Sundays always depress me.
I wish we could pull
them from the calendar,
make the weekend
Friday and Saturday,
and then skip
straight to Monday.
Sunday Morning Blues
Tag Archives: poetry
Transition Period Poem
Elbow Tree Branch (Photo by Francis DiClemente)
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.
Been Away Too Long
I’ve been so tied up with work, family and long-range creative projects that I have neglected this blog for far too long. I haven’t posted anything since January—not that anyone is missing my content.
But during my Saturday morning jog/walk in downtown Syracuse, I snapped a photo and composed a short poem. To me both represent the ephemeral nature of life. If I had not stopped running on the sidewalk to take the picture or pull out my mini notebook and jot down the poem, the image and words would have been lost.
The sun would have shifted or shadows would have altered the light hitting the buildings and the words would have escaped my mind. A good reason to always carry a smartphone, a pen and a notebook. You never know when inspiration will strike.
Morning reflection. A George Costanza pinkish hue. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Giving Up Admission
I can’t keep
it together.
I don’t have
the strength
to carry on.
Can I let go
and fall into
your arms?
Free Shoes
Instagram Poem #13
Brown shoes near dumpster. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Free Shoes
Brown shoes placed
near my apartment
building dumpster,
looking forlorn,
waiting to be filled
by a pair of feet.
Will they fit me?
The Allure of Trains
Instagram Poem #12
CSX freight train in East Syracuse, New York. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
The Allure of Trains
A CSX freight train
rushing past me
in East Syracuse.
I step out of my car
and watch it rumble by—
wishing I could
hop aboard
and become a
westbound hobo.
Snuffleupagus Tree
Instagram Poem #11
Snuffleupagus Tree. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Snuffleupagus Tree
A fallen tree in Chittenango, New York,
reminds me of Mr. Snuffleupagus
from Sesame Street.
And I wonder:
Is my psychological
interpretation accurate?
Did I pass this Rorschach test
inspired by a tree?
Office Chair at the Curb
Instagram Poem #10
Office Chair at the Curb. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Office Chair at the Curb
An office chair
transplanted
to the curb.
I hope the worker
who occupied
the seat
was not
terminated.
Message on a City Block
Instagram Poem #9
Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Message on a City Block
A note written on a flyer
posted outside a Dunkin’ Donuts store.
The words read:
“What About the Homeless In CNY??
Does Any One Care??”
The message provokes empathy
and a swelling of guilt,
since my answers to the questions
lack sufficient compassion.
Do I care? Yes I do.
Enough to do something about it?
Well, apparently not.
Sitting in a Pew
This is the eighth Instagram poem that I have shared from my work-in-progress poetry collection, entitled Outward Arrangements. I took the photo in December of 2019, when I slipped into the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in downtown Syracuse to say a quick prayer. I have not stepped inside a church since the pandemic hit. Wishing you a Merry Christmas and brighter days ahead.
Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Syracuse, New York. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Sitting in a Pew
An empty church
instills a feeling of peace,
and a sense of being
part of something
larger than yourself.
It’s a reminder that for me,
life without faith in God
is meaningless.
Waiting with Vincent
Instagram Poem #7. This one seems fitting for today, since I have an MRI scheduled later this morning.
Irises (1889) by Vincent van Gogh.
Waiting with Vincent
A scheduled MRI
of the brain shifts
my thoughts toward
all of the
“what if, worst-case scenarios.”
While waiting for my name
to be called,
I see a print of Irises (1889)
hanging on a wall.
From far across the room,
without my glasses,
the slanted vertical
green leaves
look like snakes
writhing in the dirt.
But the longer
I stare at the image,
the calmer I feel.
Placid is the word
that comes to mind.
And I’m thankful Vincent
spends a few
moments with me
prior to my appointment
with the tube machine.
Because when sitting
in a hospital
waiting room,
artwork by Vincent
never fails to lift the spirits.
A van Gogh painting beats
People magazine
or an iPhone screen
every time.
