iannone

This is April, and
they had been missing since late November.
Everyone had given up hope,
except their mother, who wasn't ready
to stop loving them, just yet.

Two Indian boys--brothers, who
like all other two and four-year olds,
had an insatiable sense of curiosity.
This time it carried them to First Thunders Lake--
wearing a tantalizing satin sheet
that glittered in the early morning sun.
This time it carried them
even beyond their mother's love.

True enough...
the boys' ancestors explored the deep places--
the ones beyond the forest and to the lake.
The lake dressed in white satin
that sparkled like a million stars
on a pitch black winter night.

Maybe the boys heard the same call
that rang in their ancestors' ears for so long.
Maybe the two brothers saw a beaver
making its way to the inviting beaver dam.
Or maybe they followed a white-tailed deer
to the magical water's edge, and decided to go beyond.

The two Red Lake brothers, in the dead of winter,
came face to face with the Great Spirit
at the bottom of the remote lake,
where the wild rice would grow again in the springtime
and the brown trout would invite men and boys
to stand side by side casting
their lots in life into the clear blue water.

I want to believe that
the boys' ancestors met them--just before,
and walked them into the light.
I want to believe the tears will quietly end in Red Lake,

where just two years before
ten people died and seven others were injured
in a shooting rampage at Red Lake High School.

I want to believe no more tears will fill the lake
where the wild rice will grow again in the springtime,
and the brown trout will invite men and boys
to stand side by side casting
their lots in life into the clear blue water.

What We Touch Touches Us

By Don Iannone

Sometimes you touch things,

and they touch you back...in very special ways

that you never expected.

Sometimes you have to lose yourself in things

to find parts of yourself

that you never knew existed.

Sometimes the things you touch

are more powerful than you ever knew.

You might not have touched these things

if you knew their power beforehand.

We should never forget that we live

in a completely conscious and alive universe

that needs us as much as we need it.

So we shouldn't be surprised

by the power of all things we touch.

Monday Morning

By Don Iannone

Monday morning darkness fades

as shimmering sunlight fills the front window.

Cheerful bird voices punctuate the sunrise

taking its time deciding what color dress to wear.

The three cats do their morning yoga

while I wait with puffed eyes and unruly hair

for fragant last drops of coffee to fill the awaiting pot.

Thoughts of writing a poem drift hopelessly through my consciousness--

knowing even a feeble poem requires a half cup of morning brew.

The day has started and so have I.

From Spring Raindrops

By Don Iannone

Warm spring rain beats down upon us
with uncontrolled passion
throughout the industrious night.

Between raindrops

we heard the perky daffodils growing
along the near edge of the backyard.

Over night the gnarly crabapple
at the front corner of the house
burst wide open

with delicate green buds.

So much work accomplished
in the span of one short early spring night.
So much magic wrought upon the earth
by the rhythmic life-giving rain.

Soon our bald winter view

of the old cemetery nestled behind us will disappear
as the forest grows thick green
sealing us off until late fall.

And once again

life will overtake death

in the never-ending race to eternity.