Carlos, through my eyes
by
Lyn Marinello
A
mountain of a man
Opinionated,
loud
Completely
unmistakable
When
enveloped in a crowd
Like
a bull within a China shop
Undeterred
where he has trod
Comfortable
with who he was
No
need for pretense or façade
Bacchus
in human form
Indulgent
to grand excess
A
bit too much for some
But
I wouldn’t want him any less
A
big and booming voice
An
even larger heart
I’d
sit in eager anticipation
As
his escapades he’d impart
He
had pie-in-the-sky ambitions
Cherished
time to conversate
Always
game for a glass of wine
And
a sports or political debate
He’d
wrap you in a hug
That
you’d never want to end
He
was much more than a relative
He
was an honest, gracious friend
A
zillion weather-induced phone calls
To
check upon our health
Anxiously
awaiting
His
upcoming expansive wealth
There’s
an empty space you’ve left
A
chasm where you’ve been
Please
know how much you’re loved and missed
…
until we ride again …
Mosaic
by
Lyn Marinello – 3/29/25
I am all
the pieces
of
memories and places;
of
triumphs and of trials;
of hearts
and all the faces.
Covered
wooden bridges,
railroad
tracks and trestles.
The
valley in the mountains
where the
setting sun sleepily nestles.
Winding
wooded paths
with scattered
pine needle floors.
Sad and stonewalled
dreams
by loudly,
angrily slammed doors.
Crystal
clear azure waters
near
powdery soft white sands.
Beaten,
battered self-esteem
by
ridiculous reprimands.
Mossy
covered hideaways;
freshly
polished maple pews.
A million
stars on inky skies;
kaleidoscopic
morning hues.
Wandering
on fairways;
red
spotlights on a gymnastics mat.
Echoes
too deafening to ignore
of
‘you’ll never be good at that’.
Duets on
a piano.
Plays on
a high school stage.
Trapped
and sometimes tortured;
my haven
was my cage.
A sweet
date down at Deep Hole;
hours
sweating at the gym.
Nomads in
the Smokies.
Adventures
on a whim.
Music is
a constant,
accompanied
by the Word;
Crutches
used quite frequently
to hobble
through the absurd.
Queen
Mackerel, Marinara,
Easy
Rider, Muffinhead.
You
cannot run, you cannot hide.
You must
face the things you dread.
There’s a
constant ebb and flow;
occasional
shattering and breaking;
rearranging
of the shards;
a
transformational re-making.
For I am
a mosaic;
a
compilation of each broken part;
the good,
the bad, the in-between …
a truly
unique work of art.
