Bearing Loss

By on Oct 11, 2020 in Poetry

Autumn field with sad figure

What kindling love is this that sanctifies the earth
with memories proliferating like the grave
turning of a second birth? What enterprising arms
disseminate their charms like seeds on fallow fields
to function as a lavish yield for autumn’s harvest?

Suspended on such tensile roots, they bring forth fruits
which thrive on sappy juices of their germinating tree –
if just to nurture offshoots for posterity.
But what use cultivating heartbreak’s fertile soil,
that promises abundance from such husbandry?

Tears scarcely save the desiccated oak, nor does grief
breathe life into a reverie. Then pity us who savor solace
in the eulogies assuring us that death is just a passing.
For with this ever passing hour, when time sits still
and time is never-ending, then this and every passing
is an everlasting death.


Born & bred in New Jersey, Frank De Canio works in New York. He loves music from Bach to Amy Winehouse, World Music, Latin, opera. Shakespeare is his consolation, writing his hobby. As poets, he likes Dylan Thomas, Ginsburg, and Sylvia Plath. He also attends a Café Philo in Lower Manhattan, and a poetry workshop at Café 28 in midtown Manhattan.