A CHRISTMAS LETTER TO FLORINE

We had our moment,
an incredible moment,
and our hours,
magical hours
where our eyes
mirrored our hearts,
but not nearly enough days
to make months or years
last forever.

I keep looking,
each day, every day,
but it is too late
to find your face
anywhere but in my dreams
or under the moons bright circle.

The world without you
is not magic to me anymore
and is beyond understanding,
but my secret center
still overflows
with the joy and wonderment
of your poetry.

While some souls
have no music in them,
others are steeped in harmony.
You are one of the others,
as am I; our voices echoed together
everywhere and nowhere,
now and forever.

Although your absence
will always sadden my sunsets,
how can I not be eternally grateful
for having loved and been loved,
from dawn to dusk,
in the hightide of this lifetime,
and beyond.

My life, because of you,
is not just an amassment of yesterdays
and dreams undreamed,
it is filled with hope for my tomorrows.

Even so, oh, what I wouldn’t give
for the joy of being with you...
one minute more.

Thank you baby.

Merry Christmas,

JOHN

© JOHN PISCATELLA

GIVERS AND TAKERS

I have lived my life
by the philosophy
that the world is divided
between those who are givers
and those who are takers.

This simplistic doctrine
has brought balance to my life
as it enables me to assess character
based on substance, not delusion.
Unlike a mirage,
everything in my universe
appears exactly as it is,
and that which lacks genuineness,
may linger awhile,
but is destined to vanish
into yesterday.

I know who I am,
where I want to be,
and who I want to be with.
I choreograph my world
with people who are not
only generous in spirit
with purified intentions,
but have a refined perception
of the power of friendship.

Mine are not fair-weather friends.
They journey with me
through all persuasions,
and unlike the martial artist
whose sequence of events
always begins with a defensive action,
they are in complete harmony
with themselves and remain open
to the uniqeness of the world
around them.

Florine was a giver,
as was my mother.
Those who have walked with me
to the mountain
have given me the gift of
strength to persevere.

Sweetness, not sadness,
saturates my soul
and has opened a
a door to life
that leads me,
and my true friends,
to the garden.

In my garden,
planted with and for my baby,
goodness is abundant,
and regardless of the season,
ripe fruit is easily
plucked from the trees.

© JOHN PISCATELLA


.

I WRITE BECAUSE I WRITE

I write because I write.
Because I have a thirst
to fill the void left in my heart
that was never there before
the day my lady died.

I have an impelling need for her love.
But, since love is stronger than death,
the love I have inside me
needs a place to go,
and has found a home with her
in her perennial diary,
written by me as she sleeps.

With each word that I write,
I can still taste her love
on my lips and in my mouth,
and like a fine, aged wine,
her bouquet lingers
long after the swallow
and becomes a mystery
reserved to itself.

Memories can easily trickle away with time,
but the fiery reflection from Florine's eyes
that mirrored the light from her heart,
has permanently etched
her spirit in all those
who were fortunate enough to
have known her.

She walked so fast she seemed immune to gravity.
She negotiated our world with fluidity
and was complete unto herself in every way.
She rode the moment like she rode
her thoroughbred in the rain,
but I am the one drenched to the bone
with memories of love and laughter
that never wavered
for the greater part of my lifetime.

I will never tire of coming and going into her life.
Telling her story fulfills my journey
and has become the sole purpose of my life.
When I write, I don't have to imagine
the world without her.
I can visit her whenever I please
to escape the perils of actuality,
and to savor her enlightened
sense of the world.

If she wasn't real
I would have made her up.
So I close my eyes,
drift away,
and talk to her.

I write because I write.

Because I am compelled to.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

MY LADY OF THE MOUNTAIN

The early morning was golden
in the ancient citadel
of Machu Picchu,
the lost city of the Incas,
as once were her smoldering embers
that danced into dust
and now lay in stoney quiet
in a pocket-sized vessel
adjoined to my heart
like tendrils to a garden wall.

Our wondrous journey together
started twelve years shy of
half a century ago,
and our unconscious ritual of passage
remains alive on love
more fragrant than wine,
and silent promises
inscribed forever in our destinies.

The morning mist
rising from the Urubamba River
a distant 8,000 feet below,
floated like the mythical condor of Peru,
from the Andean peaks of mother earth
to the upper world,
pausing briefly to escort us
up Wyna Picchu,
the young mountain
that overlooked the remnants
and the mystery
of the Inca Empire.

Whatever anxiety I had
about traversing the arduous,
straight-up stairs
carved into the mountainside,
was quickly replaced
with a surge of elation,
and I was entranced
by the provocative power
of the unknown.

In many places, to slip is to die,
but if I reject
change and challenge out of fear,
and if I am not resolute
in my battle against insignificance,
life would pass me by
like a breeze out of yesterday.

For me, but especially my Babe,
who lived and loved life
with profound exhilaration,
the alternative is unacceptable.
With no music left to dance too,
one can easily slip into invisibility,
a fate tantamount to suffocation
by permanent absence.

I climbed on my mission,
until I couldn't climb any higher,
and we were one with the clouds.
It was time to weep without witness.
Instead, I inhaled her essence
along with the purity of her soul
in the rarefied air,
and smiled at her
from the far side of paradise.

A wild orchid is
attached to the wall
on the highest peak of the mountain.
Nearby, a shrub blooms
with multi-coned shaped flowers
that are reddish pink at the base
and white at the top.
Both look down on a miniature version of Machu Picchu
and the sacred valley below.

Florine's ashes,
so deeply treasured and significant
because they are rich with the fragrance
of a quality life lived
with savage passion,
lie at the base of each plant
and render a quiet beauty
to the flowers and the mountain
that never existed before.

The earth took her spirit back
with infinite tenderness.
Her silent shadow,
pressed against the morning flowers,
melted into the immovable sky.

My love flew free
in the Andes Mountains
of South America,
and now lives through eternity
with my lady of the mountain.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE PATIENCE OF HER POETRY

The more I travel,
the more intriguing
a person I become,
not necessarily to those around me,
but to myself.

Although I can hardly recognize
my reflection in the mirror,
I look beyond age and gravity
to see what she saw in me,
and I like what I see
because I am a reflection of her.

As a skilled baker
with artistry and patience,
she would take organic ingredients,
often coarse in texture and hard to digest,
knead them gently without friction,
and create a symphony of flavors
to mellow over time,
and when called for,
to rise to the occasion.
The ingredients became liberally diverse,
the recipes creatively unique,
and the final product, like good art,
reflected complexity and simplicity
at the same time.

Florine, like the artist
and the traveler, had a need
to be in motion, and I had a need
to be at her side,
connected to the world
and to the circle of life
through the purity of her eyes.

With a sweetness
steeped in authenticity and natural vivacity,
her heart was open to all in need of warmth
to blanket any void lingering
between daylight and darkness.

If I am interesting to others
as well as to myself,
it is because she cultivated
the flowers within me,
and my garden,
now in full bloom
is available for all to see...

through the patience
of her poetry.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

SPINNING TO NOWHERE

Like ricotta cheese
in a manicotti shell,
I am stuffed like cannelloni
into pricey bicycle shorts
to sit on a stationary bike
accompanied
by like minded disciples
half my age,
for an hour ride
to absolutely nowhere.

Spinning,
in a choreographed IPOD moment,
to a downloaded musical beat
that was born and weaned in Africa,
my Tony Bennett feet
never leave my bike pedals,
but my mind wanders the world,
and I never travel alone.

We explored Portugal, Spain,
and the islands of the Carribean
before we drove our old Mercedes
from Connecticut to California,
breaking down, only once,
in Abilene Texas, a dry town,
where we were obsessed
with the absence of ice cold beer
for three days.

We rented a little redwood cottage in La Jolla,
a block from the ocean,
and lived with our cat, Picasso,
for two incredible years
until a patina of mildew
hovered over us
and the tomato plants,
driving us inland
to chase the sun.

Although we considered ourselves married
from the first moment we met,
we not only took the next step in 1975,
we bought a house with a view
from Mexico to Pacific Beach.
Then we adopted our dog Chagall,
surrounded ourselves
with flowers, gardens, and cats,
and lived out our dream in full color.

But today is not a dream,
and my instructor just reminded me
that I should spin faster,
from my core,
with complete 360 degree motion.

I am now in the zone,
at least I appear so,
but I slip away again,
to savor memories from,
Africa, smiles from Asia,
and celebrations of laughter
from Europe, all shared
with my best friend.

The end is in sight,
the hour nearly over,
and I return to reality;
to what is,
rather than what was.

My bike hasn't moved,
but I spanned almost forty years
in the course of an hour,
and will travel with her
again and again,
from class to class...
Spinning,
with extreme enthusiasm...

to absolutely nowhere.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

DREAM DANCE

Nothing can explain
what takes place
when I dance.
Perhaps I dance
because I dream
that I dance
into the cells of your body.

Untethered to time,
I breathe for two,
connected as one
to the high tide
of a solitary orbit.
We are united
not only by silent fingertips,
but by a seductive rhapsody,
long forgotten
but now remembered.
A consummate joy is born
and immersed
in the measureless freedom
of purified,
unadulterated movement.

The air is rich
with the fragrance of rhythm
and the tempo of youth,
jostled by memories
from another time and place.

Music unlocks my soul.
Dance unlocks my passion.
Both are poured out
like fine wine,
in a syncopated pattern
of effortless undulations
that evolve in the fullness of time,
from the mesh of my being,
beyond my body's edge,
to the core of your shadow.

I always listen for your music,
but in its absence, I dream,

and when I dream,
we are one again.

When I dream...
we dance.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE GIFT

She is,
and always has been,
a poem waiting to be written.

I am,
but never was,
a messenger of words,
honored to be
keeper of her dreams.

Navigating between two worlds,
I search for answers
to questions
that have yet to be born.

Pen to paper,
I feel her presence,
her face frozen in time
like her picture
on my nightstand
that I greet with a kiss
at daybreak,
and echo at day's end.

Once again,
Florine has given me a great gift.
She has expanded my boundaries.
In searching for her voice,
I have not only discovered my own,
I have found a purpose
to move forward.

My universe is no longer monochromatic.
It is richly scented
with the colors of her life,
a kaleidoscope of hues and tints,
both beautiful and sad
at the same time.

Her life is my palette,
from which I paint
words on a page,
vivid as her essence,
free as her spirit,
effortless as her love.

She is not only a poem,
a magnified prism
of multicolored images,
she is the gift
we all search for,
but few are fortunate to find.

She is the treasure
at the beginning
and at the end
of my rainbow.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

ON A SATURDAY NIGHT

Like a hummingbird,
floating through the air,
so does the music
born in Havana.

Weaned on the rhythm of bongos
and the sound of
icy mojitos quivering
in tall thin glasses,
the night club was alive,
as interconnected silhouettes
danced in the shadows
like poetry of motion,
in search of the magic of joy
on a Saturday night.

Life shapes itself,
turning on a dime,
and joy was quickly
swallowed by grief,
for those who witnessed
the fragility of life,
in a tragic scene
taking place in real time,
in a loft,
that hovered above the dance floor.

Paramedics, exuding characteristic calm,
were draped over a prostrate body,
trying, with the utmost of urgency,
to prevent one soul
from slipping into everlasting invisibility.

Soon they all disappeared in the darkness,
through the cracks of time,
awakening memories of what
can be lost in the blink of an eye.

I was a reluctant voyeur,
but easily mesmerized
by the mystery
of it all,
the drama...
and will always wonder
if the light from a stranger's life
continued to shine on Sunday.

I was intoxicated by the surrealism,
worthy of a Dali painting,
and by the uncanny inability
of the candle of life
to maintain a continual flame,
forever subject to the whims
of an indifferent breeze.

Equally as fascinating
is what little difference
it made to most,
and how profound a consequence
it was for some, but either way,
the dancers continued
to move like a whirlwind;
the music was luminous in the darkness.

The band played on,

and the drums...

never missed a beat.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

SITTING ALONE IN THE MOONLIGHT

Everyone
has to find
his own way to survive
sitting alone in the moonlight.

A soul is either liberated
by the reflections
of an incandescent moon
awash in the shimmering light,
or adrift
between two worlds,
compelled
to surrender in silence to the night
and the demons of disappointment.

I hold my fate
in my own hands,
as do we all,
and can drift
with purified intentions,
to the safety of invisibility
and remain lost in my own thoughts,
or embrace the sweetness
of the world
she left me,
rich with the fragrance
of her passion for life,
to invent new memories
that one day will greet me
as old friends.

What drives me to look forward
is what saves me.
The music I hear in the air,
a haunting melody of
intricate simplicity,
becomes recognizable,
belonging only to her,
to her quiet heart
and gentle spirit.

I look to the future with wonderment,
but I only feel anchored
when the door to the past
remains slightly ajar.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE GARDEN

The garden is my salvation,
my sanctuary.

A graceful river of sun and soil,
sculpted by the waters
of time and silent motion,
where the supple shadows of life
are forgotten in winter,
but remembered in spring.

Dancing with wild abandon
in beams of crystal sunlight
once reflected from her eyes,
they ripple like waves
in an endless sea of music,
rolling onto shore
and singing only to me,
in perfect harmony,
synchronized
with crystaline precision
to the beating
of my own heart.

She is the soul of the garden.
The love of my life.
My Queen...
and I am the faithful gardener,
keeper of her unspoken dreams.

It is hard to grow old alone,
but living in the quiet beauty
of the garden,
her presence wrapped around me
like a blanket,
time stands still,
and we are young again,
drawn together
by the flowers of destiny,
and the clarity of solitude.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

I WALK WITH HER AMONG THE IMAGES

Once you have memories
they never leave,
but often lose lucidity
with the distance
of a dream.

Floating
with the filtered light of time,
they hide
in silent shadows
and appear
with umpredictable randomness,
like sudden bursts of color
moving from an artists
pallette to a patient canvas
to brighten a somber sky
or silence the scent of daylight.
Although barely visible,
I cling to those visions
like a lifeline.

Drifting away from myself,
I walk with her among the images,
as they unfold and refold,
like a fan,
to reveal a myriad of treasures,
pirated from a lifetime
of living.

Today
the ice is thin beneath me.
Tomorrow
the ground will be solid
where I stand.

In between
is the natural rythm of life,
which I will find
when it is ready to be found.

Until then,
I keep.
Until then,
I walk with her among the images.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

MY FLORINE LIVES HERE

There was stillness in the air
over the island of Mainau,
the island of flowers
in Lake Constance,
the Bodensee
to the native German.

In autumn's transparency,
sculpted with the simplicity
of a windless sky,
something new and exciting
was unfolding,
and this paradise of flowers
would never be the same again.

On the margins of illusion,
dancing between the blooms
and the shadows,
came a sudden gust of wind
that wasn't there before.

The richness
of a captivating fragrance
encircled the island,
unveiling to all
what was taking place.

An essence so rare of a flower
of incomprehensible value,
whose marrow enhances the quality
of all living things,
was in the mist,
and here to stay
in this botanical garden of Eden.

Living in an interconnectness
with the core of a pink rose,
a fragrant floribunda
worthy of her company,
her petals,
floating upward to shine
with the brillance
of the night sky,
are destined for eternal beauty.

My Florine lives here.
The name of the rose is Sweetheart.

My Florine lives here.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

LONELY FOR YOUR MUSIC

Standing in front
of Mozarts house
in the Old City of Salsburg,
under the circle
of the moon,
I felt his presence,
but I felt yours more.

I am always lonely
for your music,
but on this night,
in a concert hall
baroque in style,
where Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
performed with his father
over 200 years ago,
a piano and a 300 year old violin
made by Antonio Stradivari,
sang Mozart's melody
with a clear voice,
worthy of your elegance
and gentle spirit
that was one with the night.

The world was silent
the day you died,
but on this night,
the sky was filled with music
of symphonic intensity,
rich with your fragrance,
anchored by your spirit,
conquered by your heart.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE RHEINFALLE

The setting,
the Rhinefalle to the local Swiss,
was surreal,
a fitting subject
for the classic romance novel
that you loved so well.

The rapids of the Rhine river,
wild with reckless abandon,
had the intoxicating embrace of risk.

Moving on their own axis,
they refused containment,
slipping between the rock crevasses
to give birth to cascading waterfalls
that pulsed with the rythm of time
and the purity of history.

In the distance,
high on a hill,
immersed in perfect stillness
under an immovable sky,
stood a towering castle...
worthy of your imagination.

Hovering above the misty foam
that danced like teardrops
from a broken heart,
the retreat was a mystery
reserved to itself.

Under the filtered light
of a seasoned spruce tree,
your dust was cast
to become one
with the living earth,
for time immemorial.

The novel shapes itself,
one chapter ending,
the other beginning.

The heroine
always returning home
to center stage.

My lady is home.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

WE WALK AS ONE

You are always with me...
neither arriving nor departing...
and today,
among tranquil pines
and filtered sunlight,
we walk as one
on a path through the Austrian woods.

Immersed in a soundscape
clarified by solitude
and crystal silence,
we climbed to the clouds,
high enough
to imagine flight.

We were almost lost,
but always free
like the Alpine peaks
of Austria and Switzerland,
now before us
in all their majesty...

or the German foothills below us,
inundated with varigated tints and hues
that burned like a nostalgic warmth
from a mothers soul.

As we walk on this ritual of passage,
the beauty of life does not escape me,
but...

drifting from attention to reflection,
from enchantment to reality...

all seems trivial in comparison
to the loss of your smile,
the fiery reflection of your eyes,
the sound of your laughter,
and the goodness
of a pure heart.

Truth can not be denied.
The reality is:
the world was just more credible
with you in it.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

WHEN I SEE HIM...I SEE YOU

He sleeps in temporary stillness
between the flowers and the fescue
in the muted shade of her peach tree,
no longer remembered
for summer fruit
produced with persistent splendor
or for her cobbler
that defied the imagination,
but for the graceful, sculpted form now revealed
as the spent leaves float to the earth,
one by one,
to another season
and another time.

Or, you may find him
reclined on my desk,
sleeping on papers
that used to be important,
but no longer have meaning
when compared to the significance of his company.
Resting his head gently on her laptop,
his paws draped on the keyboard,
he compells a single letter
to echo across the screen,
in search of absolutely nothing
except the present moment.

Just like my Florine,
even when motionless,
my cat, Woodrow,
is like a ballet dancer
floating over a stage,
owning not only the spotlight,
but the audience and the air.

We named him,
but no man owns him...
as no man owned her...
both complete in nature,
both creators of self esteem,
both bastions of emotional honesty.

He is an enigma...
she is my dream...
and I am priviledged
to visit both at the same time.

Woodrow is my bridge to old memories,
to another life and another time.
When I see him...

I see her...

elegant in solitude,
worthy of consummate love,
intelligent and courageous,
exquisite in heart and spirit.

When I see him...

I see Florine...

I see a masterpiece.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE CHANGING SEASONS

Leaning into the early evening
tasting a 12 year old Single Malt Scotch
for sheer pleasure...
like a hummingbird
carressing the flower
of a honeysuckle vine for nectar,
with single-mindedness
and savage passion,
I play at the edges of unearthing
the mysterious inner artistry
of an elixir that cannot be overlooked.

Like an oak cask,
once a home for sherry and port wine,
now a vessel for maturing spirits,
I expand and contract as the seasons change
from drought to monsoon,
from excess to absence,
from joy to pure darkness.
.
With the subtle, soulful sounds
of a muted jazz trumpet
floating in the background,
melting into the rich bouquet
and flavor of the whiskey,
I drift away
with the haunting melody,
alone to a tranquil space,
but never far
from what remains
in my heart
and imagination.

I remember something wonderful
touching my life.
So vivid the memories of a home
filled not only with love,
but of tranquil hearts acting lovingly...
always beating as one.

The circle is broken now,
vanishing like an orbitless star
in a blanket of clouds,
but never far from reappearing
in my atmosphere
on wind and dreams.

You are the most treasured part of my journey,
and I will continue to search for you
wherever my shadow falls.

I miss your company,
but most of all,
when the music speaks quietly
to my soul,
I miss your love.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

A LESSON FROM MY LOVE

In paralytic, self-absorbed moments
among shadows and crushed dreams,
I feel like I have been abandoned.

What sustains me in this empty space
is knowing that
I am not in pure darkness
or powerless at the crossroads.

I look out of my self as
the light of her star
continues to gleam,
her dust dancing in sunlight,
encircling me
from morning to dusk,
anchoring me with her spirit
and timeless footsteps.

I am neither master of my emotions
nor immobilized in a land of clouds;
I am resilient...
and keep from drifting
by listening to echoes
from a distant place and time.

My affinity for self-preservation
and joy is not only intact,
it is woven into my fabric,
strengthening at the mere thought
of her smile.

I am incapable of abandoning myself.

That...is a lesson from my love,
and all I have learned from her...
is remembered.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

The light that shines from a life,
a life of inexplicable value,
neither dims nor brightens,
it endures...
unembellished...
fixed in the cracks of time
in perpetual slow motion.

I see everything and nothing
at the same time,
awake or asleep,
pulled between shadow and dream...
Never unmoving.

Swimming
between the ocean and the moon...
I am alone,
but never by myself.

I drink her water
and breathe her air.
I taste her smile
with each breath.

I hear her laughter
in the stony silence...

And I am home.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE CHANGING RHYTHM OF LIFE

Only her face could fill the void,
but this is my life now,
the beginning of the beginning,
and I have to will myself
not to focus on how alone I am
but how lucky I am to be able
to smell the colors
of another day.

I am easily immersed in the perpetual
silent reminders of what was, but
like a spider webbing a path to the future,
I am sustained by what is
along with a mysterious instinct
for self-preservation.

Suddenly at daybreak
I am pulled into her orbit
by the sound of the wild parrots she so loved
flying overhead, synchronized but free,
screaming in the silence of the wind,
melting into the morning sun.

If, like me, they journeyed
in a rare northwesterly direction,
they would have penetrated the silence
of the immovable sky above Henderson Bay
in enchanting Gig Harbor.

To my amazement,
for a fleeting moment
at daylight
in a stillness of motion,
a bald eagle caressed the sky
above me
in search of breakfast
for her family
perched in a nest across the bay
high above Raft Island.

Such joy to not only witness the circle of life
but to be absorbed in it,
drifting away from my self
to another place in another time...

but as quickly as the changing tide,
joy can drift into sorrow
and the cries of desperation
I heard during the night
between sleep and dreams
were those of the mother
of the lifeless baby seal
that washed up on shore
to lie at my feet
in the stony quiet.

The rhythm of life keeps changing
and reshaping itself
and I am here
at the pleasure
of the momentary hands of time.

This I learned in the summer of her smile.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

IF YOU NEVER KNEW MY FLORINE

Soon after we met,
I cut to the chase.
I took Florine to meet her.

There was a diabolical method
to my madness.
Meet her,
and be introduced
to me again
for the first time,
and want more.
Know her,
and she would want to know me forever.

It wasn't fair,
but I offer no apology.
This was seduction on a grand scale.
I was smitten, and Florine was predestined.

With a wave of her wooden spoon,
my mother Mary,
Mom to my brother and me,
Mrs P. to my friends,
stirred the sauce as meatballs danced
through green shadows of basilico
to the bubbling echoes of Italy
foaming in a river
red with enchantment,
drenched in history and mystery.

My mother,
a lady of grace and dignity,
was a mother to all
who were in need
of unending tenderness
from a tranquil heart.

Few were exempt
from the quiet strength that encircled her,
like peaceful shade
on a cloudless afternoon.
Florine was no exception,
and neither was I.

She was enthralled
by my mother's many charms,
and my mother was equally captivated
by this amazing woman
whose purity of spirit
did not arrive unnoticed.

We came into our own that day;
we were connected...
and our destiny was changed forever.
We knew each other now,
and would never be complete
with anyone else.

I have a lingering sadness for those
who never had the priviledge
of knowing my mother,
but the best of me is a reflection of her,
and those who know me,
know her.

But for those friends to come,
who never walked and talked
with my Florine, who were never
branded by a smile that shone like fire,
or a laugh that rose from her soul
and pulsed in the wind...

I look forward to knowing you,
but if you never knew my Florine,
you will never truly know me.

You will never know me.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

MEETING

She floated by my desk
like a hummingbird weaving from flower to flower,
reconquering space in slow motion,
then vanishing like a dream at daybreak.

She wore a mini skirt
and owned a smile
that made pupils dilate
and hearts break.
Her laugh splashed of happiness
and bursts of pure joy,
like the morning mist of Victoria Falls
as it disappeared in the filtered light
of an endless African sky.

Like the leopard or the house cat,
she was sculpted in a total state of completion,
requiring neither additions nor deletions...
She was pefection...
in an imperfect world.

She was just twenty-one.

She worked like she walked,
like an effortless gust of wind
blowing over the dunes of Namibia
from morning to dusk,
stopping only once ...
to look in my direction.


Until that infinite moment of tenderness,
I was lost in my own center...
But on that day,
I was driven to look for more.
On that day,
I not only found religion,
I unearthed nirvana...

and I prayed.



© JOHN PISCATELLA

ONE LAST KISS

Alone at last,
just you and me again,
and the spell you cast on my heart
a lifetime ago.

How bizarre
to have you sing your final song
in such a sterile room,
one not deserving of your presence,
your style, your grace...
but you had a way of making everything around you sparkle,
like bursts of blinding light
in the evening sky,
because you were here.

With your hand in mine,
it matters little where we are
or how we got here,
as long as we traveled as one
and caressed each moment
as though it were our last.

You have done that, my Lady, and more,
your spirit melting into the sky,
unfolding like petals of a rose
under tears of morning dew.

I whisper to the world...come back to me Babe,
but your silent heart
answers me no more.
I know now
I will never again see your footprints in the garden,
and the truth is overwhelming...
the truth is unimaginable.

It is time to kiss you goodbye, but I hesitate,
for unlike Siamese twins,
we are not only connected at the hip,
we share the same soul.
I fear that in losing you, I lose me as well.

I must leave you now,
to begin my walk alone, to regain my footing,
but my heart protests and I am immobile,
like a petrified stone in a forest of shadows.

I feel anchored with your kiss,
your lips like velvet,
still warm from the morning sun.

I must leave now, but before I go,
like a thief in the night,
I was born to steal...
one last kiss.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

ETERNAL FRIEND

I am like a lizard
moving through your garden,
uncertain of what lies in wait;
willing and unwilling to sacrifice
significant parts of me,
so what remains endures.

Or I could be a bird
dancing in our fountain,
in constant motion,
fearful of silent footsteps
lurking, but never fading.

You are my true connection,
my link to the world.
Without you, my lifeline is broken.
Without you, I am adrift
in an ocean of illusion
that vanished with our dreams
in a tragic turn of fate.

But you are also my compass,
my guide to daylight in darkness.
You are my eternal friend,
through whose eyes
I see hope and purpose.

I can tell your secret to the wind,
your shadow beside me
in every minute, of every memory, of every adventure,
or I can share your tenderness with those
who, if they knew you,
would miss you forever,
as do I.

So we will travel together, as always,
linked not only by love,
but most importantly, by respect
for ourselves and each other.
Your deep passion of life and beyond
fills me with hope.

The thought of you
takes my breath away.

I am intoxicated by you.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

FEELINGS

Funny thing about feelings.
They are neither debatable
nor negotiable.
They are neither right
or wrong.
They can't be justified,
rationalized, or vindicated.

They just are.

You own them.
They can not be purchased,
leased, or sold.
They are not open for discussion
or external interpretation.
They are a reflection
of your soul.

They are you...

dancing beween the flowers
and the stars,
appearing and vanishing at will,
like sudden bursts of color
reflected in still water.

They are you...

glimpses
of treasured moments of happiness
interrupted
by effortless moments of grief.

Asleep or awake,
they travel through the shadows with me,
connected by dreams
of bright daylight.
They are my history.

They are me...

They are my biography,
written by you
as you sleep.

They are you.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

LUCCA

We planned on a visit to Lucca,
the birthplace of Giacomo Puccini,
to kiss the ground that produced a man
that composed musical magic.

But even a master magician would be powerless
in recreating the sound of your laughter;
pure joy with no boundaries.

I hear your melody everywhere,
in things you touched and didn't touch;
the hummingbirds quietly dining on the nectar
of the kangaroo paws in the garden;
the silk curtains you made that dance to the music
of the wind through the window;
the purring of our cat, Woodrow, curled up in your reading chair...
waiting.

You are everywhere...and I think of you.
I think of us.

You are in my bones...in my DNA.
The best of me is you, and you are with me always.

You are music.

Y0u are my symphony.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE DANCE

I watched a man named Memo
dance to the sensual sounds of Cuba;
soul beats from the streets of New York;
Columbia oozing from his veins
like water from a fountain.

He looked at his woman the way I looked at you,
an electric connection that could not be denied.

They were one in a sea of choreographed waves
that roll to shore but only have impact
on a solitary grain of sand.

They were complete.

They were what once was.

They were us.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE SWING

My weight shifts and the swing moves,
but I am on unfamilar territory.

This is your swing
built by a friend
to hang in a patch of shade
thrown by a latticed sky.

It faces a garden that blooms
only for you.
Awash with jasmine in sunlight,
the orchids and callas thrive
but miss your touch,
as does the red rose I planted for you,
as do I.

Blades of emerald green fesue
shift with the wind,
standing tall with pride
for having been planted by you
long ago.

Your dust is of the earth,
and you will return to the earth
in gardens throughout the world
to continue your journey
through my eyes.
Your passage to immortality
honored by every petal of every flower.
Their beauty touched by your essence.

Through you the earth will heal.

Through you I heal.

Through you I keep.


© JOHN PISCATELLA

Final Posting (Florine)

A friend of my friends, poetic and kind, wrote some words that are an appropriate ending to Florine"s saga as seen through my eyes:

"We're all muddling through life for a reason,
Unclear as it sometimes may be,
And the highs and lows of experience are just
two different sides of the same spinning coin.
In the end all that really matters is the effort you
Make to do the most with your particular place in time.

- Frankie Laine


Goodbye Babe,

My love through eternity..

John


THE END

Florine's Gift

Florine loved me so much that she left me a special gift when she died...
the meaning of true friendship and generosity of spirit.
When the demons came to haunt me, I wasn't alone.


In a way, I have lost my friends along with my Babe.
They are no longer just friends...They are now family, and I love them
with all my heart.


I would like to thank all my friends and neighbors for their help and generousity. However, I did receive a beautiful flower arrangement without a card , so please understand that I would thank you if I could.

Also, love to my friends and family (Florine's is mine too) who disrupted their busy schedules to fly here (if only for a few hours) from all parts of the United States to be at Florine's " Celebration Of Life" service. I am humbled at the response, but not surprised, because she had meaning to all who crossed her path.

I would like to share a letter with you from my new family members, Jackie and Stan Drosch, who, along with my other family members- Carol Parker, Chistina Parodi, Bob & Shelly Bushman, and Elaina & Yudi Hershowitz... never waivered with their love and support. I could not have gone through this nightmare without them.

I would also be remiss if I didn't thank my long time friends Bob Barry & Kathy Byrd for their love, time, and professional support, along with Justin & Karen Cunningham for being there when I needed them.

They all, most definitely, "Walked the Walk'....when it mattered.



Dearest John -

A beautiful day honoring precious Florine. The church service was lovely - the music - perfect and very beautiful, just like your Florine! Christina's words were remarkable! Her expression of love with each and every word was so remarkable - remarkable because we were all thinking of those very same words - but none of us could ever express it in public like she did yesterday!

Your poem on the back of the program was the BEST of all. You are very, very talented and should definitely write poetry! Both of you, so artistic - a real gift, indeed.

Now you face your new chapter of life, without your precious Babe - we know how difficult it will be - but please realize we are all here for you. We ALL will miss our dearest Florine so very, very much - we all agreed yesterday what a huge part is missing in our lives - so we can well imagine how hard it is for you.

The gathering of friends and family in your beautiful home was perfect - everyone asked each other how we met Florine & you and etc. So, it was a lovely healing experience - just part of the healing process - hopefully for all of us - time will help us to heal our great sorrow. We will always remember Florine's smiling face - her wonderful wit - her whimsical laugh - her remarkable skills - her fabulous artistic ability at everything she tackled and most of all for me, her sound advice whenever I asked her to help me! Yes, we all will miss her so - we loved her so much.

Everything at the house yesterday worked out very well. The garden - the food - family and friends - the drinks.......Everything looked perfect - even the beautiful fruit on the trees! That fig tree amazes me - you cut it back to nothing and just a few months later it's almost blooming with fruit! Mr. Greenthumbs, indeed! I'm sure you must have tons of leftovers - but the family should wipe those out in no time! It was a pleasure meeting your brother, Joseph. He is insisting that you come to visit him in Gig Harbor next month. We agreed - it would be so relaxing for you. A healthy get-away to a beautiful place with family - just the medicine you need in a month from now! I am taking care of all the cancellations for Italy. No worries.

Call us when you feel like it. We understand that you need to be alone for a few days to "regroup" after so much emotional termoil. WE ARE HERE FOR YOU - DAY OR NIGHT! Love you dearly. Take care. Speak to you very soon. Lots of Love, Jackie & Stan


Thanks for the gift Babe,

My Love Forever,

John

Ode to Florine (used at memorial service)

She left her scent in the deserts
and deltas of Africa.

The peacefulness of Thailand
embraced her grace and beauty.

Bali was exotic, but she was the flower...
an orchid of endless motion.

Her heart showed me my way
to Portugal and Spain,
where we kissed the rain
and dined on sopa de mariscos.

Or Paris, where her life was tinted
with colors of her heritage...

To London,
where a young adventurous soul ached for change...

Caracas and Cartagena appealed to her wild heart...

Vietnam to her misty soul.

She was my rock star,
one name,
recognized by all who were moved by her.

She was...Florine
And her light can never be extinguished
or forgotten.

I loved her before we ever met.

-John

© JOHN PISCATELLA

Memorial Service Information

Thanks again to all of you for your love and support through this difficult time. Please join us in a celebration of Florine's life. The details are below:

Memorial Service to Celebrate Florine’s Life

Thursday - July 5, 2007
10:00 A.M.
The Church of the Immaculata (619-574-5700)
5998 Alcala Park, USD Campus, San Diego, Ca 92110

Pastor – Rev. Matthew D. Spahr

Directions to USD Campus:

From the North: Use I-5 South, exit Sea World Dr. & Tecolote Rd. and proceed left at stoplight toward Morena Blvd. Turn right on Morena, left on Napa, and left on Linda Vista Rd. Travel to the second stoplight to USD's East entrance, turn left and enter campus.

From the South (or the airport): Use I-5 North, exit Morena Blvd. (signs will say: Morena Blvd. use I-8 East) Stay to the right and follow the signs for Morena Blvd. Take the first right onto Linda Vista Rd. Travel to the third stoplight to USD's East entrance, turn left and enter campus.

From the East: Use I-8 West, exit at Morena Blvd., go right onto Linda Vista Rd. and travel to the third stoplight to USD's East entrance, turn left and enter campus.

Parking – Directions for parking will be given at the kiosk at the entrance to the campus. Parking areas for memorial service parking will be marked.

Although Florine loved flowers, it would be her wish to support Breast Cancer Research.
Donations may be made in Florine's name to Susan G. Komen for the Cure or a charity of your choice.

Susan G. Komen for the Cure
4699 Murphy Canyon Road #207
San Diego, Ca. 92123

Florine's Journey

Florine is gone.

She sleeps, forever surrounded by love.

Goodnight my Queen. Your smile changed my destiny.

As a poet once said,

" No one else will sleep in my dreams. We are complete like a single river,

like a single grain of sand."


John

Florine's Condition

Although Florine is no longer on the breathing tube, she continues, due to her amazing physical condition (primarily her heart and lungs), to grace us with her presence for another day...or until she decides otherwise.

No matter what the short term outcome, we will still celebrate her life on Thursday to bring closure to her beautiful and caring family, while they are here in San Diego.

I would like them to take comfort in witnessing the incredible network of friends that, like me,
have been touched by my Lady.

Details will follow.

Thanks to all,

John

Florine's Condition

As you all are aware from my previous comments, hope is diminished, and my Babe's beautiful journey through life is quickly coming to an end.When it does, a piece of me will go with her...and be lost forever. Her smile is just to big for this earth.

The multiple contusions to all parts of her brain, particularly the brain stem, have created a long term prognosis that is not acceptable to Florine. She indicated her wishes to me 37 years ago, but more importantly, provided direction in a signed health directive that has enabled her to be in complete control of her death, as she has always been in life.

She just celebrated her 59th birthday, but in terms of quality of life- and living it wth sheer gusto, you would have to double it in comparison to others that have kissed this earth. To me, she is magic.

Florine's family will be here tomorrow to bring their love and goodbyes. When the time is right, I will be alone with her to kiss my baby goodnight.

When the breathing tube is removed, Florine will determine how long we have the privilege of her presence, and her strength can not be denied.

Arrangements are being made for family and friends, and all who loved her, to share a celebration of her life. The time will be 10:00 am, Thursday, July 5th, at the Immaculata (University of San Diego). Details, including directions, will follow in upcoming posts.

If Florine could, she would thank all our friends and neighbors for the love and support offered during this perilous storm in the heat of summer.

I am her messenger...and I thank you with all my heart.

John

Florine's Condition

At the moment, I am so tired, and my heart so heavy, that I find it difficult to communicate.

My lady awaits another day, but the days grow short.

I'll tell you all, just not now....but very soon.

Let me close with some special words from our friends, Tom and Cottie Volle :

"Although we did not have the opportunity to be togther frequently, we came to love you both. What a bright, talented, caring, full of life, magnet of a woman you married, John. Such a tragic accident"!

Ditto!

John

P.S. Sleep tight Baby. You're with me in my dreams.

Florine's Condition

The petals are falling off the rose.

John

Florine's Condition

Life can turn on a dime! However, it's what you make of it when you have it that counts, and my lady makes every second count.

She is at a grave juncture in her journey, and I have been with her every step of the way, from Connecticut to Africa, for 37 years, and my choice would be to be with her through eternity.

I would like t0 share a letter from a Japanese lady from Tokyo who, seven years ago, lived with us for six months as an english student (please ignore gramatical errors, but don't ignore her heart). As you can see, Florine touched her too!

"John,

Now,I cheaked email for send a picture to Florine and you...

I was so shocked to hear the news.
I love her very much.I have respect for her and I want to be like her person.

John, Stay strong. I and my family pray for her everyday and everymoment.

I will send a picture with lots of Love,

Mika"



Oh, the power of my Babe! Love for Florine has no borders.

Sleep tight Baby Doll,

See ya in the morning,

John

Today was day seven for Florine, and eventful in a major way; two thirds of people with this type of brain injury fail to see tomorrow. She now has a chance.

There are many complications, pneumonia being one of them, that haunt my Sweetie. I am hoping for additional information tomorrow when they get the results of tonights MRI.

For now, I would like to share with you a letter from my friend and neighbor JJ Knightly. It is so beautiful to me because it expresses the true beauty of Florine and the power of friendship.....

"I cannot begin to tell you how much love there is in this neighborhood for you and Florine.
Neighbors have come out of the woodwork to express so many kind experiences and qualities of Florine.

Many of them (including myself) are so touched by how beautifully and naturally your love for Florine comes across in the Blog. You are a special couple with an incredible bond and chemistry. Your love is beautiful to witness.

The quality most frequently expressed to me about Florine in the neighborhood is what a warm energy Florine has around her. This seems to be universal whether it’s a neighbor that knows her well or one that has only met her briefly.

She is such a special woman. Her grace and warmth has not gone unnoticed in those she touches.

I am updating many of the neighbors with emails. I have also forwarded the neighbors your blog link. The list continues to grow as new neighbors stop by, call or email me to be added.

The older neighbors I have been keeping in touch by stopping by (because most of them are not online). Ruth (who runs the ladies luncheon) has also been assisting with updates.
All of the women at the ladies luncheon universally are thinking of Florine with kind thoughts.

I don’t want to bother you with anything but I did want to let you know that several of the neighbors really want to drop off food.
This seems to be a universal symbol of love for many of them. In fact, many are insistent that I weigh you in regularly (or at least keep a very close eye on your weight and health).
In the email below I tell them to please only drop disposable containers of food off (so that you don’t have to return anything). And that you most likely will be unavailable as you are often out of pocket.
I don’t want you to be burdened in any way. If you don’t want the food you don’t need to eat it. But perhaps it will make for a good meal in a pinch and/or good for left over’s? It may also help them feel like they are helping in some way because so many want to do something/anything to ease your pain.

Anyhow, I just wanted to say that I love you and I love Florine.
You really do have the type of love and relationship that Tom and I strive for. You are both such passionate, warm and individual people. You live your own lives and yet you come together in such a beautiful way to make such a dynamic couple.

I am thinking of you both all the time.
I think all the love and good Karma floating around for both of you can only send positive healing energy towards Florine. Many folks are describing it as prayer. I don’t know what God’s name is (Buddha, Allah, Jesus, Mother Earth, etc..)…but I do believe there is some sort of higher power and universal energy/love in this universe and at this moment in time a whole lot of it is flowing towards Florine."

Thank you JJ for your positive energy , and thanks to all for your generosity and friendship..

Please forgive me if I fail to return a call. For now, my letters are my voice.

Sleep tight Babe. Come back to us when you're ready.

John

Update- Florine's Condition

Another challenging day for my Babe. She sleeps between worlds, oblivious to the orchestrated chaos that surrounds her.

All I could do was tape some pictures of her on the wall so strangers could see her as a person and not a patient, one whose smile could light up a room.

I would like to share with you the words of my friend and neighbor, Tom Knightly, who explains things to me in a way that I can understand. Maybe they will benefit you as well.


"By looking at Florine's MRI's you can see that there are several areas of her brain that sustained injuries from her accident. The seperate areas of damage are not always caused by seperate impacts. One blow can lead to damage in several different areas of the brain. This happens due to movement of the brain within the skull. An analogy for this would be a car moving at high speed that comes to a sudden stop by hitting a wall. The car will come to a stop,
but the objects inside the car will continue to move forward until they strike something and then rebound back, possibly impacting several more times. The brain responds in the same way by striking the inside of the skull at the area of impact and then rebounding back and striking the interior of the skull in other places. In Florine's case,this explains why there are contusions in the brain in areas that show no damage on the exterior.

When you see all of the medical efforts and expertise that are being used to help Florine it is easy to forget that it is actually the human body that does all the healing. If you cut a non-living tissue (like a piece of steak) it will never heal no matter what bandages, sutures, or medications you try to employ. These medical interventions are invaluable in helping her body overcome these obstacles but in the big picture these are addressing the problem from the outside. Healing occurs from the inside, from the cellular level. As the tissues begin to heal the organs can function normally and her body can be restored to health. This is a long slow process and there are no shortcuts. The good news is that Florine's body knows how to heal itself. Our bodies can perform thousands of chemical reactions and convert the food that we eat into living tissue all while we are blissfully ignorant of the processes going on within us. Her body is able to do things that no medical expert can. Every medical miracle that you have ever heard of has been the result of the body's innate intelligence to heal itself.

Florine is a strong woman with a passion for life. She is facing a huge challenge and she has the love and support of her family and friends. She needs time. Time for her to heal."

Can't add to that.

Goodnight,

John

Update-Florine's Condition

Florine had a brain scan today which indicated no change in her condition. She has a bacterial infection that will not be identified until the blood cultures get back. She is presently on some new antibiotics, but the source of the infection hasn't been identified yet.

With brain pressure levels fluctuating, the nurse wanted an environment with no outside stimulation (literally whispering) so Florine's body can focus on healing itself.

She actually asked the head doctor of the Trauma Center to step out of the room because his rather loud voice was causing Florine's heart rate to increase. In return, I gave her freshly picked peaches from my garden. I'm saving the tomatoes as my 'ace in the hole', only to be used in emergency situations.

All for now. My Sweetie Pie is resting now, but will fight the fight again tomorrow.

John

I have been told, on good authority, to expect swings, from good to bad, while Florine's body is working to heal itself. Time will tell, and my baby's journey will be long and challenging.

Her condition has not changed, and today was a struggle for her, but tomorrow could bring orchids to a barren garden.

John

Florine's Condition (6/23/07) Saturday

For those who don't know, on 6/20, Florine had a serious accident while riding her horse. She was rushed to the trauma unit at Sharp Memorial Hospital, and is being treated for severe brain trauma and a fracture at the elbow. Her neck and spine were not damaged, but she had multiple contusions on the brain.

That night, they performed an operation to reduce the extreme pressure and to remove some of the pressure that had been building up in the brain, along with removing the contusions they could address.. The operation was successful and the pressure got back to normal.

However, the next night the pressure levels increased, but have since been stablized.

Her MRI last night indicated that there has not been any signifcant change to her brain since being admitted. She remains in a coma.

I have been told to prepare for a long fight, and not to expect any quick changes and, as yet, have not been offered any rosy scenarios from the doctors.

But they don't know what I know, or that of anyone that has had the privilege to know her and be touched by her beauty, inside and out; she is strong of mind and heart, and will just treat this as challenge, an obstacle to overcome.

I have been overwhelmed by the generousity of friends and family, and deeply appreciate all the love and good Karma that is being sent our way. When the time is right, I will honor all the heartfelt offers, particularly from family that loves her and wants to be with her. I just need more time to focus on Florine, and to handle this in my own way. I will be asking for your help, when she and I need it most- just not now.

It is best not to call the hospital. This is the best way to keep updated. I'm usually at the hospital from arond 9:00 to 2:00 and the back around 6:00 to 8:00 or so. When I am not there, our friends watch over her.

Florine (Babe, to her family) is the love of my life; a piece of my soul.

Pray for her,


John