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

Life and Death Become One

Life
Death
Bigger than us, perhaps
At the same time
Exactly what we are
What we face
Who we are

Struggle, we do
To live, and yes…
To die
But facing these things
We step
Into the abyss
We call home

I think of my father, mother
You think of yours
They were the intersection
From whence we came
They move on
We move on
And, we are left…

Not behind
But to ourselves, with God
To move from where we are
To where we end up
To where we end
And to a new beginning overtaking us
And there, life and death become one

Sunlight in the Flower Garden

Sunlight toured the garden early this morning
Igniting fire in the flowers and their leaves
I stood helpless, breathless, overcome
By the beauty only garden sunlight can create

I may never be the same
After seeing how a garden’s many possibilities
Become living, breathing realities
When sunlight awakens them from their sleep

Even the lone chipmunk
Who spends her day
Darting in and out of the garden
Stood still to receive what sunlight so freely gives

I set aside my pen and paper
Rushed into the garden to receive
The blessing of sunlight
Now my day has completely changed

An Angel Standing Watch

Should I come one night
And you find me standing
Alongside your downy soft bed
Know I am an angel watching
Assuring only sweet dreams
Fill your head while you sleep
So when you awake with the sun in the morning
Know God is smiling down upon you

Should I come one night
And the night’s storms
Break your peaceful slumber
Know I cannot calm the storms
But I can fill your head
With a peace beyond
Where any clap of thunder
Or flash of lightning can reach

Should I come one night
And you no longer need protecting
That you alone can face your demons
I’ll know my time has come to go
That another soul haunted by the night
Needs my quiet and reassuring presence
But know my sweet
My memories will always be of you

How Flowers Grow

if you sit long enough
with an open heart
and watch the flowers in your garden
beside the forest trail, or
even by the side of the road
you’ll see how they grow

you’ll find no indecipherable code
no intractable secret to be discovered, or
even anything different
than anything else in life
that makes flowers grow

if you sit long enough
with an open heart
you’ll see your own flowering beauty–
springing from nowhere
going nowhere, like the flowers

you’ll see that the flowers
like your own true nature
are part of a stream, flowing
through you, past you, and eventually
merging with all else you’ve imagined

Wheeling

Nestled along the mighty Ohio
Here because of the river, and
Her swift, powerful steel gray waters
All about, lush green rolling hills

Lost in some respects, searching
For itself amidst the flow
Of the gallant river, and life
Hoping for cleansing, perhaps a release

Long coal barges slip past
Darkened shoreline warehouses, factories
Colorful Victorian houses, from another time, wave
And smile as what once was starts over

No easy answers for any city, not for Wheeling
But then, maybe we make it all too hard–
Life, death, rebirth, being
Wheeling, a new gleam in its eyes

Seeing Past Myself

Sometimes I have trouble
Seeing past myself
Blindsided by who I think I am
Some days oblivious
To the vast world of possibilities
Beyond me, and you

I clean my glasses twice a day
Unfortunately it’s to see what I want to see
And not beyond that
I guess I’m no different–
Than you, or anyone else
My self-image directs my eyes

There’s a solution you know
It’s not as hard as we think
Open our hearts to unknown possibilities
Accept that our version of reality
Is but one of many out there
Learn to live with uncertainty

Latest Photos

You can see them by clicking on this link.

This is a photo set I shot in our village. The century home series is interesting because of the garden and the old white house contrasted with the lush green setting. The Jesus Christ sculpture in the cemetery is interesting because it stands out in the shadows of the afternoon sun. By the way, the motorcycle is NOT mine.

Sunny Sunday

Bright sunshine bounds all about
Flowers dance, even shout
True to its name Sunday
This day, happiness comes my way

The birds were up, just before five
Not far behind, the sun arrives
Wind chimes dance, a gentle breeze
Their echo lingers in the trees

Coffee’s brewing, calling my name
In bed I lay, what a shame
This day’s a beauty
Get out of bed, it’s my duty

All the work to be done
Today’s for living, having fun
I tell myself save your guilt
Get some sun, or you’ll wilt

This sunny Sunday, the start of June
This day, this month, I attune
My soul, its garden, flowers bright
This day I’ll live without a fight

Overcast Friday

Overcast spring day
Clouds overhead
Blocking the sun
No telling how long they’ll stay

Clouds hovering inside
Those we wish to hide
Hoping for a breeze
To blow them all away

Suddenly a gust of wind
No budging the clouds
Rain soon on its way
Clouds and tears today

No sadness
Just a longing
Short passing feeling
Gray Friday, what can I say

Hopin’ My Life Will Suddenly Change

early morning hour
sittin’ all alone
with my dreams
watchin’, waitin’, hopin’
my life will suddenly change

too early for first sunlight
to brighten up my day
too late for early evening rain
to wash away all my sorrows
sittin’, waitin’, hopin’ my life will suddenly change

too young to know the difference
between walkin’ and ridin’ on the train
either way, life ain’t goin’ my way
burnin’ midnight oil
dreamin’ just once my life will change

hours, days, years
been a wastin’
sittin’ all alone
these early morning hours
hopin’ my life will suddenly change

Note: I wrote this poem between my junior
and senior years in high school. That would be 1968.
If your counting, that would be 40 years ago!
This is another song lyrics poem.

To Mary

How does one say I love you?
Your eyes stare holes into my soul
The type never can be filled
Oceans of passion all about me, but
These openings will always remain

One is never the same
Once looked at that way
The way you first looked at me
Always something will be missing
Something only you bring me

The bob of your ponytail
Your sweet shy smile
How you held yourself
Now how you hold onto me
Stirrings from when we first met

You knew yourself, still do
Not necessarily with words, but
Always in how you look, those eyes
Searching, and bringing you into focus
Still, a mystery is about you

Have I said it…that I love you?
Tonight let’s sit together
In a dark corner of the bar
Sip martinis, play footsie
And let our hearts pound against each other

Your Place

there is a region–
a place, you tend to live
dwell daily
where you find yourself
when the phone rings unexpectedly

even between heartbeats
you live there
because that’s all you know
that’s all you are
so long as you’re there

you don’t have to find your place
it finds you
when you least suspect it
when you don’t try
it knows you better than you know yourself

you slip into it
like a foot into a shoe
like a restless thought
passing through your mind
like a camera lens capturing a picture

you assume it’s reality–
this place where you live
it assumes nothing
because it knows you
better than you know yourself

Lingering Dream

I’ve seen too much
Things eyes shouldn’t see
Let alone gaze upon
Too late to erase memories
That never can be undone

No looking back
Hoping it was a mirage
An illusion
That will fade
And disappear

Now every other thing I see
Reminds me of it
That lingering dream
That I can ever be separate
From all else

Tufted Titmouse

small, gray, spiked hairdo
overflowing with song
sweet as candy cane
prominent black eyes
lumps of anthracite coal

no flocks for this chickadee
always in pairs, or alone
fussy scolding voice
when perturbed by a mate
otherwise chipper and cheerful

this morning a pair pecks
nibbles seed in the back feeder
selective in their tastes
given it’s spring
most likely babies in the nest

An Invitation to Dance

Last night, I slept
with the moon and stars at my back
Awoke with daybreak begging
for an invitation to waltz

Dancing is in my bones
Deeper than the south
and all the world’s confederate soldiers–
those salmon swimming against the current

Dreams, terrible parabolic manifestations
Before their time, found me, washing me overboard
like a tremendous tidal wave
rushing past all resistance

Plunging me into the deepest place
a soul can imagine, yet survive
Deeper even than the baritone monks
singing aside the glassy pool, reflecting our existence

Some things are easy
Integrating the confederacy within us is not
Nor is the dance of 1,000 years
Once accepted, ends all invitations

Why They Argue

They argued, firing ugly words back and forth
Just their pain talking–
The pain of staying alive
Of knowing they’re closer to death than life

Picking scabs from old wounds
Making them bleed
Blood is life
Why not make yourself bleed

Growing old isn’t easy
Everything you thought you were falls apart
They bicker because they’re falling apart —
Cell by cell, breath by breath

Sometimes breathing is even too hard
Eventually the arguing stops
That’s when you know–
The end is near

Rows of Corn

Plump golden sweet corn
Impatient as a clown’s nervous smile
Rebelling against the bluebonnet sky

Marching in place in long fingered rows
Growing, in once fallow fields
by the babbling brook
wandering through the cool green valley

Aimless wildflowers dawdle through late May
Awaiting the corn, sun, and
the long anticipated summer
Then all dance as one dream

To the Doves

Lady birds of peace
whose broad eliptical wings gather hope
as they flutter helplessly
in love with the morning sunlight

You saunter, for no particular reason
through the delicate wildflowers
spraying a blaze of color
at the forest’s edge

To that special point you float, and
sit in loyal courtship
with the one you adore, and
hold forever in your gentle heart

Your near haunting coo lingers
like the morning mist drifting afar
then igniting replies
from others perched high

With the many you gather
but always you sit
in that special place
with just one

When Summer Mornings Lasted Forever

Remember when we were young?
Little boys, getting up with the sun
Summer mornings lasted forever
Much longer than now

Everything was fresh, alive back then
Even through the bitter factory smoke
the air was sweet, exhilarating
Some days, intoxicating

It took less to be happy back then
On those warm summer mornings, inching
through our lives, like
the cold slimy slugs crawling across the sidewalk

You didn’t worry about dying back then
You had too much to live for
Besides, nighttime was so far away
on those warm summer mornings lasting forever

Journey to the Heart

Wonderful, long-held secrets abound in your heart
They patiently await you
Open the door
Enter with honesty, and
trust whatever that honesty brings

Discover, unwrap
the many unopened presents
awaiting you at your heart’s door
Take them inside
Open them
Allow the love they contain to grow

Rediscover the many gifts of love
that have filled your heart
throughout your lifetime
Revel in their beauty
Live in their promise
that once a gift of love has been given
It is always with you

Love is what we all come back to
For some of us, it has taken longer
to realize that love is
what we really are

For some of us
our entire journey in life
has been about discovering the secrets
that lie buried deep in the cave of our hearts

It’s not a long journey, really
when you’re ready
The heart requires no reservations
to visit what it holds
Getting there can be as simple as
floating on a lotus blossom
on the still waters of your soul

Beyond Our Identity Masks

So much, we associate with our lives
More than we imagine
Things, people, thoughts, feelings, experiences
So much more
All markers, definers, identifiers
Yes, identity builders

Each of us
in our own way, seeks
to be somebody, something
Almost always, it’s about being
something other than what we are
Often, mistaking our shadow for the one
coming before casting the shadow

Yes, ambition, aspiration, goals
can hinder us, if
they steer us away
from the simple joy of being
without anywhere to go
or anyone to be

We work so hard
to define our likes, dislikes in life
All because that’s why we think we’re here
Beyond our judgments there is more
Undefinable, ineffiable, ever changing
Something we feel
Something we know
because we are that

Old Dolls

Not old women who still look great
Literally, old toy dolls
Handed down to you from your Mom
An original Shirley Temple Doll
Flowing golden locks, rosy pink cheeks
A tiny flower on her off-white satin dress

A Patsy Doll, the rage in the 30’s
Chubby cheeks, sky blue eyes
Her pink dress a little tattered, but
still suitable for playing hopscotch
in the red brick alley
where your Mom twice skinned her knees

Others, even older, maybe a hundred or more
Smiling youthful faces fixed for eternity
Eyes gazing beyond where we can see, and
beyond all memories

They sit together in the antique chair
in the back bedroom, where
you keep your Dad’s ashes
In the memory room, where
we slip away and remember, and
where tears seem to come from nowhere

North Chagrin Reservation Photo Shoot

Click here to see a few of the many photographs taken during our recent hike through the North Chagrin Reservation near our home. The reservation is part of the Metroparks District. It is a wonderful woodland forest filled with birds, deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, raccoon, squirrels, chipmunks, and once in awhile a black bear. The shots of the Great Blue Heron were great fun.

Erie Street Cemetery

Erie Street Cemetery, Cleveland, Ohio
Note: Click picture to enlarge it.

Old, faded, worn
In so many ways, forgotten
But so alive with spring
A reminder, life after death

One of Cleveland’s first real cemeteries
For so long
overtaken by the growing city
Now engulfed by the dying city

One hundred and fifty years ago
green fields, wildflowers all about
Now boarded up buildings
and pot-holed streets on its perimeter

Pink magnolias, flowering white dogwoods in full bloom
Even the dead weep at their sight
The elms, nearly gone, but stately oaks and sycamores stand tall
in the sweet mid-afternoon breeze

Death seems so temporary on such a spring day
Like the thin disappearing clouds
streaming across the bright blue sky
Like the faded names on the grave stones

Pictures

Snapshots, clips, short life frames
Telling stories about people, things, and us
Especially us, how we see the world
How we position things to see them
How we frame our worlds, and
What we hope to capture
And create in life

Creative pictures are best
Those offering different, unusual views
Those capturing what’s there, and
Creating something nonexistent
Out of the raw material we encounter
Creative pictures demand an engaged heart
Not just our eyes to materialize

Photographic skills help
But alone they create nothing
They’re just the stage
On which our imaginations perform
My best pictures plant seeds in others
Seeds from which important questions grow
Like who am I, and why am I here

Overpowered

Can you fathom spring’s rapturous beauty
Overpowering you like a herd of wild monarch butterflies
Gently pummeling you into submission
Coaxing alive the eternal newborn inside you
Forever tickling your fragile imagination
Till tears of joy stream uncontrollably down your cheeks

And finally
Out of sheer desperation
You allow yourself
To plop down in a bed of cool green clover
And watch wistful clouds coast
Across a cornflower blue sky

Truth Dost Tarry

Fear not, truth dost tarry
Lingering long and wide
Stretching every so often
in sunny spots between now and eternity

Fear not, truth dost tarry
Filling our souls with light
Even during our darkest nights
and most unconscious moments

Fear not, truth dost tarry
Lingering long after our lies, deceit
decoys, avoidances and confusion
Even as total blindness overtakes us

Fear not, truth dost tarry
Awaiting the day, hour and moment
when we’re ready to receive its gift
and live with open eyes

Avian Chorus

Every spring, the birds overflow with music
A choral extravaganza bursts forth
Cheerful voices, echoing through the trees
Filling our ears, virgin melodies of spring

They call back and forth
He to her, she to him
Romantic, downright alluring
These overtures, even a tad risqué

The cardinals, most persistent
But the robins sing their parts on cue
Even the silences in between, beautiful
It is then our hearts can sing

Amidst this avian music, new life
Dogwoods explode in color climax
Daffodils, tulips pop all about
A reminder…the Hand of God at work