JF Mingione: writings

Since the self-apparent seems to be in hiding, I decided to go directly to my essence--not that it has anything to say (and I’m not even sure I have one), but I thought it was a good idea to begin someplace, even if we never talked before. So, I begin my journey (about 2 minutes) and arrive at the... Sign in to see full entry.

In the shadows of my life This flickering dawn That all I am is how I was born I retreat, of course, to my possible world To know my name, and that was all The house was big but the spaces small Just so I could count them all As I counted the spaces, another idea To question myself of why I was here... Sign in to see full entry.

I’m re-documenting a faith, today with little stars and tiny green arrows crossed within a hue of blue Perhaps nothing will be noticed if the tree does not creak, or the hand does not tremble Perhaps nothing will be noticed, at all if something does not happen Yes, I’m re-affirming my faith, today... Sign in to see full entry.

The root that grows the pod to burst Just to find another piece of earth A thousand parachutes seeking a dwelling I would sneeze if I could spell “schnozzoli” Sign in to see full entry.

So, here I am in a mid-afternoon counting my marbles the door open, the Sun silent listening to the distant sounds of Summer In this still moment, I think about the mood a painter might play with a blue door open to an oblique plane of sunlight Yes, I know this painting as well as this faint breeze... Sign in to see full entry.

Quasimodo points his paintbrush in the Sun’s eye. So, the Sun begins to cry, then gets very angry, and shuts the sky down, and reaches for his rifle. The shots crackle through the firmament as he (the Sun) shoots frozen pellets at the perp, who is hot-footing it back into his tower seeking his... Sign in to see full entry.

What’s in a face might be none of my business Sparrows don’t cling to dawn Does the red dog bark only at noon? My feet are not my thought But they take me where I’m going Simpler to think what one is Or declare the same name twice Without the mirror Sign in to see full entry.

I read a poem today That carried me to the bluntness Of my truths Some unexamined And others that got away I am lackluster in my turpentine I sing songs in my veil Waiting to be touched By an unknown saint Who knows another song Sign in to see full entry.

The lesson is in the poem or is it the other way around? If I can’t find it now, maybe later when my ghosts aren’t watching me They’re a paranoid lot dedicated to protecting me from myself as if I were heir to a kingdom I can’t complain because I invented them but now I can’t go any place without... Sign in to see full entry.

Once, somewhere in time I wanted to be noticed and appreciated So I went to the pigeons and gave them the last of my Saltines They cooed, strutted and ate them all up without even looking at me So, I went into the woods and danced beneath the trees, ending in my pirouette-- Tra-la! But the trees... Sign in to see full entry.