Poetry, Magick, Inspiration



The following poem was originally titled "A Tribute to Mother" copyright 1961.
I wrote this some 40 years ago.
It seems as though someone has taken 95% of my words
and changed it to ""my son". Since I ended up
having two sons later in life, I would like to
thank whoever changed the words to my original poem.
My Mother still has the original "hand written" copy of
of the poem. To have my Mother and my sons related
in the same poem is delightful.


My hands were busy through the day,
I didn't have much time to play
The little games you asked me to.
I didn't have much time to do

I'd wash your clothes and sew and cook
And when you brought your picture book
And ask me please to share your fun,
I'd say: "A little later, son."

I'd tuck you in all safe at night
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door...
I wish I'd stayed a minute more.

For life is short, the years rush past...
A little boy grows up so fast.
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no longer games to play,
No good-night kiss, no prayers to hear...
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands, once busy, now are still.
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I could go back and do
The little things you asked me to

(Above Poem Taken from The Original
A Tribute to Mother and altered by
someone unknown to me. However, here it is.

A Tribute to Mother

Your hands once busy through the day,
You didn't have much time to play.
The little games I asked you too,
You never had much time to do.

You'd wash my clothes and sew and cook
And when I brought my picture book
And asked you share my fun,
You'd say: "A little later, hun."

You tucked me in all safe at night,
Hear my prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door.
I wish you'd stayed a moment more.

For life is short, the years rush past.
A little child grows up so fast.
No longer are you at my side,
My precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no longer games to play,
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear.
That all belongs to yesteryear.

Your hands once busy, now lie still.
The days are long and hard to fill
I wish we could go back and do
The little things I asked you to.

But thats OK, cause I love you still.
I always did and I always will.

MaryAnn LoSchiavo Barbuto
written 1961

(Mary Ann LoSchiavo/Barbuto)

Sakara Dream


We are stronger than we think.
We are resilient at times.
We can carry burdens that would bring most
people to their knees.
Yet we are as gentle as a cloud on a sunlit day.
We are as dangerous as Mother Natures disasters
If someone threatens those we love.
Yet we can turn and walk away
when someone threatens us.
Don't mistake our kindness for weakness.
Just ask those who have made that mistake.
We are not just women.
Our strength comes from the love of friends
who are always there for us.
It comes from the love of our families.
We are sisters through it all.

This poem is dedicated to Linda, Jorja, Melissa, Nickel,
T, Woo, the Vikster,

A special dedication to Kimberlee, Butterfly, Rosie, Maiden,
Missi, and of course, Angel. You Ladies have given
me more "Strength" then you will ever
imagine and I LOVE YOU.

but especially to my Mother
by far the Strongest woman I know

Abortion of My Soul

The time has come again
When I must pick up a pen
And start to write of saddness

Never ceasing, never easing
Always part of every feeling
Bringing me to the brink of maddness

I try to hold on so tight
My knuckles turn pale white
Happening again, or did it ever stop?

Hanging helplessly from above
My heart pours out so much love
But I truly don't fear the drop

The saddness will stop

December 2001


My eyes are oceans where sorrow ebbs
As sadness bruises the tender petals
of innocence
Turning the unrelenting pain of my despair
into nothing more then another moment of
While I chronicle another day of my worthlessness
Take your noxious fervor of loath
And dampen not one more second of my time

As words form slowly but profound
I fumble, amused at my attempt to rhyme.

Now I lay me down to sleep
As I watch my spirit weep

Buried deep within my being
Torment that just keeps on giving

Eyes and ears erupt and ooze deep dark blood,
dripping down my face and neck
as slow as molasses in January

What is this? your earthen mind asks
Just another day, my translucent friend.
Nothing more

Your flirtatious glimmer tries to
extract my feelings
Phonies with more deceptive means
have tried and failed in this undertaking

The more you are persistent
The more you'll find resistance
And again in this instance
I advise you. Keep your distance

A need to rhyme
for ole time
blinds my mind
as I recline

NOW back to the darkness of my dreams

January 2002
Some of my darker moments. There are many.

Where there is joy in love
I can touch the hand of the
beloved and sigh.

When there is pain in love
I can only touch pen to paper
and with words for tears, cry

I see shattered glass, torn paper
I hear crys in the night

Fragments of things known not
Prepare for the terrible flight.

Start out in beauty. A few poems
Break it down to a phrase.

Caught! Can't breath
It's started again. The maze

Thumping wells from beneath
The pretty flowers are in line.

Head pounds. Unfinished lives.
The big posters a Warning Sign


Magick in the air, magick in the wind
Send my thoughts, swiftly to him.
Magick in the stars, magick of the moon
Send my Love to me, very soon
"forever" he said. He did honestly speak
Forever my Love, that's how it shall be



You are the Wind
I a dry fallen leaf
Your breeze takes me through adventures
I never knew

Who will say the final good-bye
And who will make it last:
Me and my pain
You and your fears?



Running Free

Smiles are like leaves upon a regal tree.
They grow, then ripen, drop to the ground
with hopes to soon run free.
Love is like the air, which becomes a breeze
after birth
It carries these leaves from place to place
encircling the earth


I thought my heart had now forgot
Its talent to suffer and retreat;
I used to say, "What was, is not.
It's gone away, it won't repeat."

I loved you; and perhaps until this day
Within my soul is burning still the fire;
But do not be disturbed in any way;
I would not sadden you with my desire.
I loved you with a silent desperation,
First timid, next with jealousy I'd smother;
May the gods grant you be loved so by another

Upon awakening this morning
I looked at you my love.
I rose and walked to the window
where the sun was bursting through the sky.
I gazed out and heard the birds singing
and saw the light dancing on the flowers
And I thought, "What a beautiful morning"
As I climbed back into bed and
snuggled close to you, I did wonder
though why all those people outside
were carrying umbrellas.

The house is still
I gaze out the window to a blackened world
There are acres and acres of land.
Hills and valley, ponds and forest.
I hear the quiet thumping loudly

The stars glisten in the sky
Like precious diamonds on black velvet.
I am aware of more movement at night
then there ever could be in the day light hours.

The glowing moon, casting shadows upon the shadows.
Creatures of the night scurry from place to place
in the hush of a slight breeze
The slope to the pond is barely visible.

For a moment, my heart crys out to the darkness.
Then in a most calming way I "feel" Her
She brings rest to the weary who must tread by day
She brings vigor to the nocturnal as they hunt their prey

Odd, I just heard a fog horn warning of its passage
as an owl hoots toward the sky in thanks
She is with us always, watching. guarding, teaching, healing.
Listen carefully for She is the Mother of us all

Never resting,
Hoping we will remember that we are never alone
She lives in everything
And although I speak to Her during the day
It is at night, in the dark
When I best feel Her presence

Whispering of Her magickal wonders.
Whether we are awake or in our dreams
She is forever and always there.

Raining Paper and Ashes

Charred letter head from Standard Charter Bank, pink Please Call notes, pieces of numbered papers, documents, agendas,... are all raining from the sky. Pieces of peoples lives, floating to the ground, some hanging in trees, others landing on roofs.
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
Picking them up, knowing they have been held by someone just a few hours ago. Work that was so important it had to be finished today. Filed, mailed, read. And in the flash of a madman's eye, it's gone. It is no longer important.
Now instead of looking for that important memo, they are looking through the rubble for the person who wrote it. Hoping they are still alive. Sifting through the ashes, wondering, "Was this important? Was this somebodies shirt? Was this somebody?"
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
People stopped running. There is no place else to go. Others stare in wonder trying to figure out when they will wake up, while even more trying to understand how they got where they are. Walking bleary eyed. Shock. Disbelief. Crys of "Why?". Others take up with the screaming, still not knowing. Grief, loss, injury, pain of all kinds. Voices are a bit softer then they were at 8:50 am. The screaming is over. Stunned. Waiting, twitching, flinching at the sound of a plane. The bang of a pot. Two giant structures that graced a skyline, disintegrated in moments.
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
Taking with them the father that needed to grab his childrens pictures, the mother who wanted her pocketbook so she would have her car keys to grab her kids.. A young teen, working in the mailroom, dreaming of becoming a company executive one day. The grandfather who couldn't run as fast as the others. The janitor sweeping the hall, working harder to make a better life for his family.
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
No more.

copyright MaryAnn Barbuto 9/11/2001

All poetry is copyrighted and may not be used without
the express permission of the author. All rights reserved.
MaryAnn Barbuto


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