Fred Profeta grew up in Maplewood and has lived here almost all of his life. He became the Mayor in 2003, and remained on the Township Committee through 2010. Fred wrote poetry in Columbia High School and at college, but this was followed by decades of legal writing – effective but not very poetic. Now while recuperating from major surgery, Fred is trying his hand at different things—including dabbling in poetry again. The three poems submitted are recent efforts.
RINGO
Your ears jump up with little peaks in the middle,
the rest folding down gently as soft leather does.
Head atilt.
Tail moves – only that.
Now race in a wild romp to chase, grab, prance, pull.
Stop.
Now do it again.
Are you doing it again for the first time?
SMALL PIECES
Water bubbling, rolling, rushing fresh scented to the sea.
All senses enthralled. But then ingest the stuff of dumb and dirty rocks.
All the same particles within, ever smaller they find. Bubbling water, dirty rocks, and you and me and Uncle Bert, hero of Normandy and the Bulge.
Nazi flag prize with blood and dirt of one small encounter – pieces 0f small lives. Joe DiMaggio was small. A meteor flashes. Particles, then small pieces, then particles again.
Aye, but I could not write if not for all the small pieces on a string.
Credit Fred Profeta
LITTLE STICKS
Maze of little maple sticks with dismal gray trunks.
A tangled line mostly unseen when the earth is dank and dark.
Sleeping.
In time longer sun comes to grass and shrub and hulking giants
reaching into the warm blue.
Then you are wavy green yet no more nor less than the rest that stand
with you at the edge of my lawn.
But, when the crisp wind comes – ah, this is your time, short but splendid.
Quickly green blends into burgeoning bands of resplendent yellow – more
brilliant by far than all the rest around you, big and small.
Each day brings a surprise slash of sunny orange and red.
All hues sing in an ever new symphony of sights.
And then the color fades – no finale there – finally just sticks once more.
No hint of a new rhapsody within.
Will one always swell and burst forth?
You look fragile little sticks.
Hope is not as fragile.
Periodically, The Village Green will be publishing works by local artists. We accept essays, short stories, poetry, photography, video and images of multimedia art. Submit to the editors at villagegreennj@gmail.com. Submissions will be published at the editors’ discretion.
