Spring Frame of Mind

With today marking the first day of spring, I thought I would share some poems reflecting the start of the season—even though here in Central New York, the calendar can lie, and winter weather can appear well past Easter.

Melting snow pile. Copyright Francis DiClemente, 2024.

I love this transition period when temperatures have warmed slightly, the ground loses snow cover (for the most part), but trees haven’t bloomed yet, and it’s still cold enough to wear a hat and gloves. It’s the promise of another spring, another summer, and the realization that I’ve survived another winter.

Dreaming of Spring

In the middle of winter
I dreamed trees were blooming.
I was given another season of life,
another chance to keep breathing.

Winter Away

While I loathe the
wind, cold and snow
winter imparts,

I’m always sad
when spring comes
and the chill
in the air departs.

With winter leaving,
it’s like I’m losing
a friend at the end
of the season.

Boy in the Window

Rain pounds the sidewalk.
Wind swirls. Tree limbs scrape window.
Toddler looks and waves.

Hatless

A warm morning.
First day
of the year
without a
winter hat.
These old,
gray hairs
soaking up
the sunlight.

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Cut While Shaving

I recently finished reading The Last Night of the Earth Poems by Charles Bukowski (Ecco, 2002; previously published by Black Sparrow Press in 1992). Bukowski feels like an old friend to me, and I love picturing him sitting in his house, drinking wine and listening to classical music on the radio while he bangs away at the typewriter.

The book is a beefy collection filled with the typical Bukowski charm—a combination of vulgarity, humor and humanity.

As someone of advancing age, often filled with regret over the detours and wrong decisions I’ve made in my life, one particular poem hit home for me.

Cut While Shaving

It’s never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It’s never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it’s not quite right,
it’s hardly right at all
he said.

don’t I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.

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Goodreads Giveaway

I am giving away two signed copies of my latest poetry collection, The Truth I Must Invent. You can enter on Goodreads. The giveaway ends on Feb. 23.

The Truth I Must Invent book cover.

The Truth I Must Invent is a collection of narrative and philosophical poems written in free-verse style. Employing a minimalistic approach and whimsical language, the book explores the themes of self, identity, loneliness, memory, existence, family, parenthood, disability, gratitude, and compassion.

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Poetry Anthology

I am excited to share that one of my poems is published in a new anthology entitled Masculinity: an anthology of modern voices (Broken Sleep Books, 2024). The book is edited by Aaron Kent, Rick Dove and Stuart McPherson.

Anthology book cover. Cover design by Aaron Kent and Joseph Kent.

According to the book description, the anthology “aims to showcase the diversity of what it means to be a man and what it means to embrace its multitudes. These poems emphasize that masculinity is not a monolithic concept, but a dynamic, evolving force that can be shaped by culture, society, and personal experiences.”

Here’s my contribution:

Diary Entry: February 16, 1994. Copyright Francis DiClemente.

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Emmy Unboxing

My professional and personal worlds collided this week when our marketing video team received our Emmy trophies, thanks to our senior producer, Amy Manley, who managed the logistical details and made sure each trophy had the correct information. It was honor to win the award in the branded content category, especially since each team member touched the project in some way.

I felt a little weird carrying my trophy to the bus stop and then resting it on the floor while I rode home. When I entered the house, I asked my wife, Pam, to surprise our son, Colin, who is autistic. When he saw the box, he started ripping the paper. In the video, Pam tries to prompt Colin to read the words on the black band encircling the trophy. Since he’s nonverbal, it’s our way of trying to extract words from him and improve his language processing. It was a joyous moment for our family. It also served as another reminder that my professional success can never match the love I feel for my audience of two.

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Illuminating Poem: The Thing Is

I want to share this poem I read in a Substack post by Maya C. Popa. It’s entitled “The Thing Is” from Mules of Love by Ellen Bass (published by BOA Editions in 2002). I love the language, clarity and gut-punching delivery. Some snippets that jumped out at me: “the silt of it,” “grief sits with you,” “obesity of grief” and “a plain face.”

“The Thing Is” by Ellen Bass from the book Mules of Love (BOA Editions, 2002)

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New Year’s Reflections

New Year’s Eve 2023. Time to rewind and then hit reset.

I’m grateful for getting another 365 tokens to drop into the slot machine. Another 365 scratch-off lottery tickets to play. Another 365 chances to be better than the day before.

Card from David’s Refuge.

I’m closing out the year filled with both anxiety and excitement.

By all accounts, 2023 was a pretty good year for me. I made some strides as a writer and filmmaker.

I earned an Emmy (my second) as part of a production team at Syracuse University.

Photo by Shane Johnson.

I published a full-length poetry collection, The Truth I Must Invent. I published a couple of short stories and a short play in some literary magazines.

The Truth I Must Invent book cover.

I completed two short documentary films, Ralph Rotella: The Sole of Syracuse, which premiered at the Syracuse International Film Festival and was an official entry at the Culver City Film Festival, and The World Series of Bocce: A Celebration of Sport, Family and Community, which is awaiting festival decisions.

World Series of Bocce title screenshot.

I completed a feature screenplay and a full-length coming-of-age memoir (a ten-year project!). But despite numerous revisions, I still don’t know if the words on the page are memorable or whether either project will come to fruition (e.g., production or publication).

So those are my accomplishments in 2023. Big whoop, right? Yada-yada-yada. Blah-blah-blah.

Here are the standout moments during the last calendar year.

In June, my Aunt Teresa, a.k.a. Sister Carmella DeCosty, visited Central New York to attend the funeral of her brother, my Uncle Fee, in Rome, New York. She stayed with us in Syracuse, and we had a lot of fun catching up.

Pam and Aunt T.

A flashback of Aunt T. during a holiday at my maternal grandparents’ house. I think that’s me on her lap, with my mom in red and my Aunt Pat in black.

My seven-year-old son, Colin, who is autistic, enjoyed trick-or-treating for the first time this Halloween. I think he actually “got it” this year.

Colin getting ready to trick-or-treat.

I spent Thanksgiving with my brother Dirk and his family in Rome and my sister Lisa and her family from Ohio. The best part—no snow!

For the holiday season, my wife Pam hung a stocking for Colin in mid-December and gave him little presents every day—stuff like Kinder Joy eggs and Play-Doh. He seemed to understand the concept of Santa Claus, and he was excited to open presents on Christmas morning.

Pam and Colin.

Pam went back to school this fall, enrolling in an occupational therapy assistant program at Bryant & Stratton College. The workload was arduous, but Pam scored high grades during her first semester.

But the most significant event of 2023—I survived my sixth brain surgery with my brain function and memory intact. In July, a team of neurosurgeons and ENT surgeons at Upstate performed a transsphenoidal (through the nose) surgery to remove parts of a craniopharyngioma that had been growing near the pituitary region, affecting my vision. I had a cerebral spinal fluid leak during surgery, but the ENT surgeon repaired it, and the patch is holding nearly six months later.

I wish all good things for you in 2024. A partial list includes: Love, family, faith (whatever you choose that to be), employment, health, health insurance, kind co-workers, transportation, clean drinking water, food, a home, a roof, four walls, a furnace, indoor plumbing, electricity, clean air, and trees. Lots of trees. I am supremely thankful for all of the above.

I leave you with a couple of New Year’s-themed poems. It’s amazing what you can find when you do a word search on the Poetry Foundation website.

January by Weldon Kees

Morning: blue, cold, and still.
Eyes that have stared too long
Stare at the wedge of light
At the end of the frozen room
Where snow on the windowsill,
Packed and cold as a life,
Winters the sense of wrong.

Poetry magazine, March 1951.

New Year’s Eve by Maurice Lesemann

The towers give tongue, the wailing horns grow loud;
And this odd planet where we wake and are
Has once again, amid a tumult of cloud,
Swung safely and serenely round its star.

Poetry magazine, April 1932.

 

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Gifting Books

I hate writing book promotion posts. But this is just a reminder that books make nice holiday gifts and they’re easy to wrap. My latest poetry collection, The Truth I Must Invent, can be purchased in numerous places. You can find it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Bookshop. It’s also available from the publisher, Poets’ Choice. And a new author profile has been posted on the Poets’ Choice website. Happy holidays everyone.

The Truth I Must Invent book cover.

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39 Years Later

I’ve written about this in many entries over the years, but I can’t let the Dec. 12th date pass without mentioning my gratitude for still being here. Today marks my “tumorversary.” Thirty-nine years ago today, on Dec. 12, 1984, surgeons at SUNY Upstate Medical Center in Syracuse, New York (now named Upstate University Hospital), removed a large craniopharyngioma that had engulfed my pituitary gland, leading to stunted growth and delayed puberty in my teenage years, as well as lifelong hypopituitarism.

In my last blog post, I wrote about my follow-up appointment with my neurosurgeon after my summer operation—my sixth brain surgery. But who’s counting?

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Six-Month Reprieve

I want to share some positive news. I had my follow-up appointment with my neurosurgeon yesterday. Fear gripped me heading into the exam room because the radiologist’s report detailing my latest MRI included this troubling language: “Unchanged heterogeneously enhancing prominence in the right anterolateral suprasellar area, causing mass effect with deformity and right optic tract and proximal portion of the right optic nerve.”

But Dr. H., who is always sanguine, stepped into the room, shook my hand, and sat down, adjusting his glasses and mask, then quickly put me at ease. “We think we got about seventy to eighty percent of the tumor,” he said. He explained the rest—what the MRI report referred to on the right side—was the membrane of the tumor, similar to what’s left over after a balloon bursts. He said he expects the membrane to shrink and form scar tissue.

Although my vision will never go back to the way it was prior to the swelling of the tumor in recent years, I felt relieved when Dr. H. said we can resume a wait-and-see approach, meaning I need no other treatment besides another MRI in six months.

That reassurance was the best present I’ll receive during this Christmas season. Clean, safe, and grateful are the words that hovered in my head when I left the office yesterday. I believe in the power of prayer, especially the petitions made by Aunt Teresa, a Roman Catholic nun in Florida who uses the term “storming heaven” when referring to her supplications.

I am thankful to have endured my latest medical ordeal, but I also know tomorrow could bring a whole new heap of trouble. That’s why I am trying to honor my good fortune by living in the present each day. Of course, this is impossible to do consistently amid the pressures of work and family life.

But I’m trying.

Here are a couple of photos I snapped recently—two visual gifts the universe offered because I was willing to pay attention in the moment.

Snow on Branches 2023. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Rain Speckled Night. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

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