Joseph Damico

Escondido, California, USA

In Memory of Janet

My poems are making it; I'm in the Society; and attending my first convention. All of this because of a young high-school English teacher who heard me say that I've written poems for almost 2/3 of a century and left them to gather dust. "Mr. Damico," she begged. "I'm on sabbatical leave and bored. Please let me help you get your poems out for publication. Please!" I'm glad I accepted her offer. Our work sessions were filled with her humor. And once, when I commented on her "almost too slender physique," she noticeably changed the subject. She didn't want me to know that she had terminal cancer.

Sweet Times Gone

I'm holding back from going to see him-
To take a cab to the sad part of town.
Afraid to add to a heart that's grieving
With all those memories hanging around.
We were shy and we liked it fine
Living in back of his pa's garage.
And, oh, that garage lit up like magic
when he picked up that old guitar.
Sweet times gone; they've gone on by.
To laugh and dream with friends;
It ends, and so we cry.
Sweet times gone so far away
Leaving whispers in the air-
Sad whispers here to stay.
I get tears near spilling over
Thinking back to long ago
Before he left with that old guitar
To sing to world he didn't know.

O Mocking Bird Against the Sun (I Am You and We Are One)

Toward the end of a hard day's work, sometimes I get to feeling low.
I don't own much besides my shirt and my loving life is touch and go.
I sing the blues because I see that nothing's right and plenty's wrong.
Then I hear this bird up close mocking my sad complaining song:
O Mocking Bird Against the Sun singing what's been sung before,
Repeating things and nothing more, I Am You and We Are One.
O Mocking Bird Against the Sun doing what has been designed:
Being born to fill our time with nothing more than what's been done.
Once, when luck was good to me, men said I was very wise.
And when the ladies looked at me, I saw promise in their eyes.
I walked like I was kin to gods. And separated from the herd
I made up my own applause. then I hear this mocking bird:
chorus- - -
I've seen this bird most everywhere: in a mess of telephone wires;
On top of castles in the air; on top of chimneys without fires.
It must have been there at my birth and sang my songs when I was young
And, with me, it'll leave this earth, and another bird will do what's done.
chorus----

Janet Smith

When I told Janet about the poems I have written through the years,
She said, "Mr. Damico, it's sad. They'll turn to dust and disappear.
If you'll let me help you file, in order, all your poetry,
I'll gather a list of contests and publishers who'll take your poetry."
We worked well together. I was straight man for her repartee.
She a high school teacher on sabbatical avoiding boring days.
Leaving the poems with her, I left to visit sisters in New York State.
Janet almost revealed the truth with, "Come back soon. I can't wait."
When I returned I got a first-time-ever hug with repartee.
I asked about her drastic loss of weight and wiped our tears away.
A furious anger grew inside of me- I asked of Him above.
"Please! Take me! Not her! She's so young, so brave, so full of love!"
With only her friend, Susan, and I to hold her hands; Janet died Dec.5. 1996

Joseph welcomes email at diversity@4dcomm.com.