A Poetry Showcase from Giulio Magrini

photo from pixabay


Everyone has it
What they were was taken
Or left
Expelled with the trash
The residual leavings of life

Excreted lifeless empty
I am left with the holes 
Of memory through the laughing smiles 
The touch of a small hand 
The eyes turned upward
Loving the birds 
Especially the red ones
You remember those days of dressing up
She hated the attention of her favorite color
And was patient in the museums
Odd for a child her age
You wondered at the joy she commanded
Where would it take her?

You dreamt for her
Her choices viewed from immature bows and taffeta
Your charge to plan and dream for her 
Until her design finalized by her seasoned choices

That season never came
And it was never planned for
Because there was no plan 
And there was no life 
That made an allowance 
For unbearable terrible eventualities
Possibilities that are unthought 
Through the moments and breaths 
Of a child’s happy gasps
Of one more time Momma
One more time

What can we do with these empty spaces? 
They will never be her
And what have I become living as a minus
From the memories of her in my heart
There is no reckoning of us left or of me

There is no me without us
And that is my life in empty space


Axiom: Beaming deception is shrouded by constant smiles

Janet smiled to excess
Happiness exists in flashes 
Not in perpetuity
A bewildering obscurity 
Glistening behind conspiracies 

This is the one with the cackling sister
Behind the curtain 
Plotting against the naïve brother
This was the main feature
Unveiling the cartoons of my life
I have seen this one
Janet the flying monkey
Grinning madly in the air

There was no awakening
From the nightmare of Janet
Hallucinations night after night 
Calling for my little sister

We spoke for years and years
In the terrible daylight
Her incessant smiling 
Continuing and chronic

Truth was a stranger
When I shared my pain 
She replied with a smile

I grasped for her but found smiling desolation
She is gone but her smile remains in memory
And now I rely on the remembrance
Of her smiling face 
And the nothing it gave me


Barbara embraces the flower

She cannot resist
First the stems slightly 
Then the delicate blooms

What does she see that I do not?

And then she caresses me


Underneath the perpetual Halloween masks 
Of fashion art and correct moral despair
She deposits her opinions 
Like fecal disease disguised as au courant sophistication
Eventually distinguishing herself
As graceful stale fish emanating from the art gallery

Her craven cowardice hides
Behind whatever it is she is selling
It cannot be her 
Because there is no there

She talks to mirrors
Or others that speak in her preferred 
Mirror language of rot
Providing an environment to make her comfortable

She is an interesting disgrace 
And dances well for a handicapped person
Until it becomes time for loyalty
And she retreats into the cell of ruin
That she has become

Let us celebrate the embrace of her demise
It is after all an example of her free spirit


They told you
That you reached a certain age

Knowing better 
A wizened nod
To the assembled onlookers 
Growing from the stumps
On the streetcorners
Their glared and cornered peripherals
Noses pointed to the margins
Tracking your regressions
As you falter predictably 
An exemplar to the dynamic 
Of your devolution

Going through the motions
Biding your time
Until the next big thing

But there is nothing on the horizon
No invitations were sent
No meetings are scheduled
And everything that must be done 
Has been done or neglected

The question lingers in the air
What is the point and the purpose of you?

You see shadows and silhouettes
Apparitions of moist tight skin
You assailed the unforgiving storms
Not giving a damn with her
Grinning at terrors
They were trivialities to your conceit
Vulnerability is your embraced ally 

Smoke stifles your flagging memory
Where the air no longer breezes 
The memories pile up unmercifully
Too much to keep orderly
And the chaos and confusion festers
And breeds well in an environment 
Of cerebral clutter and noise
Clanging and banging thoughtlessly 
Inside your head

The queues are fowled and the memories 
Demolished and cracked 
The reality of the last beat
Of the measure of your life has begun

We begin our final tune for the evening
The Going to Die Anyway Rag 
A request by Giulio Magrini

BIO:  Giulio Magrini started writing poetry in the early 1970’s, and takes most of his inspiration from the darker sides of human nature. He has performed at the Three Rivers Arts Festival, and many other former venues in Pittsburgh. Giulio has conducted poetry workshops in alternative high schools, prisons, drug and alcohol rehabilitation centers, and hosted a radio show for local poets. His book The Color of Dirt will be published sometime this Summer by Word Association Press. Magrini has always preferred the performance of his work over publishing, until now. 

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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