Irresistable

       This being the last day of April, which is International Poetry Month, it feels appropriate to post a poem that I’ve been afraid to publish.
       This poem happened fast. So fast, in fact, that I didn’t have time not to write it.
       The inspirational flash, as exciting as it was, immediately brought me somewhere I didn’t want to go. But that’s part of the beauty and the beast of the creative process; we don’t always know where we are going to end up. We may recognize parts of the journey; or it may be a foray into completely unknown, even hostile, territory.
       This poem started from the end and worked its way to the beginning. The last line came to me first. The word unnerved me. Male ego immediately got in the way and told me that, under no circumstances, could I admit this reality to anybody. Including myself. I couldn’t even admit this to any.....thing. Including the universe. Just writing it down violated some sacred code of macho control. Forget letting another human being know it. And the world at large? Out of my fucking mind.
       The deeper the place that we create from, the greater the potential for some sort of internal upheaval. And thus, the greater potential for healing. Getting to what’s going on inside of us can be a major challenge in itself. Owning it is another step; sometimes a giant step. Awareness is always first, without which no other steps are possible. But just being aware of something is not enough. Because just being aware of something does not necessarily lead us to creation or to healing.
       Once you are aware of it, you have to own it. That means you can’t just stand there, looking at this awareness, this discovery. You have to wrap your arms around it, embrace it, get to know it. That’s owning it. That can take time. That can be a process. Or it can happen instantly.  
       When I owned this word that came from deep within me, this word that scared me to death, I opened myself up to the possibility of creating something from it. I created the possibility of healing from it. Only when I wrapped my arms around it was I able to create. Like getting pregnant, you can’t do it from across the room. You have to get up real close, wrap yourself around each other, and make love. The creation of life. The creation of art. Creation, period.

I ache for a word

One
Single
Word

To describe my whole experience of you

So I go to a pace
That I am afraid to go

And the word I hear

Scares me
Excites me

Empties me
Inspires me

Haunts me
Smiles at me

Overwhelms me
Elates me

The word I hear

Makes me shake
Until I dance

Makes me cry
Until I laugh

Makes me hide
Until I’m found

I can not wrap myself around this word
Anymore
Than I can wrap myself around
You

Ultimately
You are
To me

Irresistible

Irresistible

Irresistible

        - Clint Piatelli, 2012

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Boo

       Boo.
       That was my pet name for her. I can’t tell you why I called her that. Not  without revealing her real name. But I can tell you, it wasn’t because she was scary looking. Au contraire. Stunningly Beautiful. Incredibly Sexy. And I told her so. All the time.
       I loved every square inch of her. Head to toe. Literally. When I kissed her, anywhere, it was like wrapping my mouth around a sweet, delicious, soft piece of juicy girl fruit. Succulent and yummy. I just wanted to eat her up.  
       Beautiful inside and out, I saw her, felt her, and experienced her, as a complete being. I wasn’t just in love with a face. I wasn’t just in love with a body. I was in love with a person.  
       The word “partnership”, a word I had never thought much about before, took on true meaning when I thought of being with her long term. “Sharing” took on new depth, too. For the first time in my life, I wanted to share it all. Everything I had. Everything I was. With her. A big step for this bachelor of almost fifty years.
       She inspired the artist/lover in me like no woman ever had. I used to create little works of art about her, for her; short movies, songs, love letters, photos, pictures with words, computer comic book pages, that sort of thing. Some of it I shared not only with her, but with the world. I wanted the planet to know how I felt about her. Why? Well I found it incredibly romantic, first of all. Like a musician who writes a song about the love of his life and releases it for all to hear. Like a painter who paints a portrait of his beloved and hangs it in an art gallery for the world to see. What I did was my way of doing something like that. Eventually, I would have done something exactly like that.
       And, there is something stirring and timelessly adoring about expressing such love for someone to the entire world. Maybe it makes it more real. There is power and energy in such grand expression. It’s decisive and clear. I’ve done it here many times, on this very blog, with other people I love dearly; my twin brother, my niece, close friends of mine. Sharing deep and intense love on such a big scale is a declaration. There’s no turning back. It's a leap of faith, a courageous jump off of the Love Cliff. Kind of like marriage.
       I was proud to be so in love with her. I was proud of her. Those little art projects to her were like mini monuments. And those mini monuments were precursors of bigger monuments to come. I wasn’t sure exactly what those monuments would be, or how I would create them, but I knew I would. Maybe I would have built a house for us and named it after her, complete with a sign on the entrance gate, or over the front door. Maybe I would have bought us a boat, put a custom paint job to it, and named it after her. Better yet, maybe I would have created something that nobody had ever done before. Knowing me, the chance of that happening was pretty good.
       Compliments flew out of my mouth like doves at a peace festival. It felt good to tell her how much I loved the way she looked, or smelled, or felt, or tasted, or just was. And they were all sincere. It's not in me to compliment somebody falsely. Especially her. To notice her, to love what I noticed, and let her know that, was important to me. I wanted her to know what I knew. I wanted her to know I was paying attention. With words and with actions. Why keep that a secret?    
         At moments, it hurts to write about all this. But writing through pain is part of writing. Akin, methinks, to a professional linebacker playing through pain. It’s part of the package. And the best learn to not only do it, but do it well. So I’m becoming a better Emotional Linebacker. I’m becoming a better writer, when I write, and write well, through pain. I’ll take that.
       When I was with Boo, I really didn’t believe it was possible to over express the love I felt for her. There was so much in my heart that I sometimes didn’t know what to do with it. Like the uncontainable excitement of a kid on Christmas morning.
       Many times, when I looked at her, an energy from deep inside me would fire up, like the burning glow from a powerful furnace. It would radiate outward, and completely fill my body. I felt it everywhere. I would clench my fists, and my arms would start shaking, literally. The energy had to be released. I would bite my fist, in that stereotypical Italian manner, and make some sort of low guttural sound; in between a growl and a rebel yell. That action was a way of transferring the energy into something physical. But it wasn’t enough. It was merely a warm up. Suddenly, I would passionately grab her, bite her gently yet firmly somewhere on her hot little body, and then give her a big hug and a kiss. Sometimes I got carried away and bit just a little too hard. As I said, the fire burned hot.  
       The whole sequence, from looking at her to the bite, hug, and kiss, would last no more than several seconds. It was like an explosion. An explosion of passionate affection. An explosion of absolute adoration. An explosion of uncontrollable desire. An explosion of crazy love. “Exposion de l’amour fou”.  
       Over the top? Too much?.....Is there a “top” to that sort of thing? I never saw one. Never felt one. Never even thought that way. I just knew how I felt. And I wanted to share that with her. I wanted to express that to her. Powerfully. Creatively. Lovingly. Passionately. Deeply. And often.
       If that’s wrong, what the fuck does right look like?


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Power Tool Poetry

       Writing poetry is sometimes like calligraphy; a sensitive and expressive instrument gently flowing over a piece of soft, textured paper. And sometimes, writing poetry is like wielding a power tool; aggressively using a big, heavy, loud, mayhem machine to get the job done, no matter what. My best poetry writing is often a bit of both.
       When I write my best poetry, I’m passionately and emotively using a custom made, highly sensitive, deceptively delicate chainsaw to powerfully carve my feelings into a slab of concrete. Preserving, for all time, how I felt in that moment.
       Over the past six months or so, I’ve written some beautiful poetry. A lot of it about a woman I was madly in love with. I’ve been reluctant to post those poems, because I wanted to give them to her, in some grand fashion, when the time was right, if we ever reconciled. Well, that’s not going to happen. So now there’s no reason not to share them. There's no reason not to expose the concrete slab of emotion that I created.....

Risk your desire
My beloved
And throw yourself into this fire

If we go together
We can not get burned
For the flames will not consume us
But fuel the engine of our appetite

Our tender flesh will not be scorched
But glow
Our hearts ignite
When we touch
Our souls tremble

Do not be afraid
I am in this fire with you
And I will never let you go
No matter what

If you ever cry out in pain
I will absorb your agony
And let you breathe again

If you should shudder in fear
I will embrace you
And steady your discontent

If you recoil from the heat
I will not hide
But open myself to you even more
I will spread my arms
Bathe in the warmth
And hold a space
So that you may move towards me again

And when you laugh from the boundless joy of our union
I will laugh with you
And amplify our sound so loudly
That we become deaf to everything
Except the music of you and I

Together in this fire
My beloved
We Crackle and Dance and Burn Brightly
To a colorful symphony of our own creation

                                          - Clint Piatelli

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

Just Because

There’s something about her
I don’t know what it was
I’ve gone into my head
I’ve mined my heart
And the answer to why I loved her so very madly is
“Just Because.......”

                        -Clint Piatelli 

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, & Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

Inside Song

       April is National Poetry Month. How about that? To honor that, I’ll be posting some unpublished poems that I've written over the last year.
       Virtually every poem I’ve ever penned is either about a woman I love, or about powerful feelings and forces happening inside of me that desperately need to be expressed. Poetry is ultimately a catharsis. Because to be moved to write a poem, something big has to be happening inside. The feelings literally create great internal pressure, and the release of that pressure must be swift and explosive. If writing short pieces, like this one for example, is analogous to a sprinkler watering my lawn, poetry is a fire hose aimed at my house that’s ablaze.

INSIDE SONG


Make your heart
A room for me
Where I can come and sing
A love song to you
My precious one
That will forever ring

Within your heart
My song for you
Resonates throughout your soul
A stirring melody
Of Passion and of Fire
And of adventures to unfold

You’ll hear it now
You’ll it it then
No matter where you are
My love for you
You’ll always feel
Whether I’m near or far

And when you know that song so well
You hear it in your sleep
I will enter you
and sing another one
Loving
Moving
and Deep

And over the years
Within your heart you’ll have
A thousand songs or more
Of my love for you
My precious one
My music to you

.........Forevermore

                
                Clint Piatelli

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.