World Behind a Screen
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A mobile devise in your pocket or purse, at your fingertips is a world of music or verse.
Directions are available by inputting a destination on an app, you will never be lost again if you posses the ability to tap.
Conversations with a friend can be carried out by text, sometimes the wrong predicted word will leave the receiver perplexed.
A memory is recorded with just a click with your thumb, anyone can possess one of these pocket super computers no matter their income.
Synchronize it to your watch and ear buds and you’ll be in your own little universe, you will never have to pay attention to your surrounds just keep your eye on the screen as if submersed.
Order your food from the grocery store app and like magic it will be dropped at your door, rate that restaurant you ate at last night with a picture of the food leaving your followers liking for more.
That concert you attended was a moment that would go down in history, it’s a shame you were busy capturing every moment of it for your feed so the entire memory seems to be a mystery.
Did I just run a red light, was someone uttering something that seemed significant? Sorry I was checking the weather because I got a pop-up that warned me that conditions might turn inclement.
Now here we are at this moment and in this place but we wont see where we are for everyone is too occupied trying to get a thumbs up in the social media race.
Frankie Scavullo February 10, 2023
You
You are so tiny, I cannot see you are you really there?
You float and drift quietly as if dancing through the air.
Microscopic and silent yet you are more ferocious than a bear.
Everyone is susceptible as if it were your nature to share.
You move in and multiply forcing people to seek intensive care.
You divide a world with a new fashion statement as we are given the choice of a mask to wear.
You mutate, you adapt, you are a warrior who doesn’t play fair.
Millions infected, thousands dead and a world healthcare system in despair.
Can we be rattled from our sleep for it is time for us to awake from this nightmare.
Frankie Michael Scavullo September 17, 2021
You Have Arrived
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Where am I, how did I get here?
You have reached your new life and arrived with God speed.
Where is my body, how will people know me?
They will know you because you are uniqe, that former shell you do not need.
I have no lips, no mouth, how shall I eat?
No worries of those things here, believe me you will not require drink or feed.
My paint brushes, my canvas, what happened to them?
You remember them so they are present and in this new life you will flourish from a seed.
Where are my parents, my husband, that friend I lost so young?
They are all here, life everlasting it was promised to you every time you recited the Creed.
This seems so strange to me, however will I get used to this?
It is new for you, you have entered the gate, now trust and let me lead.
Turn yourself over to the Holy Spirit and gracefully follow for this is the faith in which you agreed.
You have arrived Kathleen, we will join you later. In the aftermath our friendship shall proceed.
Frances Michael Scavullo September 24, 2020
In memory of Kathleen Edwards Lee 1924-2020
14 Days
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Life was different, time was of little care as we went about or ways.
Now we monitor our health counting out each fourteen days.
We are finally all united, the species of humans on the rock.
A microscopic invaders destruction is the only thing now in which we put stock.
The world has changed in such a brief time that no one could have believed this true.
For our tiny new nemesis is proving to be a fairly worthy shrew.
A cough, a sneeze, the gentle clearing of one throat, causes neighbors to back away.
We were appalled by the intoxicated spring breakers who went to Florida and just wanted to stay.
We take our temperature and wash our hands while keeping six feet from one and other.
We speak through the glass or from down the street to our parents, sister or brother.
And oh we watch the curve, hoping to flatten it with every day’s end.
It rises, it levels but we have to see what tomorrow has around the bend.
There are few smiles on faces which would anyways be blocked by a mask.
The news show the frazzled eyes of healthcare workers as they attempt to perform their task.
Now the earth is on quarantine for even God cannot be traditionally celebrated.
All major events have been canceled as the conviction of this virus is accelerated.
Thousands will perish, everyday life will be touched and it will be years before normalcy will return.
This is world war three in which scientist are the foot soldiers, notoriety is the medals they will earn.
Frankie Scavullo April 2, 2020
Five Days A Week
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Did they ever clock out while they were in space? What seemed an immortal man on a quest to win the race.
As they pushed the envelope they took great chance, it was life in the heavens which fueled their romance.
If it was just a job five days a week, would they spend their days off gazing out the port hole if only just to get a peek.
Gravity was locked away and took a back seat, as they floated through the air with no earth to place their feet.
The moon, the stars and planets are all they knew of their surround, the trajectory is destine with the non-exitance of their familiar ground.
The spaceman of yesterday for which dreams were made, our earthly fantasies swirl within our minds as if on parade.
So they punch the clock in a time zone know to few as they carry out their tasks with their interstellar family they refer to as the crew.
Frankie Michael Scavullo January 9, 2019 Pondering a Line from Rocket Man by Elton John
Adam’s Lament
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I miss my borrowed rib and the lack of a pardon.
I was led astray by woman and the snake in the garden.
I gave into what is now this new feeling called temptation.
I am called man and I fear my years will wallow in eternal damnation.
With a bite came knowledge and my eyes were opened bright.
I suddenly knew the difference between wrong and right.
I have the feeling that in his image I must surely be created.
While woman looks a little different I assume we are related.
My downfall is due to the slender one who’s belly rubs the earth.
That in which created all in seven days will bequeath the creature with no worth.
I am not really sure how I got here, I suddenly awoke in this place.
It seems the two of us, new to sin represent the entire human race.
I was instructed to multiply and prosper with woman, who is much like me.
I guess the fate of humanity will begin, to this we will wait and see.
Frankie Scavullo June 13, 2018
The Pacifier
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The Pacifier
What causes the addiction that fuels the bitter pain
The feeling from deep inside that causes lucidity to turn insane
The chills that inhabit the body as if stuck in a winter rain
The behavior that runs compulsive like a wide-open train
A helping hand is at a disadvantage for it is on a different plane
The addict must start by helping themselves or continue their plight in vain
FMS 3/2012
Strange Truth
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Blood on the asphalt blood on the walk.
Young black men’s bodies outlined in chalk.
There is a strange injustice going on in our streets.
Another unarmed black citizen killed is what is written as a tweet.
Those who swore an oath are killing our defenseless youth.
The public waits anxiously for footage as the justifying sleuth.
A frustrated crowd gathers, organized by social media for protest.
The community which has been unjustly treated once again becomes a hive of unrest.
Politicians and community leaders call for law and order but the rage is too strong.
This is what happens to a population who have continually been wronged.
The whites are scared, the blacks afraid.
These two races who live side by side seemingly just won’t braid.
What is the answer, will this racism ever end?
Will a bitter cold heart that hates ever become flexible enough to bend?
Each person is an individual and should be treated as such.
No matter color, religion or race one should use unbiased as their crutch.
There is no sweet smell of magnolias, now withered and long past decay .
It seems the concept of brotherly love has remained absent and astray
Frankie Scavullo November 27, 2016
Inspired by the poem Strange Fruit by Abel Meeropol in 1937 and Billy Holiday iconic performance of the songDecay
A Note of Non-Social Importance
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I have nothing interesting to post, I don’t really need another friend.
This world of continuous uplifting that exists on a screen is immaterial and seems pretend.
To avoid someone in this world you don’t need to snub them by crossing to the other side of the street.
There is a drop down for that called unfollow which is illusive and much more discrete.
Somewhere there is someone scouring the web with the intention of dropping the most liked post on their wall,
And for those who just want to browse and pass it on, the share option is at their beckoning call.
The advertisers position themselves on the side lines catching your eye with an item that will interest just you.
You hate to admit it but that search engine is watching your every move in this world, for the internet told you it’s true.
From Bible passages to videos of funny kittens, this world contains it all.
We humans visit during work when we should be making a business call.
Look she’s on a mountain and he is eating cake with a king.
So sad they just lost their grandfather but Johnny finally proposed and look at the size of that ring.
I’ve been reminded to wish them a happy birthday even though we haven’t seen each other since “78”.
I don’t really think they will miss me for this world is calculated by algorithms where nothing is left to fate.
Now it’s time for bed, just one quick look at these people whose walls have moreover crept back into my life.
Religious and political views, life achievements and awards with very few personal stories of their marriage problems or mental strife.
The World of Facebook Frankie Scavullo March 17, 2016
Turmoil
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Back in the day I thought I was a young Al Pacino, Like Scar Face I’m the king.
I never could have gone a few rounds with Rocky, Unlike Sylvester I never entered the Ring.
I should have lived the “Good Fellas” life; I think I missed my chance.
The many women who came and went always seemed to cherish the brief romance.
Like De Niro in Casino I should have been boss of the entire operation.
As it stand now fate was not in my corner with everlasting cooperation.
There were several forks in the road and maybe more than once I took a wrong turn.
All the many lights that adorn the path behind me were from the bridges that I had burn.
I find myself past my prime like a fighter hung out to dry.
As he loses the most important bout of his life and is left alone in his corner to sigh.
There must be more to life, my dreams and visions show a very different path.
Unfortunately for me the equation is not working for I have always been bad with the math.
The rope is short and beginning to unfurl and I continuously find myself at the end.
I wake to a bright new morn but by days end the same fate is around the bend.
Where is the confidence that embroiled my younger more stellar inner being?
Is it lost or on hiatus, or with age does one find their self-confidence fleeing?
I say every night that tomorrow is the day; I will start my brand new life.
While I write this in the dark confines of my room I doubt that a flip of the daily calendar will actually end my strife.
FMS 3/25/2013
A Wounded Soldier’s Observations
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The smoke lay across the field in a mist like setting, filtering the sun as it peaked through the tall pines at dusk. The gentle gusts of wind lifted the smoldering ash and haze as if to make it dance and swirl around the meadow. The strong smell of sulfur was predominant as the cries for help from the wounded echoed in the distance. My injuries left me paralyzed, only able to view the carnage that had just ensued. A plantation house lay in the distance and its faded paint and sagging porches were evidence that time had taken its toll on a once grand lady of the south. The grass was long and unkempt, the fields over grown with weeds and vines with a small barn laying dilapidated, leaning to one side. My predicament was dire as the sun set in the October sky. Soon night would descend and a cold chill would creep across the barren lands. All feeling had left my body and only my conscious mind was able to function, as if for only to tell the story of my surroundings to an audience of one. This was not a cheerful tale and one that would not be retold to generations to follow. This was the observations of a broken solder, the back drop was the theater for a stage in which I lay so as to loose sense of the true nature of the moment. A bank of billowy grey clouds drifted over head and the setting sun caught their edges dashing them with pink hues sprayed with red streaks. A cool stiff breeze entered from the woods as if death had ridden in to collect its bounty. The grass bowed to the incumbent and laid a path to its new-found trophies. My body lay cold and still while I accepted the impending end. As I surveyed my surroundings one last time I noticed a small orange throat bluebird perched on a broken limb which now resting on the cold hard ground. Curiously it peered in my direction and seemed to give a slight nod as if to assure me my passing would be peaceful. Darkness settled over the blood soaked meadow and a feeling of tranquility suppressed a brief panic that arose from my gut. I could feel that I was being delivered to the Lord and that all I knew of the past would quickly fade away as if it were just a forgotten dream. As I drifted unconfined from my body I felt truly free, a spirit released, a soul on its final journey.
Frank M Scavullo January 26, 2013
Dad’s Clippings
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I cannot say exactly when it began. I do not recall the first time I received an article clipped from the pages of the newspaper with my name scribbled on it by my father. I imagine it began in high school when I would sit down for breakfast and see a clipping on the table, as I would be getting ready to start my first meal of the day. I was born the youngest child of seven siblings. I have five sisters before me and one brother who is the oldest of the siblings. My brother and I are referred to as the book ends in relation to sisters who fall in between the two of us. The other day I was visiting my family for a quick visit and noticed some clippings that I had left at my oldest sister’s house. A few months earlier I stayed with her and her husband after returning from a two year stay in Central America and inadvertently left a collection of clippings behind that my father had saved for me. When my sister saw the collection she smiled and quickly said “Dad’s tweets”. My brother in law questioned the reference and she explained that she refers to Dad’s clippings as “tweets”. Dad’s collection of clippings is not just limited to me. For years he has saved articles, personal interest pieces, advertisements and reviews to name a few for all members of the family. My father’s preferred newspapers are the Wall Street Journal and the Local Chronicle in Augusta, Georgia. Over the course of the year each child would be given a stack of clippings that my father thought may interest us or that had do with something in our life at the time. Looking back at my collection of clipping I imagine they would act as a time line of my life and what job or activity interested me at that time. When I left home to attend culinary school in Charleston, South Carolina I would return home to visit and receive my collection of articles having to do with culinary art. They included restaurant reviews from Charleston, recipes, job market forecasts, want ads and news stories of family friends. The clippings changed as my jobs changed. When I waited tables I would receive service tips, tip calculator articles, menus and wine lists from the restaurants my grandfather managed in the 1940s. When I managed a garden shop in Aiken I received articles on plants, water gardens, landscape design and local interest stories on Aiken, South Carolina. As of late I lived in Central America and like clockwork the clippings changed to articles about Central American economy, adds for Rosetta Stone and of course want adds based closer to home. Understand that these clippings were not placed in bound scrap books or pasted to a paper backing. Some are cut with scissors while others are ripped by hand leaving the edges uneven and tattered. The preferred mode of transfer is a large manila envelope and as of recent clear plastic page protectors. I would not go as far to say that the clippings are jammed in the envelope or page protector but because they are randomly collected over time they are a folded, creased collection of bent edged clippings. As sure as the sun would rise you are assured to receive a batch of clippings when visiting my father. I guess in a way they are his personal way to communicate with his children. They are Dad’s Clippings.
Frankie Scavullo June 2012
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Captain’s log; Star Date Agosto 18, 2010
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I have landed in a very different world. The local personas are friendly and most obliging but I proceed cautiously and take each encounter with a watchful eye. For the most part I have found the personas that habituate in this region friendly and very unassuming. The plant speces, although somewhat familiar are much dissimilar than those of my native land. At this time I equate the abundant foliage to the day after day lluvia, much similar to our rain that covers the tierra that I am most familiar with. My pattern of language has become a blend of English and the native tongue called Tico. While the native women are beautiful, again I must be cautious and proceed with a high guard. The female species in the large metropolis areas are inclined to receive payment shortly after meeting the opposing sexual category unlike in our land where they acquire payment over the course of several months or even years. From what I can distinguish the rural women appear to be very fertile in conjunction with the surrounding lands. Most have at least 2 young children following close to their sides. The animal spices are quite different here in many ways. The domesticated animals are in abundance and roam free throughout the region. The livestock are raised mainly free range and have very little corn, hormone or pesticide influence as we have become accustomed to in our native land. I have befriended a large colorful bird which is bilingual in both Espanole and English. She shrieks my name on a daily basis which has become monotonous. The waters in the area are abundant with healthy marine life as well as recyclables which tend to deposit themselves on the playa daily. The infrastructure of the current area in which I exist seems to be very mismanaged which I equate to a corrupt and indolent regime. The roads are crumbling and in disrepair for several month. Most notable is the absence of any military force. For nearly 60 years, even though surrounded by neighboring militant land, the region has had no conflict or need for an army. The locals in the entire region have a catch phrase “pura vida” meaning pure life which is utilized in both saying hello and goodbye as well as to notify an inquiring party that everything is fine or “ todo bien”. I will transmit mas info as it becomes available.
Costa
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I am a visitor to this land the language I do not speak
I try to make conversation but off my tongue the new words are slow to creep
I take solace in the nearby playas and know the waves understand my plight
The choice was mine alone and I am at peace and know my selection was right
The people are a humble sort and with smiles they carry on their day
Gluttony does not guide most of them; this is very much not their way
In this life, simple is better, you better know this before your venture begins to start
You will be swept away by its beauty and in a short time it will capture your heart
So now the decision is made, yes I will become part of this culture and race
I will disappear from my former life as if gone without a trace.
Frankie Michael Scavullo
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Chivalry Gone
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Where are the valiant Knights of today
Are they bashful and hiding as if at bay
Without a crusade to fight is it home where they stay
Have they retreated to the country side to contemplate and pray
Has their body armor gone unused and started to decay
Have both man and their horse become tired and turned gray
Is it that their swords have rusted with no more dragons to slay
Maybe the crowds that greeted them after their victories no longer congregated to shout hurray
It seems the fearless Knights of so long ago have all gone away
Frankie Scavullo
My Loss is Grave
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It was quickly after I lost my mother that I realized the true worth of a heartfelt hug. I have somewhat taken for granted what is known as unconditional love.
I will forever remember how it felt to get that gentle kiss on my cheek, which was always followed by the greeting “hello Frankie” as she had so many a chance to speak. There has never been a day that I have not thought of her and never questioned why. It pains me as it would anyone that I never knew to say goodbye. It is now of recent that my memories carry a heavy weight, for sometimes I go to call her because for a brief moment I have forgotten her fate.
The pictures surround my dwellings and the images of her lives forever in my head, I wonder if my prayers were in vain as they were so often recited from my bed. There is a strange emptiness in my heart that is weighing heavy on my soul, we all know that death will come but are afraid for the final bell to toll.
I have experienced much death in my lifetime but this is surely the most difficult to bear, I am alone and without spouse with only a brief moment with siblings for my feelings to share. Mommy is in a better place, for that is what everyone has to me said, It has been instilled in me that I will see her again when death brings me to where I am lead. Sip your tea mother and read from the vast literary books of choice, when the wind blows through the trees I will imagine that my ears can hear your voice.
Frank Michael Scavullo
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Memories of Youth
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We grew up in a world where animals on pages could speak.
Conversations were held with snowflakes so our imaginations could peak.
We would play with our toys on the thin carpeted floor. Patches were ironed into our jeans to save a trip to the store.
Shared with us at random were New Yorker cartoons. The echoes of laughter would emanate down the hall from our bedrooms.
Our friends should have been jealous because of the upbringing we were given.
Dinner with the family nightly and every morning to school we were driven.
We were given privilege and dressed by a Lord and A Taylor.
Our fairy tale lives by the shore were shielded from the visionary writings of the man called Mailer.
So as it was the memories will forever live in our minds.
Sometimes the facts are askew but there is always a sibling to fill in the missing lines.
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Life’s Script
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I have witnessed more leave than enter this world.
As life’s journey is played out and its events unfurl.
Everyone exits with a legacy that is to each their own.
Leaving behind a life time of experience, a random cultivation of seeds that have been sown.
Some depart life’s stage with their merits receiving a roar of applause and a well deserved standing ovation.
While others leave us in obscurity alone with no friends, relatives, achievements or relations.
The faces of our elders tell the tales of the past.
Each wrinkle, each line, each scar is an important part of the cast.
In the end the story is told, laid out on the pages of life.
The script is composed of memories and bound together with joy and strife
Frank Michael Scavullo July 29, 2007
What If
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I Saw Him on the Street As If a Common Man
I Looked In To His Eyes and Saw A Healer Preparing To Carry Out His Final Plan
The Wisdom of Two Thousand Years and Beyond Emanated from His Being
I Was In The Presence Of His Holiness and the Feeling Was Most Agreeing
I Asked Him What Had Brought Him Here, To This Place and At This Time
He Answered Me “Have You Not Heard the News for the Final Bell Will Soon Chime”
I Knew Of What He Spoke, Understanding Every Word
For It to Happen In My Life Time Seemed Queer If Not Totally Absurd
Then I Thought Over My Years, Of What I Had Been Witness to
And Seen on Tape
As If on High Speed, Play Back I Visualized All the Worlds Murders, Wars, Abortions and Rapes
A Clear Picture in My Mind Were the Atrocities of the Human Race
My Brain Was Clouded Of Earths Wholesomeness, Its Knowledge Had Been Obscured As If Erased
I Then Was Given the Privilege to Walk with Him and Our Steps Followed Each Their Own
As I Went To Look at Him One Last Time He Was Gone and I Found Myself Alone
I Realized as I Stood There I Was Witness to the Preemptive Second Coming
I Then Heard the Words Whispered, “Tell Everyone” As It Faded To a Gentle Humming
Looking Back
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This five years later I look back on what we lost.
A feeling of freedom and safety that we Americans protect at all costs.
I remember the fallen heroes who came from scattered precincts to answer the call.
The innocent people who went to work that morning not knowing the towers would fall.
Evil had taken flight on wings of hatred and deceit. Their actions would affect everyone as we watched the world crumble at our feet.
Now we refer to it as ground zero, a memorial has plans to be built.
The names of those who perished adorn walls overlooking what is left of the rubble and silt.
We are safer thanks to the defending forces we put in place but a scar remains on our soul.
Many more have died to protect our freedom, they have paid the ultimate toll.
Now our best defense is prayer against this radical movement that has grown. We must plead with the Lord to squash the evil seeds that they have sown.
Frankie Michael Scavullo 9/11/2006
Heroes Lost
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Heroes Lost
How will I feel when the last of my heroes die?
Will I act strong in public while in the darkness I cry? Will I fool myself by pretending they still walk the earth?
Will it affect me in such a way that it will diminish my feeling of self-worth?
Will I place others on a pedestal as if to worship like those I lost?
Only to find the replacements are so easily to be tossed.
My heroes will be gone only to be remembered in the recesses of my mind.
In the dark jumbled mental warehouse they will remain safe for me to find.
They raised me, they mentored me and they gave me advice on love and life.
They were there in the good times and will guide me through the bitter strife.
![[001027]](https://fscavullo.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/001027.jpg)
Frank Michael Scavullo July 2006
Big House Beach
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I just got the news that our good friend Surfer Dave has passed.
The memories of growing up on the point with his influence are sure to last.
He was the one we would watch Planet of the Apes with on Saturday and he would read us excerpts from Helter Skelter on the beach.
As Marie, Tommy and I ran down Devon Road in the dark to the driveway we thought we would never reach.
It was the age of Aquaris and the summer of love.
Dave’s father would do magic tricks with flowers under a handkerchief turning into a dove.
He is a legend in my mind like a rock star, with the world as his stage.
Frozen in time as if we never grew up and all remained the same age.
Dave is part of the waves and if you return to the ocean you can stand with him once more.
The waves call his name and his breath help the gulls to soar.
Be not sorrowful that Dave has left this earth. For he has entered his promise land, which has given him a new birth.
Frank Michael Scavullo June 15, 2006
Lost Youth
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The year of forty has hit with the force of a baseball bat to the face
My youth is gone and most memories have escaped without a trace
I try to recall the good times that brought me so much joy
But the memories are faded as if a century has passed since I was a boy
The sand box is empty and the stuffed animals have lost their fluff
Now I spend my days in search of misplaced stuff
I can remember for the most part but some details seem to be askew
Like a clear day I can see forever yet I am blinded by the view
Will it come to me as if laid out on a screen being played on a reel to reel
The emotions will be over powering and I will not know how to feel
My youth will confront me and let me in on the secret that is held inside
It will wash upon me like the ocean carries the tide
Until then I shall try to decipher the forest from the trees
I will keep my prayers steadfast so the Lord hears my pleas
Frankie Scavullo
TIME PASSES SO QUICKLY
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Time passes so quickly; the future is the past with every blink of an eye.
The present tells you to laugh when you know you should break down and cry.
Peoples deception and deciet have laid a path from your footsteps and you wonder what the future will hold.
Then it hits you that nothing will change and what is laid before you lies empty and cold.
Change can happen if your mind is put to it, the future can look shiny and bright.
Your dreams can become a reality and your soul can be free and take flight.
Until then you’re just stuck here to wallow in your pity and self-blame.
Your confessional is the street as you walk with your head hung in shame.
You will blame it on your parents or on the friends you hung out with in the past.
In the end it turns out that time is to blame, for the hands of the clock move to fast.
The sun could ultimately be blamed as we rotate around her with accuracy and grace.
As we peer at the moon and stars we look to the heavens with resentful taste.
Frankie Michael Scavullo July 10, 2005
Riding in Space
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As I sat strapped in my seat awaiting the first firering of the buster rockets I was overcome with a mix of emotions. As I look back on it today I realize it was a quick massive rush of anticipation having awaited this moment for the entirety of my life as far back as I can remember. Fear was the next emotion that overcame me with such force that my entire body stiffened as if paralyzed. I could feel the fear travel throughout my body starting in my toes and up my limbs only to be stopped by what felt like a basketball sized choke in my throat nearly stopping my intake and exhale of breath. And finally exhilaration set in causing me to giggle uncontrollably for a quick moment. As the rocket started its rapid acceleration from the earth’s surface and broke loose from its docking station I realized that within a few seconds I would be well above the earth and orbiting in the masity of space. Controllers on the ground assured me that “I was looking good and all systems were a go”. I knew I had to get a glimpse of the earth as I departed her safe confines. I leaned forward as best I could against the unimaginable G-force that was pushing me deep into my seat. I then saw the most magnificent sight I had ever seen before. It was as if I were watching a movie through a small round screen and the picture was quickly zooming out. The one large land mass became smaller and was joined by its neighboring islands, then countries, then continents until it was just a large blue ball scattered with random small land masses. Just then the ship took a turn towards the sun and I spotted the tip of the moon coming around the side of the earth. A tear entered my eye as I thought how beautiful God had made the universe.
A muse while listening to Major Tom by David Bowie.
Frankie Scavullo
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Superman is Dead
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I will always remember where I was when I heard Superman had died.
His broken body made of steel could not be revived no matter how hard they tried.
The actors struggle has been retired, for years he would leap great bounds.
Although Christopher was just an actor, he was a superhero to us no matter how silly it sounds.
It was a day of recent when we found out Superman could die.
I doubt it affected anyone as much as when we heard the news a Kennedy son tried to fly.
Metropolis has lost their greatest citizen yes Superman has past.
Our hero in movies from the eighties has caused the daily planets flag’s to hang at half mast.
Mr. Ed would not have thrown him, Wilber would have talked them both down.
Superman would still be flying causing his nemesis’s to wear long frowns.
He never stopped a devastating catastrophe or saved anyone we actually knew.
He never was on the real news as Clark Kent but he was superman, to that fact we had a clue.
Could he have stopped the war in Iraq or saved Diana from that horrible wreck
Or would Hollywood have kept him in movies playing part next to that animated Shrek?
Would he have stepped in on the horrible election debauchery and arrived at the final truth?
If Peter Sellers were not dead than Inspector Clouseau could assist as a guest sleuth.
He could have borrowed Wonder Woman’s lasso and used it to clean up this planet in which we dwell.
Or maybe Phillip Morris would have brain washed him in the hopes of more cigarettes to sell.
In black and white or color, Superman will never really be dead,
After all he is a character who will forever live in our head
Frank Scavullo
Oct 12 2004 a day after Christopher Reeves death
Clouds of Thought
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I write down my thoughts starting with a first line
I proceed most usually in the style of a rhyme write about nature and those who have passed
I do this on paper to be sure my thoughts will last
They are the thoughts that I am feeling at that moment and at that time
Some are uplifting and spiritual while others carry a dark chime
It has been asked of me by those who have read my thoughts if I am feeling o.k.
Some read into to it that I am crying out for help because on this earth I no longer want to stay
What I write are observations during that time in my life that I record
Whether it be happy, romantic or sad
To not write them down I cannot afford
This is written for
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This is written for those of you I will leave behind
Let sadness not follow for it is happiness you should find
I will enter unto a peaceful more divine place
The memories of me should bring a smile to your face
My soul will be set free from the confines of this shell
I will live in your head for future generations to tell
I did nothing spectacular that the history books will record
I followed an ancient belief in God and kept close to the Lord
It is easy when you receive the blessings that I have been bestowed
My family has remained strong down a fairly smooth road
So when I pass think of me and let my memory bring joy to each day you start
For I will be alive in everybody who loves through the power of the Sacred Heart
Frankie Scavullo
Mommy
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We share a common mother, as we share a common moon.
When we wish we were elsewhere, like Sylvester and his pebble, Mommy is there to guide us, like bass is to treble.
She is the woman, our mother, that always hears our plea. Beyond any of our expectations of a boy, an apple and a giving tree.
The thought of Mommy exhilarates us, like the sound of music and running in a field. Mommy is strong, for quickly her cracked shell will be healed.
Mommy is always prepared for whatever may arise. Like Mary Poppins, her bag is filled with more than one surprise.
She raised us on Richard Scary, faith and New Yorker cartoons.
When the pieces were falling around us, she was there to pick up the ruins.
There is a voice can you hear it? Everything is going to be okay”.
Mommy has grandchildren, they will call her out to play.
So imagine a cross, bright above her bed and know she is in good hands.
For the Holy Trinity is with us as countless as the ocean sands.
Frankie Michael Scavullo
Written shortly after Mommy suffered a stroke in 2004
Solace
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I live for the beach and the warmth of the sun.
The rays from the summer moon and the days of lost fun.
The walks with my dog on a breezy warm beach;
or with someone special, as a confidant with whom my secrets won’t breach.
On the water and alone is where I search for inner peace.
It is where the cares of the world disappear, and the toils of the day tend to cease.
I feel quite spoiled this life I made by the sea
As I look for elsewhere to go, I find that this is where I want to be.
Frankie Michael Scavullo March 1, 2004
My Congregation
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I never was a victim I was warned of the menacing foe
Someone who should have been trusted deceitful seeds he would sow
I cannot imagine the pain I would have to live with would I think it was my fault
The memories running through my head would they ever come to a halt
Would I know who was to blame as if I could think it were me
Now the congregations eyes are open a clear vision with which to see
We cannot put total responsibility on the church there where predators in our midst
We are taught to forgive our neighbors as we clinch our hands in a fist
I have heard the stories of strangers and from those who are familiar and close
It seems as if justice had turned a blind eye and righteous has left their watchful post
It was told to me by a friend this is a modern day test of faith by our Lord
The true believers shall end up wielding the commanding end of the sword
We must not forget and never let it happen again as it has in the past
For those who have survived, our intentions must be constant and steadfast
Frank Michael Scavullo
The Rider
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His name is death and he rides a swift white horse of a ghost.
As if the last supper was to come, and you wish for the final host.
It all comes to your door when the final bell tolls
You look out on the mainland and see all the poor souls
You realize the end is near and you quiver at the thought
All the desperate prayers you sowed, all the countless battles you fought
You know you will awake and all will be well
And once again you will enter the market with your goods to sell.
Each day will be a toil for which you must overcome
Like the constant pounding of your heart like a constant beating drum
The time for all will come when God says it is time
So don’t take this with weight just know that it is a rhyme.
Frank Michael Scavullo
Francesco
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An icon has passed, our blood enters unto another world.
A family morn from afar as the news among entertainment circles unfurl.
He was our Hollywood among the Broadway elite.
An eye for beauty and fashion in every soul he would meet.
The ritz and pizzazz of Francesco’s life kept him from our sides for family to share.
Was it his penance in life to be surrounded by just a handful of those who really care?
His eyes and how they saw beauty were property for all to see.
Francesco, we will meet you on the other side, a family at last when all our souls are free.
Frank Michael Scavullo January 7, 2004
Dead on Arrival
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It says D.N.R. on the chart, resuscitate me not.
Let me die on the stretcher lay me to rest in the family plot.
If it’s my time to go let me loose the downhill fight.
Don’t try to bring me back let me walk into the light.
Make no mistake I’m not suicidal, but if it comes to be; let me finish this long drawn out recital.
Some may say I’m crazy I say to each their own.
Nobody’s dropping by to see me or calling on the phone.
A small piece called an obituary would be over looked by most I knew
Whatever happened to him? I doubt anyone would have a clue.
Life would go on without me; it would be left for everyone else to live.
For me I am a D.N.R. I have no more to give.
Frankie Michael Scavullo July 2003
Hit Man
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I will never be a hit man for a mob family or the Cali Cartel.
I will never say good bye using a gun to say farewell.
I may slick down my hair, like a wop I use the gel.
But my enemy will never fear from me the sound of the final bell.
I am Frankie Knuckles, “The Man” but not the one you should fear.
I have not yet drawn blood or caused an eye to tear.
But my time might come when I am called upon to hit.
With a piano wire I find the throat of my victim to cause a fit.
As he lies at my feet dead I will know that I have done wrong.
The family he left behind will forever mourn and long.
Now I am sorrowful, because I cannot take it back.
The tall tale heart will haunt me as if beating from under the floorboards of my shack.
I am sure nobody saw as I brutally slayed a man
My paranoia will play with my head until it lands me life in the can.
Frank Michael Scavullo
The Reason for War
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You most always can pin the cause on land, religion or race.
Many wars are fought over each with a great deal of haste.
To try to understand war you must follow events at a rapid pace.
Some revel in their victories leaving behind destruction and waste.
To others war is vial and leaves the person with a bad taste.
To leaders, profit lies in war as they patrol the battle field in their cotton, silk and lace.
The victims are left to mourn the dead that are left lying in their cold wooden case.
Meanwhile the pilots who dropped the bombs return safely to their base.
Medals are placed on their chest and the heroes are given the title of
Ace.
If you could see all the atrocities of this earth you would never be able to look anyone in the face.
Until we can put aside our differences there will be many more tombstones put in place.
We will visit from time to time with flowers adorning a tarnished vase.
Frankie Michael Scavullo
Gravity is a Bitch
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Gravity is a bitch that we fight from birth.
Always trying to free ourselves from the rock called earth.
Like superman, if only we could fly through the air.
Instead were stuck here to wallow in our dispare.
Oxygen is another that keeps us trapped where we stand.
Was life here figured out, was it even planned?
The moon, the planets all circulating in space,
And here we are stuck in this sphere of a place.
Astronauts venture, punching the envelope with every ride.
Like a microorganism being washed up with the tide.
A grain of sand on the beach we are smaller with every breath.
New generations to follow the past but to all inevitable death.
Live life to its fullest escape its confines when you have the chance.
Like a strange twisted melody that forces you to dance
Frankie Scavullo
Death of a Musician
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A musician was needed, his name was put on the list.
Someone to lead the band of angels and conduct with a gentle fist.
For us on earth it was way too soon.
He had boys to raise, and the band was working on a new tune.
Now he is with his father where they know not pain.
As if a kids again with his sisters running through the woods and down the lane.
We don’t always understand God’s plan. Sometimes the result seems unfair.
This I know for sure, he left behind people who care.
So on those cool summer nights when there is a slight breeze in the air, listen very closely for his strumming and know he is always there.
God is now his keeper. At Christ’s feet he lies.
Be happy for his new-found freedom with smiles and joyous cries.
Frank Michael Scavullo
May 8, 2003
Life
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THE TASTE OF BITTER STRONG COFFEE
THE INTOXICATING SMELL OF PAPER WHITES IN BLOOM
THE EXHILARATION OF CLASSIC SWING MUSIC
THE FEELING OF STUBBING YOUR TOE
THE VIEW FROM A PLANE UPON DECENT
THE SMELL OF FRESH CUT GRASS IN SUMMER
THE SORROW THAT ACCOMPANIES DEATH
THE JOY THAT ACCOMPANIES BIRTH
THE FIRST KISS, THE FIRST CARESS
SCORING THE WINNING POINT
THE FIRST TASTE OF WHISKEY
THE TASTE OF SALT WATER ON YOUR LIPS
A HUMPHREY BOGART FILM
RUNNING AS FAST AS YOU CAN
THE RELIEF AFTER BEING SCARED TO NEAR DEATH
THE SMELL OF A BABY
THE ALARM CLOCK ON YOUR DAY OFF
THE SOUNDS WHILE YOU DRIFT IN AND OUT OF SLEEP ON THE BEACH
A SMALL KITTEN
FREE FALLING
SOFT LINEN ON YOUR SKIN
UNCONTROLLABLY SHIVERING IN THE COLD
PUPPY BREATHE
RETURNING TO WORK AFTER VACATION
A PLUMP FRESH OYSTER
SITTING STILL FOR A PICTURE
LIFE FMS 4/03
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The Big Fight
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The Big Fight
Take the kid gloves off I’m about to go in.
Hell, Purgatory and all the evil bouts with sin.
I know I can’t lose I’m on the side of just & right.
No need to question my judgment so it’s time to start the fight.
I think of my parents, the family they raised so strong.
Generations of joy and hardships going back to years of long.
Saint Michael is my cut man giving strength with every round.
I land punch after punch without making a sound.
As favor goes my way I feel the trinity roar.
The knockout punch is landed for the weak, the meek, the poor.
Frank Scavullo
I Saw Her Today
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I saw her today her presence was immense.
I first spotted her from the boardwalk beyond the broken fence.
Her breaking waves shimmered in the warm December sun.
It made me think back on the past summers of fun.
My dog chased the seagulls that were sunbathing on the sand.
I went to her edge so to taste the salt from my hand.
I made a chair of some driftwood that had found its new resting place.
Time was of no worry; the chores of the day had lost their haste.
White sand was flowing across the beach as if it were a skirt.
All of nature was working in harmony, a dance, a shimmer, a flirt.
Frankie Scavullo
Quirk
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I MADE MY BED BUT I CANNOT SLEEP.
I SPILT MY MILK BUT HAVE NO TEARS TO WEEP.
I CRAWLED BEFORE I TRIED TO WALK.
I WALKED THE WALK BUT COULDN’T TALK THE TALK.
I USED A SILVER SPOON SINCE BIRTH BUT IT DOES NOT SEEM TO WORK.
IT ALL SEEMS A SILLY BITTER QUIRK.
I WAS SURE TO MAKE A STITCH AT JUST THE RIGHT TIME, I MUST NOW SIT AND WAIT TO SEE IF IT SAVED NINE.
I NEVER MADE A MOUNTAIN OUT OF A TINY MOLE HILL, FOR ALL THE DRAMA AVOIDED I SIT HERE ALONE AND STILL.
I FIND LIFE’S BARK IS WORSE THAN ITS BITE,
I WIN THE DAILY STRUGGLE AND COME OUT TRIUMPHANT IN THE YEARLY FIGHTS.
I HEAR THE CRIES OF LET THEM EAT CAKE,
AND SEE THE COMMON PEOPLE TAKE, TAKE, TAKE.
I’M TOLD I CANNOT LIVE ON BREAD ALONE, AS I SQUEEZE EVERY ROCK TRYING TO GET BLOOD FROM A STONE.
I BURN THE CANDLE AT ONLY ONE END, FOR ALL MY TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS I HAVE NO KNOWLEDGE TO LEND.
MORE MONEY MORE PROBLEMS HAVE ECHOED FROM RECENT TIMES, AS IT REPLAYS OVER AND OVER SO DO THE CRIMES.
DEAD AND BURIED, PUSHING UP DAISIES IN A FIELD.
FROM HERE ON OUT, IN THE AFTER LIFE YOUR FATE IS SEALED.
FRANKIE SCAVULLO 11/20/2002
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