Rusty Nails

Peter Ruggiero 12/24/1914 – 02/08/09


Rusty Nails

Rusty nails in a cardboard box.
What did you see worth keeping?
I’d like to know.

I remember your hands – they shook
when holding old things as if mesmerized,
and I wonder

what treasures your mind created
out of rusty nails and old strings?
What poetic notion

let you dream beyond the dust?
What golden vision took you there?
I need to know…

Rusty nails in a cardboard box
a poetic legacy, words to a song…
oh, had I asked you then… I so need to know.


Carmen Ruggero ©2009

The Scent of you

Summer time, fire orange, red geraniums,
hot sun burning on the sidewalks;
ice-cream, sprinklers, children cooling,
cooling down… and the scent of jasmine
fills the evening and I remember you
weaving the colors of summer
into the autumn landscape,
turning yellow to tawny to cardinal red,
and there you were,
bagging leaves and burying bulbs,
brewing coffee, baking biscuits
and weaving the fabric of life;
merging the hues of each season
one into the next: red to yellow,
to evergreens laden with snow.
Weaving our days right into spring
when new life glints in waves of wonder
and the pretty flowers bloom;
when the tiger lilies and yellow roses loom,
and the scent of you is in the air
and the robin sings his love song,
and oh… yes, I remember you.

Carmen Ruggero © 2008

The Sound of Time

I heard a sweet little sound –
soft and light as a feather on the breeze,
break the silence of night.
Like a velvety tune, it caresses my senses.
I’m curious, so I sit and listen:
It whooshes like a gentle wind
scurrying through supple leaves and petals
heavy with the scent of summer.
A flash of sound, a hummingbird in flight,
and I wonder, as I watch it scurry through the air:
Where does it land when it leaves my sight?

And the silence whispers tonight,
a song I seem to remember, now.
It resonates inside my throat,
and my lips want to echo a reprise
to this sound that dribbles through space
like bouncing droplets of rain.
I feel it close to me; its breath brushes my skin
then it ebbs as swells do
when they break and foam around my feet.
I watch them rush back to the sea
and I wonder, as I see them disappear:
Whom will they touch, after they’ve touched me?

And the silence whistles tonight,
a tune it needs me to hear, no doubt.
It has traveled the worldly planes,
it has flown celestial realms
like a mischievous cherub playing
amongst the softness of snow,
and pine trees heavy with the scent of hope
and then a traveler heard its sound
and he listened: It whistles, cheerful and bright...
He felt it like the swells that rushed and foamed
around his feet, and wondered
as he stood in the midst of silence, again:
who will hear it, when I set it free?

Carmen Ruggero © 2008

The Olympiad

On your mark… get set… the gun goes off,
the race is on.
Eyes fixed on the finish line;
hearts intent on the gold.
Preparation was a slow and painful process:
one foot in front of the other,
stretch that muscle, bend that knee.
Free the mind; take the hurdles one by one.
Dare to dream of wild beginnings;
flaming sunsets, purple forests,
think beyond the copper track.
One foot in front of the other,
limbering, stretching, growing,
The transition from fantasy to reality
nothing but hard, grueling work;
and there are no quitters on the field,
not them; not those who seek the gold.
They will rest and pause to see the sunset,
they will breathe the fresh new day;
they will color their lives with boldness
until the flag swings downward;

they live until the end.

©Carmen Ruggero 2007 & 2008

Divertissment (Dance Without a Plot)

Soft the spotlight spills; she leaps to her toes
toes some times fitted in pink satin bows,
bows and arrows, Eros craftily aims
aims for his heart, hers is in flames,
flames leaping – pas de deux she is dreaming…
dreaming him, wishing him, silently screaming,
screaming! His name… a fleeting spark in time
time… and verses lost to similar rhyme.

Carmen Ruggero©2007&2008

The Hour Glass

“Will I see the rainbow after tomorrow?”
The poet plays with the notion
while jumping over the iridescent arc.
Sand sifts smoothly through the hourglass
half full, half empty at the birth of twilight
and an eerie notion stills his heart.

“What if, what if, the rainbow breaks in half?”
Sand has drifted in errant ways.
His path has steepened; he labors to climb.
Wind’s shifted north, he’s facing south
and pushing forth one inch at a time.

“Will I see the rainbow beyond tomorrow…?”
The poet knows it’s a wretched wish.
“I can’t see one grain of sand
past the one on which I stand.”
Doubts push and pull with equal force,
one step forward two steps back
until silence roars and the poet dreams no more.
Sand sifts quickly through the hourglass
half empty, half full at the birth of twilight
and a black moon darkens the sky.


Carmen Ruggero ©2008

Introduction and Smiles

For the last few years, life has hit hard and at will. But I learned the hard way: I don't have to let it win.

I am a lung cancer survivor. It has been a challenge I can hardly describe in words. In fact, I don't think such words exist.

When the treatment is over, and the oncologyst sends you home and tells you to go live your life, it's not really over. Now your mind starts playing other tricks: "What if it comes back...? How will I know?" It took me almost a year after surgery and treatment, to let go and let life.

There are no lung cancer survivor groups in my hometown. I have some very good professionals and counselors to talk to, but no survivor groups. There's no one who can relate to me on a one to one basis, from a survivor’s point of view. Professionals relate from a different perspective. Everyone else, tells you not to think about it. However, those of us who are going through it, know that forgetting, is not an option.

We know we're lucky to be alive. I know I have developed a different appreciation for every new sunrise I get to witness. I'm sure other will say the same. But we're also aware of how brief the interlude between birth and death can be. Yet, there's something to be said about that. In a roundabout way, we've rediscoverd childhood and suddenly remember playing outside until dark -- what a thrill. I eat icecream as often as I can get it -- no one here to tell me, I can't. I walk barefooted outside, if I want to, and if people look at me funny, I just smile go on.

Maybe it is getting dark, but I'm not through playing yet. There's always one more rose to smell, one more wild plant to rescue, one more walk with the dog, one more chat with my child. We know it has to finish some day, but not today.

Surviving is a trip. And like when we were kids and something good happened, I can't wait to go tell.

So, how can I reach others and share my thoughts. I haven't succeeded in putting a group together. Then I though: maybe not here, in my hometown, but why not a blog? Why not reach as far as I can?

I've never been a blogger, but then, why no? And why not share in a different way. Like exploring life through poetry. Why not share that? And other things, like growing a balcony garden -- rose bushes and all, or walking a mile a day. And the fact that I'm 65 and counting -- one year and a moth cancer free, and I walk around with a smile on my face.

Carmen :-)