by Paul C. Binotto © 2020 Children, though they be not our own.Are so much more than flesh and bone.But seeds, and soil, to be sown. Though you may never see them fully grown,Plant them, tend them, weed them, honeTheir tools to take along. To arm themselves, in prayer and psalm.In agitation, to find their … Continue reading Foster Parent
by Paul C. Binotto © 2020 Dear Conscience, under-cover cop, To steer my course, or stop It in its tracks. Double-me back, On proper path when self Is, or is, about to attack. Form me well, share your wealth. Catch me falling, in your stealth. Fill me full of what I lack. And, bind me … Continue reading Under-cover Cop
Poem of thoughts and impressions on learning about the fire of Notre Dame de Paris on the day it nearly burned to the ground.
by Paul C. Binotto © 2020 Truth, whether mouthed in jest by a gibbering babe at play, or when in momentary clarity, all incoherence is betrayed; falls softly as a feather, yet sounds loudest.
by Paul C. Binotto © 2019 Silver spoon, silver mote, One chokes the eye, the other, throat. Which the sheep, which the goat? Which the warning, prophets wrote? Retire for the night, Rise, re-treaded for the day. Walk in the light, Water and clay. The very stones wail out Against the silence cast in gold. … Continue reading Silver Spoon, Silver mote
I cannot say where it went, Borrowed more, the less I lent. Oh, how the day was thus far spent.
Your heart's beating faster, your chest's all a swell. Is this all that you're after? Fare-thee-well.
by Paul C. Binotto © 2019 What a ghastly, ghastly thing, That a child so young, must drink The cup; feel the sting. Lost innocence comes swift, or by degree. What awful nursery rhymes We now sing; what memes. What soulful freedom's Bell that drums; the terrible truth resounds.
By Paul C. Binotto © 2019 Joy radiates from just beyond, Yet, just beyond my grasp. Continue Reading...
by Paul C. Binotto © 2019 Papa, tell me why Do you think,The flowers drink, Not from their mouths, But, from their feet?And, how does a roseSmell so good, thoughIt hasn't a nose?Papa, how, do you think?Tell me all that you know.And, Papa, tell me please,Why they're called leavesWhen they never G0 anywhere ever;Why aren't … Continue reading Flowers and Days