Category: Poetry


Lyrics calling foe Unity in America in a Time of Division

Taylor Swift or staff who work for her will never read this tweet, let alone the lyrics or “Unity (We the People)”… Yet what kind of message would it send if such a figure turned the words to vocals in song?

I had to try…

Wordiness and a would-be song; “Cool Dude, Loose Mood”

Poetry and I are not strangers, the evidence is here on the site in the “Creative Writing” section and elsewhere if you look around. I’ve been penning prose of one variety or another since the 1990’s.

Yeah, I’m old. Deal with it.

There are some that have inspired musicians to actually put the words to music. That’s a longer story than I can tell at this time (wink wink, nudge nudge) but my point is that songwriting is something I’m dabbling in. It has created a plight, though.

See, early in the summer I had a friend send me a guitar riff he recorded. He was looking to build a song around it. Now, this idea was garage-rock in caliber. Do-the-job, verse-chorus-verse simple and straight. The riff is the base and the center for the song in melody and what has to be done is to give it some words to finish the product. The problem there was… well, maybe I’ve been exposed to too much Alternative over the years or maybe I’ve seen too many rock songs that have been larger tellings than Keep It Simple Stupid? Then again, maybe I’m a poet and lucky if my words ever go to a finished song… Read More

Flailing Credence

The lines are quite direct
The facts, they intersect
It doesn’t change the status quo
Or raise the bass to falsetto

Doubt is such an ugly feat
Factual is a caveat
Truth be told, no confidence
What a flaring coincidence

Read the lines and know the story
Unite, divide, war and glory
To know the past is not the moment
Opinionate: a faulty torrent

Looky here! Four lines to a verse!
My self-doubt, it’s getting worse!
Oh, so lost in a middle eight
And I know no reader can relate

Choice is such a deed
A foley or agreed
Rockin’ in a silent case
Mar-a-Lago’s such a horrid place

And no, it’s not a song
In your own words, you sing along
Personally? A forced taste
Of wordplay’s saucy taste

Satisfaction: Next to nil
Getting older, genetic ill
Lacking in a filling role
Falling, failing, in a hole

“Unity (We the People)” – a would-be song of protest

Late this spring, curiosity and recollection started pushing in my head toward music and what was going on in the political and social spheres. This isn’t the 1960’s but with how much upheaval has been playing out regularly – race attacks, propaganda, lies and distortions, pitting business and profit over the welfare of the country, and the protests tied to them all – I was left wondering what those in the music industry were doing about it?

I mean, really, with how much was produced that was just tinged with the social stuff from the ‘60’s, you’d expect 2017 to be filled with songs inspired in some way or another by what was going on – some offering calm, others decrying certain aspects.

In June I put down my own song lyrics of protest. My intention at the start wasn’t to directly protest as so much make a social decree or write something based off of what was ongoing… but it turned into a generalized summary of the status-quo of 2017.

What really leaves me in awe is how things have played out to make the words more relevant. This was penned before Charlottesville and other strife of the summer.

A key line in the chorus is still a truth here in mid autumn 2017: We must defy the great divide. We stand strongest as a society and as a country of the world when we stand together. When all sides come back to this truth, that will be when the course will plot in the right direction.

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The plight of a newbie lyricist marketing a song demo

Even if they aren’t into country music, my friends have been impressed. I’ve already unveiled it but here it is, all over again! A nineteen-year old poem converted into a would-be pop/country song! Slowly, Her Name Fades Away:

Okay, so now what?

Seriously, now what? Read More

Silence and song; the musical demo of “Slowly, Her Name Fades Away”

How does a deaf composer get the attention of the music industry? Think about that for a minute, would you? It happens to be a serious question asked by a man who is currently sitting in an unsound situation.

I’m not Ludwig van Beethovenfar from it – but I can say that my toe is in the proverbial water of the music industry at the moment. Okay, actually it’s actually my entire foot up to my ankle or lower shin (that comes by way of me having spent time trying to promote the Pretty Voices over the past year). It goes by way of words and actions, not so much plucking piano keys and writing orchestral symphonies.

See, I wrote a poem back in the fall of 1998 (a long long time ago in a galaxy not-so-far away) that I’ve clung to over the years. It’s a poem I had intended for inclusion in a self-published poetry book… It’s also something I thought could be done in a musical arrangement to make it into a song.

So, when I got frustrated and vastly slowed this past spring, and while I still had thoughts tying said-poem into a musical arrangement, I made an inquiry with the Nashville Song Service if the lyrical-verse really could be done as a song. Indeed, it got the green light. Read More

At Loss to Moore

(Written with remorse and in memoriam. Rest in peace, Sir Roger Moore)

At Loss to Moore

More today is sad to see
Somber sorrows and infamy
Less renown is our grief
Nostalgic remorse from years gone by

More today is gone tomorrow
To the halls of memory and accolades
Spied upon from days gone by
Revelled in with amounts of majesty

Less be more, the status quo
What comes after is without
Blessings from the might that was the more
Shall broaden the reach of what will be

In Protest of the Trump Card (a poem in the “writing” seciton)

Lyrical hopes and poetic dreams for the immediate future

I’ve been going through older poems that don’t appear on the site, I’ve been going through a collection of my works over the decades . Things I wrote as poetry sure sound like songs (or at least look like them, and I can imagine melody to go along with them). I’m no musician though, no composer, or I’d try to put together a full song and get things on the market (not me as a performer, me as a composer).

I will admit right now that I do have a poetry/lyrical verse manuscript and am hoping to have a self-published book out in 2017. That’s still in the process of being honed out though. There are aspects I haven’t even explored yet with that, and those I have asked to review my work (as editor types) have yet to get back to me with any input.

All of that said, here’s an example of that lyrical-verse/poetry that I had a habit of doing in the past. It’s something that is not going to be included in the book as it stands, but that could change. I’d appreciate feedback on this too. It has been on the web before, when my personal home page was on Tripod ages and ages ago. Different title then.:

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Musical Demo: Picture Perfect (aka Picture Perfect Love Affair)

In the late 1990’s I was a poet and lyricist first and foremost. You can find some of the poetry I wrote and have written over the years on the site (click the writing tab above and move down to the poetry selection). That’s not the point though. One poem I wrote, just a lyrical mash-up inspired a bit by Green Day, was “Picture Perfect Love Affair”, a crazy guy in love with a girl in a photo. In fact, that story sort of mocks me at the time, as girls from High School still mattered, and I only had their photos to look at.

Years later, I forget when exactly, I had a little edit of the poem.  “Edit” being the addition of a chorus to use between stanzas:

It’s a picture
Picture perfect

Picture perfect love affair

It’s a real simple build up and filler but it does the job that is expetec of it – it moves you forward and transitions you.

The summer of 2016 had me meet (online and off) Nick from the Pretty Voices. At one point or another I ran lyrical verse past him in a conversation and lo and behold, Nick delivered a demo of my work.

As it stands right now, I don’t think the Pretty Voices are going to record this thing, but it IS nice to have something I wrote put to music.

Inspired by a picture

I’m only posting this on Stonegauge the site because I’ve discovered I placed a bit of my writing here that I don’t have hard copies of on my own computer. This poem was inspired by a photo taken from bed. I’d post the picture but I never know if the site is going public again or not, and the picture is private — not that kind of private! Get your mind out of the gutter!

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The weight of their worlds

Lay their hardships unto me
Their doubts, their fears
Their degradations

Lay their weights upon my shoulders,
Threats and harms
Leave them be

Steer them straight, right, and true
Deliver from evil
And to the promise of the now

Yes, lay their hardships unto me
And through my suffering
Spare them all

Disappearing poetry act explained

I decided to take a shot with some of my written works, stuff that has never been published beore (sans on this web site) and actually submit them to a literary review. It’s been about a month since I made those submissions. It oculd be another two before I hear back from said literary review.

I’m skeptical on my chances.

A word’s worth is subjective

Last night I started mucking around with a challenge that I had not partaken in for quite some time. Not a challenge, per se, but an investment in my thoughts and creativity that I have dedicated elsewhere for a while.

I wrote a poem. Actually, two poems, but that’s besides the point. The last poem I had written was back in March or April. Before that? January. And before that? I can’t recall.

And yet, getting through the words, stringing things together and painting a picture of thought and emotion… well, I had doubts… Doubts that I’d done the job, doubts that I veiled things enough to not seem obvious, doubts that I had crafted a narrative that made sense in constructing a scene and building a message.
Doubts that I could get a reaction from anyone I shared this with.

A gun-shy poet. That’ll never work.

What it’s worth is purely subjective, as the poem itself will say. That applies to more than just writing, but people and things.

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Waiting for Her Word

It’s been months since I posted anything on my personal blog here.  Where am I? Is this sitei site dead?

I’m busy more often than not, and no – the Stonegauge is not dead.  Just dormant.  When I have been writing lately, it’s been personal and it’s been in the mail (didn’t I once say that it’s great getting letters in the mail?)…  That or I am doing hockey stuff.

This off-season has afforded me more time for myself (which has been a good and bad thing).  I’ve found escape in writing, an ability to immerse myself in a thought or idea, or a feeling and a story.  It’s like a release, as it used to be when I would write a real good poem that conveyed something creatively.

Oh, I’m still doing poetry too.  Just not much of it, thanks.  That’s what this post is – a poem.  Something I wrote a few months ago for an absent face.

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The Unpublished Works

Everyone likes seeing their name in print.

Well, unless of course it’s trash tabloid-ism or an arrest warrant… But I’m not talking just-printed-on-paper but I mean a by-line of one sort or another. I can say that from experience as I’ve gotten that kick — seeing “John Fontana” linked to letters-to-the-editor, or being sourced/interviewed by USA Today, being quoted in The Hockey News, The New York Times Slap Shot blog and la-de-da.

But I can also say that wasn’t where I intended to go with writing when I started out as a kid.  My intention wasn’t to be a face-in-the-crowd (though no matter what you write or publish, you are another face in the crowd of literature) in the newspaper.  Not another source for magazines and what not.  Not a weblogger.  I planned on doing things creatively and having my own book.  Or books — plural.  Take your pick.

But that never happened.  See, when i was a teen I got away from story writing so much and was writing poetry most of the time…  a habit that’s followed me into adulthood.  Lyrical verse more-so than deep observations and perspectives..  Well, yeah they are perspectives but they are my perspectives.   Sometimes just pop, sometimes inspired by events or people or feelings  in my life.

Over the years, I’ve had some of them available to the masses through the web…  Certainly you can find a couple of them on this site and probably elsewhere on the web…  But they’ve never really been published in the sense of print.  Never published in the sense of being out there for any traditional form of mass consumption.  I haven’t bothered to take the time with sending out poems to magazines who have niches all of their own (and aren’t available unless you pay for a subscription or pay for a copy — while you’re not getting paid for your contribution).

I ought to put together a manuscript and do something with it.  But I’m hesistant.

Catherine Durkin Robinson, local blogger and Creative Loafing contributor, has written two book manuscripts.  Her first one is being published, chapter-by-chapter, on a blogspot site.  The other, a more recent work based on her life as a teacher in Hillsborough County, is being sent around to literary agents in hopes someone will pick up the work and mass-market it. Sadly, that has not been the case and the rejections have been comical at best.

Their loss.  I’ve read the book and it’s not only a good read, it’s provocative and controversial enough to be read widely by those fearing school-district scandals.

I also have another friend, in the Pacific Northwest this time, who went out and self-published her first novel.  The book, Steel Goddesses, is currently available on for purchase.  It takes a lot of courage to go out on a limb like that and self-publish any work…  But it sort of cuts out the middle-man of having to appease literary agents who tell you what a proper market for your writing is-or-isn’t and tells you to change your work to fit that niche.  At least that’s what I’ve seen with rejections served up to Catherine.

So the idea I am kicking around is actually putting together a manuscript of poetry I’ve written over the past decade and self-publishing it.  I realize that poetry is not exactly a hot seller and not going to lead me to riches…  It’d cost me more to publish than the commissions I’d get in the long run from doing it…  But it does what I have long sought to do — take the writings jammed in Mead notebooks that I’ve carried around since High School and take some of those verses and show them to the masses.  Will people connect?  I have doubts.  Will strangers read what I’ve  written?  Even more doubts…  But it’s mine, and it’d be out there.  My claim.  My piece of literature.

My book.

It’s a thought, at least.

This Bitter Month

Boring weekend with too much downtime and the end result is me posting a poem I meant to keep private. Yeah, Kate, you can get on my ass for being a morose m’fer (as you did last time 😉 ) but I thought this was good even if it was muy triste.

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Uninspiring: Let Me In

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything rhyme-based. In fact, despite all the hurt and emptiness — I haven’t been inspired to write shit. Usually the hurt, the pain, the anguish, the longing… It all drives me to write. It (or usually the source of everything inside) becomes a muse. I’ve had some great muses in my time (I’m talking people here, not instances of anguish) where the longing was what drove me to scrawl out lines of internal conflict and what not. Three above the others. And one trumps all.

It’s odd, though, that Current Source has inspired almost nothing for me. Here and there? Yeah. But nothing profound… The only poem that I had written was months old.

While I like the rhyme and the declaration — which goes beyond the obvious call for someone to drop their emotional wall and let someone “in” — it was foreshadowing of sorts. A warning sign I kept ignoring.

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Slowly, Her Name Fades Away

Well, the daylight slips away,
And I start to forget her name
She loved me for such a long, long time
Unlike any other lover of mine
She was so different,
But in the end, the same
Slowly, her name fades away

Our time just passed,
I thought it’d last
But my mistake …
She’s one and the same.
Well, she couldn’t cope,
A lover on a rope
So I must say,
Her name fades away

It’s guaranteed
That her and me
Would have run away some day
But as time went by,
That thought did die,
And our love passed on a Wednesday
Miracles forge —
and also disrupt
Slowly, her name fades away

What she meant to me,
I now can’t comprehend
I thought it was love everlasting,
At the end, it was just make pretend
Our love was once a fantasy,
A tale that I did once believe
But it’s sad to say, she’s gone away
Slowly, her name fades away

©1998 John P. Fontana

The Write Stuff

For a couple of years I had my writing online on various extensions of this domain name. Basically it was one short story and about a hundred poems that I had decided to put online.

Being the busy bee that I am and having other things to do online, I decided instead of keeping the site up and running, I took it down. All while saving the files.

Well, in a limited case I’m putting a definitive writing section back online. You can access it directly and you can also access it from the above menu by clicking WRITING.

Oh, and for the moment you can jump to the poems directly on the sidebar here on der Stonegauge’s main site. Some were never part of my collection on the old writings site and some were.


Since my sophomore year in High School back in 1994 I’ve done my share of writing rhyming verse and what one may or may not call poetry. Some of the following prose was written between 1994 and the present. Some are romance, some are broken hearts, some are stories, some observations, some just nutty. It’s subjective if any of them are good or not…

Everyone loves getting mail

Not one of my better poems, was written in a bit of a rush the other night when I had this thought on my mind… Inspired in part by The Lake House


I want to write you this letter
I want to spend time in thought and
Trying to figure out what I’d say to you
It’s great when you get a letter in the mail

And I’m thinking about writing a letter
It’s been a few weeks since we talked and
Right now you’re on my mind
Whether you like that idea or not

So it’s been a few weeks since we talked
The last time we did, we fought and
I let you walk all over me,
While you had good reason to be pissed

Yet I was all apologies
All in all is all we are
You never offered me the same
For you getting all angry and acting lame
I’d better not write you this letter after all

Why I better not write this letter
Because you just don’t respect me and
You got me tied around your little finger
And just twist and twist me tighter than a knot

Knots can be so cruel
They can be like feeling locked inside
Yeah, feelings can be knots too
Cinching tighter and restraining things

So I’m writing you this letter
I’m just a piece of twine twisted around
Your pinkie is red from this yarn
That we’ve both been spinning for ages

And it’s great getting letters in the mail
Last one I sent you was years ago
And I tap-tapity-tapped it up on my keyboard
My handwriting is a horror unto itself

The horror of my day
Realizing I still have feelings for you
And you’ve pretty clearly moved stage left
The lights are bright on Broadway
“The Producers” is better watched with an audience

And I don’t know if you care
Getting a letter in the mail from me
Letters in the mail are great but even better
When you don’t expect them
I’m the king of “don’t-expect’em”

And my wrist is getting
Writing out this yarned ramble
Ramble – what we know so well
What we loved, what we lived, what we did for hours

And I watched this movie
And it got me thinking that i ought to
Write you a letter
You could care less about the addressee
Your residence wasn’t hard to find

So I’m closing this letter off
Hoping to put things to rest even though it’s
Special to get a letter in the mail
And I want to share special with you again

All in all is all we are
Kurt Cobain is formally dead and
You can’t respect someone who kisses your ass
It just doesn’t work

So I watched this movie tonight
I wanted to write you a letter
I wanted to write you this letter
It’s great getting something in the mail

© John Fontana

On your mind

I don’t know how often other people do this but I always get curious about other people’s thoughts — thoughts involving me, thoughts involving others and such. While opinions and perceptions can come off hurtful when you hear them – they can also raise you up to new heights.

But the one that always gets me is when I hear someone dreamed of me. Me! I was on someone’s thoughts enough that I ran through their mind… Even if I had nothing to do with the underlying fabric of what went on in the dream and the psychology of what happened (dreams have a great wide amount of meanings)… It’s just special to know that the thought was there.

So here’s my next one — yeah, a little verse on this St. Valentines Day… Inspired by the ones on our minds.

On Your Mind

When last was I
A Sight for sore eyes?
The last time you
Longed my hand?
When last was I your
Knight in shining armor,
Your prince,
Your noble man?

When last did I
Paint a picture
That made you melt because
You were my muse?
When last did I
Earn your undivided attention
While we discussed the
Front page news?

When last did my thought
Earn your affection
Because of the joy
That I bring?
When last did we
Fly through the heavens,
Together —
In the night
While you slept,
And you dreamed?

© 2007 John Fontana

Incomplete or not, here it comes…

I started writing this one months ago while someone was kvetching to me in the usual disrespectful “you’re there while I need you” manner and gave me a little vision during it.

So one good thing came from my sap act:

Dance of the Ages

Dancing barefoot in the grass
Gypsy woman reflects the ages
Curly hair tied back with rags
The melody makes love to her

Fabric waving through the air
Her dress flaps loose, without a care
Playing on the tamborine
And watchers heeding her every move

Gypsy woman lives on the road
No roots or ties, she knows no home
Her band of gypsies come and go
Strangers eyes are her closest friend

Night falls and the music ends
She washes, naked, at the rivers edge
Pale moonlight bathes her in a glow
She longs for the throes of passion

Day comes and the troop pushes forth
On their course, their road heads north
Gypsy woman heeds that cry
Somewhere new, there’s a strangers eye —

To captivate and to alure
A lovers gaze, a young man’s urge
To tease and taunt through her dance of ages
She lures them to her like cats to string

© 2007 John Fontana

More poetry

On a creative tear.

Moral Suicide

What is a standard worth
When you are
Unhappy in life under it?

What is a principle worth
If it keeps you alone
Day-dreaming of a bliss that
Isn’t real?

The rules and laws
You set for yourself
Are made to be broken —
–unless you dread where
Life will lead
Without them

Unhappiness is a constant,
When longing an unattained goal
Which amounts to the
Standard practice
Of my life

© 2007 John Fontana



All I can do is watch you from
Your blonde hair
Shifting with the breeze –
Willow branches taunted by the
Throes of air as it bows and
Sways where and when
The hidden forces will it

All I do is admire you from
Smile darting and mischievous
Youth and happiness
Escaping into a
Cynical world
Anarchy and confusions
Life as we both know it

All I can do is endeavor into your
Mysteries of your being —
Auroras in the heavens
Blazing and dancing
Wonderment, allure,
Compelling me to try,
Try again

All I can do know you through my
Out of reach, out of knowing
Out of a solution to the confusions
That find me enamored by you
Knowing nothing is a bliss
Having nothing — torture
Yet having this dream spoiled
Having the answers
May just extinguish the
Artistic maelstrom
Your palette paints into my

Lost Inside

Seen my feelings lost inside forever
Couldn’t we be good together?
Girl, you are my everything,
You’re all my wants and craves

Lost inside the secret you
What am I supposed to do
Girl, you are my majesty
I’ll worship you forever

Only known I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything that I do crave
Is lost inside your being

Now to find you,
I need to be your everything,
Fit the bill and fly the path,
Our equation, do the math,
Add us two and then subtract –
The worries and the hardships

Seen my feelings inside you, girl
Oh my, honey, what a world
What am I supposed to do?
I’ve stayed lost inside the secret you

And inside, I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything I’ll always crave
Is lost inside the secret you

©1998 John P. Fontana
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I've Lost You Again Today

The conversation closed and the good Lord only knows
When I’ll speak with you again
You’re leaving today, winging ‘way on a plane
And I’ve lost you again today

We’ve known each other for quite a few years,
Shared our laughter, anger and tears
We’re lovers of past
Friends of today
Yet something’s been missing in things we say

I lost you once when you needed space
I lost you twice when you moved away
I’ve lost you to another man
Now I’m losing you to a foreign land

But away, you’ve gotta go
The life you chose is the life you know
And your life’s heading in another direction
We’d only crossed at an intersection
Each time you’ve gone, you’ve come back to me
And I hope that’s how it’ll always be

I know you’re happy with the plan:
You’re path in life, your future, your man
But something in me’s been gone a long, long time
The joy you bring and the way you can–
Fill me up with hope and glee
Honey, you’ve always completed me
But the time grows short and the rhyme grows long
I look again and now you’re gone

You’re on your way, with part of me
It seems that you have some secret key
You unlock my smiles and my zany side
Ignite my passions and calm my mind
But you’re not mine — yet you’ll always be
I’ve lost you again, you’re flying free
I’ve lost you again, as you glide ‘cross the sea

© 2005 John Fontana

Aspiration of Romance

Enchant me
Rise up over me and engulf me
Through your sensuality and softness
With your intellect and your persona
Show me the reason to care again
And give me a reason to want

Entrance me
Captivate me so I
Can think of nothing other than
Your very existence while
The world spins its uncontrollable revolutions
Leaving each man to cope with its maelstrom

Intoxicate me
Make me wish for nothing more than your
Warm and unblemished flesh
Held close against me
Where desire takes us into the
Unfamiliar territories
Of bliss and contentment

Save me
Find my cynical and sarcastic person
And convince him there is still good in the world
Simply by being yourself
Simply by pointing out in your everything
That not all is corrupt and lost to lust
Lost to insanity
Lost to the malice mankind unleashes on itself

Teach me to love again
Be my purpose in life
The purpose being having and holding you
Wanting and loving you
Supporting and caring for you
Until the sun sets on this world

© 2005 John Fontana

Poem: “If It’s All The Same to You”

If it’s all the same to you
I’m gonna’ talk a while
See where the rhythm leads me
Or if I can forget your smile

If it’s all the same to you
I feel left for dead
Solitary Avenues
And a cold, lonely bed

If it’s all the same to you
I think I’ll hate the world
Where you’ve gone, loved, lived, moved on
And I can’t find another girl

If it’s all the same to you
I’ll cry myself to sleep
Self-esteem is running low
And shallowness reigns supreme

© 2005 John Fontana

Enter the poet; “Socially Inept”

Socially Inept

In an Information Age
Where knowledge roams free
And technowledgy rules

Srutting and fretting
An hour on stage
The flock of seagulls committee
Is cammanded by the ignoramous
Made to feel worse by those who care the most

Third verse
Third wheel
Cursed in a rambling ode of
Outsider Syndrom —
And unrequested serving
At a humble establishment

© 2005 John P. Fontana

For postierity

I wrote this poem with one person in mind and it’s odd that it has come true in every faccet.

….well, almost everything… until now.

Things might just be a scare but if not, it’s a serious issue has come up that coudl force a loss…. And no offense, but you were bound for it… Just because you reap what you sow.

Wedding Gift

So Josh and Michelle are getting hitched Sunday and now that I have some time to cram on the gift — I’m hitting a wall creatively. Not hitting a wall but my first intuition is that the poem I was going to give them, framed and with art, isn’t going to cut it.

I originally wrote this thing with a girl named Jamie Rose and her boyfriend from High School in mind. I wrote it because I felt guilty for having a crush on the chick when she was so in love with her boyfriend.

So now I am wondering what I should do — edit it where need be? Keep it as is? Bah! Choices, choices!

And let no one put assunder, for together they are a whole….

And a Time to every Purpose

A Time to Every Purpose….

A time to every purpose
Except this ongoing circus
Of fear and fate, malignant deeds,
Sore for sight eyes and tumbleweeds

Been mislead in all directions
Vote’s been voided in all elections

Lacking course
Searching for a sign
Or a loving hand to help me by

And suppose my purpose never comes?
Or even worse — it never was?
Falling down a flight of stairs
Life’s reasons are never what they seem

Lonliness is what I fear
Reasonless is what draws near
…And a time to every purpose
Except my own

© 2005 John Fontana

Pen to pad, long time gone

I’ve been trying to re-arrange my poetry page instead of ammassing everything I have by 10 poems-per-page. I don’t know why I am doing it exactly but I am doing it…. (all of this while I shoudl be working on Chantilly Lace gifts).

The thing is, I read over certain poems and I can remember exactly where and when I was when I wrote that poem… Some of them I rememeber exactly what I was feeling. I’ve lst at least one entire book of poetry because I lent it out to someone who would later betray me… And at the same time I still have 7 volumes sitting on a bookshelf that are just one big reminder of things in the past.

Some people had journals, some people just kept notes of there lives, some people blog… I wrote poetry. It was release and yet it chronicled things.

Anyway, the poem that gets me – and get sme every time – is Lost Inside… Just because of how I ende dup playing the words. I can remember writing this at my local library … There are a lot of poems with certain strengths to them that I persoanlly enjoy but this is the one that I like the most:

Lost Inside

Seen my feelings lost inside forever
Couldn’t we be good together?
Girl, you are my everything,
You’re all my wants and craves

Lost inside the secret you
What am I supposed to do
Girl, you are my majesty
I’ll worship you forever

Only known I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything that I do crave
Is lost inside your being

Now to find you,
I need to be your everything,
Fit the bill and fly the path,
Our equation, do the math,
Add us two and then subtract –
The worries and the hardships

Seen my feelings inside you, girl
Oh my, honey, what a world
What am I supposed to do?
I’ve stayed lost inside the secret you

And inside, I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything I’ll always crave
Is lost inside the secret you

©1998 John P. Fontana

Wedding Announcement Cover Boy

Ain’t it cool? I have one of my poems going on the cover of my friend Raquel’s wedding announcement list… because it’s about a beach wedding…

Roc, as we call her, is going to mail me a copy just so I can see how it came out on the announcement list.

Just a classic poem for a classic thought

Where She Went…

Were she went, I’ll never know
What a shame, My shame alone
Do you now how she feels?
Like a warm leather glove,
On a cold winters day

©1998 John P. Fontana

The Greater Pastime

Old poem… don’t really have an entry due tot he torture of the give and take….

Baseball… The greater Passtime…

The grass is green,
and newly cut,
on a bright and glorious day.
The stands are full with people cheering,
who came out, to watch them play

The pitcher, the catcher, the rightfielder,
The man at shortstop and second base,
These and the others are called upon,
To boost the home team’s play.

They go through the innings,
And at the end: haven’t both teams won?
For to play the game of baseball,
is the most glourious thing to be won.

© 1992 John P. Fontana

Still looking for input

Still looking for input on submissions to a poetry contest. I got my favorites but I’d prefer to hear yours.

5 Senses

5 Senses

– The words
– The longing
– The emotion

– The flavor
– The Memory
– The Realization

– The sweet nothings
– The touched
– The aching for more

– The Love
– The romance
– The desire

– Her perfume in the wind
– The kiss on the cheek
– His hand across your bare skin

© 2003 John P. Fontana

A Questioned Chance

A Questioned Chance

Thumbed nose
At the bright red rose
And vile thoughts
At the offered olive branch

A questioned chance

Beliefs are worth their weight in gold
Giving heart back to you ten-fold
And stolen heart is what she holds
I must let go
I must let go

Seeking out, not quite on a whim
Seeing doubt from the hurt within
Void of a chance
Needing escape
Bullet holes
And tempting fate

Searching far, wide and beyond
Sycophant minion, just a pawn
Secure the mast and sail with me
Rising tide upon the sea

And growing weeds surround the rose
To which, with a twitch, she thumbed her nose
I feed the flames with the olive branch

What have you done to earn another chance?

© 2003 John Fontana

Trust in things…

Was writing today for the most part — as I was yesterday as well. Don’t feel quite up to a full entry, want to get away from the computer again…

“Trust in things…”

Trust in things
beyond my doing
Faith in things
I can’t believe

Wanting things
That leave me yearning
Craving things
And the pain they leave

Telling you
In lingered silence
Seeing you
In the words you weave
Smelling you
In your sight for sore eyes
Loving you
And your careless deeds…

Ambling Verse

I could continue to rant about my health situation or my current writing assignment but instead I wanted to bring up some old writing for the sake of just filling this entry up with something besides the same-old stuff. One thing about “Staying drunk on writing” as Bradbury didn’t say, is that sometime — you need to refill your bottle in order to get drunk again and it’s a hard thing to do.

I Want to Write Your Song

I want to write your song
Dabbling through the sounds and things
Using guitars, snare drums and strings
WIth a joyous tune that makes everyone sing…

I want to write your song
One that mirrors your personality
One that touches your fantasies
One that’s as captive as your beauty

I want to write your song
Yet the words keep coming out wrong
Why can’t I see
Your delicacy
Is a tune that can’t be put into words?

© 2003 John P Fontana

The Horizon…

The horizon
An unobstructed view of the West
Where the fading light shows it’s wide spectrum of brilliance
Dimmed on the palette of mother night

The horizon –
Where will tomorrow lead?
Will encounters in the West will leave another impression
On this stranger?

And as we dance towards the farscape in our
Winged Chariot
I can only hope I can find peace within the fleeing light
And inspiration through my solitude.

© 2000 John P. Fontana

The Air of Destiny

The Air of Destiny

The air of destiny
Often starts as a odorless breeze
Lacking resemblence of what it will become

Time passes, fools come into power
Rivers forge new banks with the spring flood
And the scent lingers on the air
Guiding its minions and revelars on a collision course with

Tides change and the air grows heavy
You find yourself enthused on a rocky trail
Breathing in the alotment of your life
Feeling a drive inside you
And a lusting hunger for the
Sweet scent that surrounds you

And at long last, the air of destiny blows at a torrent
Hair whipping in the cutting breeze
It is your duty to face this
Accept it
Nurture it
Make love to it

Or face damnation by fleeing from it

© 2003 John P. Fontana

Be Honest With Me

Be Honest With Me

Be honest with me
How many times –
– Does a sparkle energize?
– Does a ruby’s glamour cry?
– Does an angel comb it’s wings?

How many crimes does it
Take to scrutinize
Old men hiding secrets
And their oil companies?

Tell me what defines –
– The tying of fresh binds?
– Silly little love songs?
– My desire to appease?

Where are all the women
And their honey-pots of gold?
With amber-waves of auburn hair
And gentle, pleasant souls?

Fortune running over me
And none the less is saved
Shadows edging harmony while
Fools and morons play

Be honest with me
I am not what I may seem
Lusting change
And Lightning games
With nights of ecstacy.

© 2003 John P. Fontana

No true entry because this old poem sums things up…

What Am I….

What am I supposed to do?
Just call her name
And get off the train –
Cartoon Express
A fixture through the mess –
Her face, and my memory there of
And the desires unquenched
As the fifth Beatle
Who has never crossed Abby Road
Artfully dodging –
That take place in love:


Not repress

To me It’s all a fantasy
Like a child going through a toy chest

© 1997 John P. Fontana