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The Web Poetry Corner

Anthony Scarpantonio


Queens, NY, US

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Look At Me I'm Handicapped


Anthony Scarpantonio

Although you see me walk,
Speak somewhat clearly,
And hold a book in my hands,
I tell you I'm handicapped.

I hear their voices in my head-
Not the voices of madmen
Who kill their mother or
Rape their neighbors.
But the voices of music.
I hear the composition
And the lyrics.
The melody.
The rhythm.
The feeling.
But alas,
I can't bring my fingers to motion,
My feet to keep the beat,
Or my voice to carry the tune.

Trapped they are in my mind,
And in my soul.
I am incapable of drawing
Their message out of me.
Can't share their sorrow or pain.
Can't share their love.

In my own way,
I finally understand
The handicapped frame of mind.
I might be able to exist,
But I just can't get this damned thing to work.

Candle Blues


Anthony Scarpantonio

Took Rosie out on Friday.
Mary the next night.
Rita out for breakfast,
And Connie out tonight.

Gave them codes on my beeper.
Checked my schedule the most.
If I don't keep them separated,
They'll turn me into toast.

They say a candle
Makes a romantic dinner.
But the way I've been burnin',
Just my pocket's getting slimmer.

I have the candle blues,
Both my ends ablaze.
I have the candle blues,
Both my ends ablaze.
If I ain't very careful,
The Devil gonna claim my days.

To Walk Again


Anthony Scarpantonio

I see you there,
And I wish to meet you.
By now I shouldn't feel this-
The wedding should have been years ago.
But she left,
And packed more than her belongings.
She took the heart she shattered-my heart,
And put it on a plane.
Left my soul so barren,
Not even the Devil wants it.

I wonder,
What it would be like;
To talk to you
About silly things that
Only children ask.
To touch you,
And remember how soft
Skin can be.
To share a spoonful of ice cream,
That ends up on one's nose.
To kiss,
Until we remember to breathe.
To hold your hand...
Could you teach me to
Walk in the moonlight again?

Fresh Meat


Anthony Scarpantonio

Standing at the bar,
A crowded mix of
Youndbloods, vagabonds, and regulars.
The cigarette smoke mingles with
The atmosphere of loud music,
And loneliness.

Through the shuffling masses
I see but a glance of you-
And already you have captured me.
Your features, your tone,
Your innocence.

But I can't get near you,
Barely can I catch your eye.
For you are like a fresh slab of meat
Thrown into the waters before the
Great Whites that circle your scent
And devour you,
Before I can pull you from their depths.



Anthony Scarpantonio

As we live,
The walls we build
In our mind form endless
Mazes and catacombs in which
We hide our fears, our loves,
And our dreams.

Just when we have built them up high enough
To entomb them deep in our mind,
Something makes ethereal contact with it,
And the walls come crashing down.
We stand there,
Naked to our soul.

Unprepared dealings
We try to make sense of it all.
You try to pick up the fallen bricks,
Grab onto some mortar
To rebuild the walls again;
Harder though this time.

Every waking hour
You have to deal with construction,
While the future slips away.
And just when about finished,
It crashes again. The walls weren't high enough.
Death did not come soon enough.

Who Could Care?


Anthony Scarpantonio

And a mother
Left her child
By the side of the road.
The pain was to much
Her anguish unbounded.
She did not understand
The evil that led to this-
So foreign the thought.
In the spring,
Instead of rebirth...
Came massacre.
Death reigned-not life,
And he laughed through the summer,
As the people would drop-
Their liquids left
To leave a frame
Shrouded in drawn skin-
The stench.

And a mother
Left her child
By the side of a road.
It didn't matter which road.
For all of them were lined
With bodies.
For no one bothered
To pay attention-
The thirst was so high
Water was skimmed off
Laden pools of mud
And corpses.
No rain fell to wash away
The poison that took the innocent
That was left behind by
Just another genocide
Of people that were just different-
And surprise-not by color or
Just by name.
The world could only look on as
Death took true tally.

And a mother
Left her child
By the side of the road.
She held her one last time-
Still crying as she left her.
Her only dignity to her child
Was not placing her upon
The thousands stewn beside the road,
But giving her her own ground.
And as she walked away,
Now alone,
Her child was just buried
Under a thousand others
Who'd lost their own.

7 P.M. Blues


Anthony Scarpantonio

Came home from work one evening,
Saw your note on the table.
Got my stuff together,
And went on out the door.

I've got them 7 P.M. blues.
Went down to the pier,
Got on that cruisin' ship,
And sailed right out of here.

I went and asked the captain
If he knew of a place
Where I could catch a good one.
He just shook his face.

And he said to me...

What are you doin' on my ship,
And casting lines out here?
What are you doin' on my ship,
And casting lines out here?
You are in the wrong ocean.
Take it from me-am I clear?

So I went on back home,
My baby was standin' outside.
She cried she didn't mean what she said,
And would always stay by my side.

But I went on by,
Got the last things from my drawer.
Told my baby I'm stepping out-
Don't want to be here no more.

So I went down to the gin mill,
And the man said What'll ya have?
I said my baby done me wrong...
Just give me all you have.

I've got the 7P.M. blues.
I've got to wash them all out.
I've got the 7P.M. blues.
I've got to wash them all out.
And after I am done,
I'll cast my line out
And start again.

Not Body But Mind


Anthony Scarpantonio

When I go off to the land of mirth,
Bury me not in the cold damp earth.
What use for I to be there;
A monument for those to dispair?

I'd be lucky for anyone to visit,
And pray to my soul?
For what use-
It shall be left,
And gone to God knows where.

Dismantle my innards-
And give some other my contribution.
Turn the rest to ash,
To save-
Twelve square feet of real estate.