Author: Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.

Biography Writer, photographer, poet, and teacher. Holds doctorates in Divinity and Metaphysical Philosophy. Author of 20 books, including seven poetry books, nine photography, and four nonfiction books. Contact Information Contact Don Iannone by email: diannone@gmail.com

Forgetting Myself

For just one moment
I forgot myself–
Who I am
Who I think I am
Who I think others think I am

It was a relief–
to be free of myself
And all the things associated
with who I think I am

For one moment
I had the chance
to be something beyond thoughts
Something time doesn’t wear down
Something with no need to die

Buy Me a Buddha

I have everything
and nothing in life
Just one more thing
Buy me a Buddha

I can’t stop wanting
till I have it all
Everything there is
Buy me a Buddha

Kid in a candy store, maybe
Or just a man pushing sixty
holding onto his life
Please, buy me a Buddha

Happiness used to visit more often
when I was young
I beg you please
Buy me a Buddha

When you have everything else
that money can buy
There’s just one thing left
Buy me a Buddha

Call It What You Like

You must be brave enough to be yourself
And never for a moment, look back
Wishing you were something different
Than who you are

We’re not the same
From day to day
Not even
Moment by moment

We’re not the same
You and me
Thee and Thou
Something then or now

You must be brave enough
To transcend all the bullshit
All the nonsense you think, read, and see
Transcend it all

I can’t help you
To be yourself
You can’t help me
To be who I am

But we can help each other
With reassurances
Undeniably why there are mirrors
Mire reflective moments in time, you and me

Ode to a Snow Storm

Whispy flakes of snow dart about
just outside my office window
Their helter skelter determination impresses me
Though I can’t but wonder why
in this world, obsessed with management and control
there are no snow architects to guide the flakes
in their building of monotonously white mountains
that will invariably snarl, strangle and suffocate our poor cars
as they endeavor to take us homeward
Hopefully before the price of gas hits 4 bucks a gallon

Attitude most certainly makes a difference in life
and it does when it comes to dealing with snow jobs
including those inflicted by passive-aggressive co-workers
and Mother Nature herself, who claims her right
under some dubious 28th Amendment found in the small print
of THE Divine Universal Constitution–
a book yet to be published in a language I comprehend

I’ll do my best not to question the Divine Right
or Left for that matter
What are politics but nasty boils on our behinds
that no matter how we sit, we feel their pain
So we stand, waiting for the snow to end
while the fools, fruitcakes, and boil-butted lunatic drivers clog up
the exits, intersections, and interstate entrance ramps
For what reason I ask?
Perhaps to see the evening news, reporting what we already know–
a nasty snowstorm has hit Cleveland
making the evening commute home miserable, and
if you missed the weather at 6
you can catch the talking heads on Facebook 24-7-365

Needless to say, I have kicked off my shoes
and let the fools honk and curse each other
while I sip a flavored coffee, nibbling the last of almost stale Christmas cookies
And who knows, maybe I’ll nap till 7
and dream of cities with winning football teams
and places where the sun always shines

Note: Thanks to Jennifer Dillinger at the Cleveland Clinic for the idea for this poem

The Sweet Smell of Life

Sometimes we try too hard
To be something more, or different than we are

In our haste to grow up
We grow old before our time

We lose track of ourselves–
Our real reason for being

Sometimes it takes an unexpected reminder
To make us realize
We are who we are
And the more we fight that
Our spirit dies

As a boy, baseball was important to me
In part, because Dad enjoyed it
But also because baseball is life–
Running bases, trying to get home safe

A couple years ago
My younger brother Doug helped me reconnect with something
I had lost some fifty years ago–
My Gus Bell-autographed MacGregor baseball glove
My first, the only one I really loved

Tears filled my eyes
When I opened the box
And saw it lying folded over–
Just as I left it so many years ago

My first instinct was to smell the leather
Its sweet scent reignited memories
Of the forever dusty baseball field in Martins Ferry
Early morning practices
Anxious game days
So much more

It changed me
Not baseball, or the glove
Not even my brother’s thoughtfulness
But the sweet smell of life

What Shores Us Up

What shores us up isn’t always pretty
Like the mass of broken and jagged concrete,
the rusted orange and brown iron reinforcing rods,
and the bunches of faded red paving bricks
that struggle daily to keep the lake at bay
Securing the land on which we live

We need infrastructure in life to stay strong:
retaining walls, friends, values, kitchen sinks,
police departments, militaries, yoga studios,
meditation cushions, and roads and highways
Yes, even sewers to carry away the waste in our lives–
the parts of us we shed to stay alive

Without these things, we’d surely fall apart
and wash away like the yellow and brown leaves
the creek dumps into the lake on this November day
Like a mother’s love that helps us trust
Even a father’s presence that gives us courage
So we may someday shore up our friends

No Reasons

Some people say there is a reason for everything in life
God’s will, cause-effect relationships, higher purpose, their will
I’ve said the same thing on many occasions
But at this moment, as I gaze out over the city and lake
I don’t believe there is a reason for anything
No Divine purpose or plan we’re a part of
No higher good to be served by suffering
No reason to deny our joy

As I gaze out over the city and lake
I marvel at life’s beauty, its splendor
But I see no higher purpose to be served
by Cleveland, Lake Erie, not even my gazing

I see no reason for any footnotes, endnotes,
or cited references of any sort
for what moves in and out of my field of vision
My forever limited view of the world

Some people say there is a reason for everything in life
As I gaze out over the city and lake
without purpose or expectation
I see no reason for anything in the world
except my own hopeless clinging to life
through all my useless reasons, causal explanations
And most all, my wanting for there to be more than there is

The Small Dark Cabin in the Woods

The small dark cabin in the woods is lost
in the daylight hours
when the sun tangos with orange marmalade leaves
barely hanging on, and soon
to be violently swept away
by the biting November winds
begging them to dance the final dance

Just past six pm
as the sky moves from gray to black
uneven puffs of sooty black smoke drift, then bellow
from the faded red brick chimney
that will soon disappear into the night
Well before the barn owl calls out, and
not long before the waxing crescent moon
casts faint shadows on the front steps
of the small dark cabin
where the white-bearded old man counts his days
hoping he will outlive the November winds, and
see again the soft morning light

To Mary on the First Day of the Rest of Her Life

Some days seem dark and bleak
Words of hope hard to speak
It feels like no one cares or knows
Appreciation lost, never shows

At these times, we oft forget
Hope’s not lost, no not yet
Good times, bad times, parts of life
Live in love, not in strife

We have but so many years
Live them well, both tears and cheers
All just lines in dusty history books
Babbling sounds, far off brooks

Stay in the flow, easy come, easy go
Put up your sail, winds of change blow
Some place new calls your heart
There you’ll find your life restart

First Take on Bratenahl

A cloistered place by the lake
Where old things still predominant
Surprisingly over new things
Yet new life abounds
Both imagined and real

A museum of sorts
Where old names reign higher than new names
Where quiet faces stand longer
In the mirror of time
Reflecting a familiar playful benevolence

A place where ultimately
The water washes away everything
Including the deepest things harbored inside us
Even our conditioned moorings
Holding onto us, as we hold onto them

Bratenahl, its own place
Yet a part of something larger
Something deeper
Something indelibly Cleveland
Yet one step removed

People in the World

Have you noticed
there are some people
who invariably live
to steal your joy?

How they siphon off your freedom
Your innate endowments
Those things defining who you are
and nobody else could possibly be

Have you noticed
there are some people
who believe their life
is infinitely more important than yours?

I’ve noticed there are
two types of people in the world:
Those living to serve something higher, and
those living at others’ expense

a simple pointer

all things, parts of one thing
all places, connected to each other
all people, one body, mind and spirit
the whole of time, contained in each moment
every beginning, also an ending
every ending, an opportunity to start over
every thought, impermanent, without form
birthing yet more impermanence
all poems, simply pointers
to that which lies beyond

Uphold the Promise

Uphold the promise
Your word, good as God’s

Uphold the promise
Your first words uttered
between sips of mother’s milk

Uphold the promise
first kisses stolen in the night
lasting forever

Uphold the promise
the very thing connecting you to eternity
all else yet to come

Uphold the promise
that which comes before us
and follows us forever

Uphold the promise
Honor it
Transform it
Our destiny, just a mere promise

Passion’s Fire

Cherry red fire engines awakened me this morning
Blatant reminders of all the unkept promises
Littering my life
Dividing me
Drowning today’s sun in yesterdays

Their ladders fell just short of me
“Go up they screamed!”
But deep inside I knew I could climb no higher
No steps left, nowhere up to go
This is as far as I can go in this life

Our passions can destroy us
Consume our goodness, drop by drop
Till nothing but they remain
The only saving grace is this:
Fire cannot feed on itself
Eventually even it comes to an end
When there’s nothing left to burn

I Can’t But Wander by The Lake

I can’t but wander by the lake
Inhale her beauty at daybreak
Watch her waves thrash about
In my mind there’s no doubt
Something mighty makes her dance
The very breath of God perchance

Her color changes with the sun
Aquas, blues, grays undone
The gulls adore her for a reason
Hover, soar, dive each season
Her rocky shore takes a beating
Her waves advancing, then retreating

Boats and freighters ride her waves
Carefully though to avoid their graves
One by one they make their way
Return they will another day
She plays with them like tiny toys
A game that she so enjoys

I can’t but wander by the lake
Each breath I take for its own sake
Watch her waves thrash about
In my mind there’s no doubt
Something mighty makes her dance
The very breath of God perchance

Sunday Night Reflections

It thickens me to think
Life’s shallowness,only an illusion
It quickens me to think
Life’s race, not about speed
Or finishing first, rather
About you and me being
Who we’re supposed to be
Rather than something else
We were, and thought might be better

It’s all gone
Every last drop of it
Before we know it
Then what?
Plumb the depths
Plan for what’s next
Be all we can possibly be

Questions it seems
Rude interruptions in the grand scheme of things
Those things hovering between moments
Finding us naked to the truth
Of who we really are

Violins, harps, sad but sweet Spanish guitars
Playing us, like Vegas card dealers
Wishing somehow life could be longer
Even deeper than what we know
Maybe then, your father’s dying hand
Could finally reach us
Free us from all pain and illusion

Never a perfect ending–
For anything, anybody
Least of all life
Hanging between breathes
Always awaiting a chance to shine

2 AM Reflections on Life

Sometimes the only time
honesty comes out
is at 2 AM
when the house is quiet
the sky has fallen irreversibly black
and the background noise overtakes
the foreground noise you call your life

Sometimes the only time
you truly hear
the pain of your deepest unfulfilled dream
is when the heat of your desperation causes you
to kick off the covers
and really look at yourself

Sometimes you realize things at 2 AM
that you have avoided all those years
you thought pretending would somehow save you
from facing the darkness that birthed you
and has followed you around
every waking moment of your life

Sometimes you glimpse the pattern
running through all your words, even your silence–
the pattern preventing you from letting go
of even the futile nonsense awakening you at 2 AM
claiming to be your life

Still Livin’ Just for You

Don’t much care
No one to talk to
Left it all behind
Seems like yesterday
Tryin’ my best to move on

Too much heartache
Sorrow, broken promises
No gettin’ used to
Life without you
Barely livin’ day to day

Oh baby, tryin’ to forget you
Our happy times together
Even the moments in between
Testin’ us, me and you
Just barely livin’ day to day

I kept your last letter
Read it often, so sad and blue
How you walked in the rain
Cried away all memories
Why I’m livin’ just day to day

Now all I have–this song
Lingering memories, how we were together
Spinning out of control
No idea it would ever stop
Oh baby, still livin’ just for you

Note: Written on July 15, 1969 in Tucson, Arizona

War-Torn Autumn Leaves

The woods outside my window are war-torn
Filled with red, orange, yellow soldiers
Fighting with each other, themselves
Who can standout most gloriously

A perennial war they fight
From rounded treetops
Through jagged branches
To dark moist ground below

There’s no winning the battle of color
All pushing, shoving, name-calling in vain
Eventually all leafy soldiers brown
And the snow hushes all clamoring