A Black Lives Matter protester burns the American flag.Poetry on the Death of America, by Joe Tessitore The Society July 23, 2020 Culture, Deconstructing Communism, Poetry 17 Comments No Epitaph The lies lie heavy on his chest, Striped red, striped white, now tattered vest And soon to draw his final breath— Who’ll mourn this Son of Freedom’s death? I look around, there’s none but me With ears to hear and eyes to see. Alone beside his rotting bier— Their hearts of stone would shed no tear. ‘Tis better that they are not here, Who seethe with hate, who thrive on fear And war against this land, once free— Grotesque, these Sons of Anarchy. Run through the gutter, down the drain, My Uncle’s flag, not seen again. On Reading Old Poetry, 2020 My country dies around me. __No battle has been fought. Inaction does confound me, __For I, I can do naught. But what about the many? __Seems they’re confounded too. None rises up, not any— __There’s nothing they can do. What mystery travails her? __Does there a fever rage? What is it that assails her? __Is she but of an age? Perhaps a simple answer? __We watch and she does fall. Could be there was no cancer— __Did the Almighty call? Son of Mario on New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo The Altar Boy has struck again, His Honor and his deadly pen! The elderly and babies too— See what this psychopath can do! How gleefully he signs his name— My governor, devoid of shame. Joe Tessitore is a retired New York City resident and poet. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Trending now: 17 Responses Joseph S. Salemi July 23, 2020 Your final poem on the Governor reminds me of the short Neapolitan dialect song that used to be sung about Mario Cuomo, by the radio commentator Bob Grant: “Mario, Mario, tu si un proprio sfaccimm…! It’s hard to translate, because “sfaccimma” is one of the most insulting words in Neapolitan. But here goes: “Mario, Mario, you are a real lying little squirt of diseased semen…!” The song can also be applied to his equally detestable offspring, Andrew Cuomo. Like father, like son. Reply Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Mr. Limbaugh calls the old man “Mario the Pious”. Reply Leo Zoutewelle July 23, 2020 Joe T., you always hit it so right! I love it. Thanks, Leo Reply Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Thank you, Leo. I treasure your support. Reply Toni Newell July 23, 2020 Absolutely love your verse. Very moving. Cheers, Toni Newell Reply Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Thanks, Toni. Reply Julian D. Woodruff July 23, 2020 Even the tabloids are calling AC “Generalissimo.” Reply Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Quite the familigia, eh? Reply Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Life Goes On There in the nest, They do their best. See how they try! They’re born to fly! Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant July 24, 2020 Well composed, hard-hitting poems that convey their grave message perfectly. I hope they go a long way to making many see clearly. Reply Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Thank you, Susan. Reply Cynthia Erlandson July 31, 2020 I hope so, too. Reply Jeff Kemper July 24, 2020 Nicely done, Joe. My governor (Wolf) is a little better. Emphasis on the word “little.” Or maybe not. I hope we soon see how intricately and by whom this 2020 chaos has been planned and funded. Reply Joseph S. Salemi July 24, 2020 It’s been funded largely by George Soros. Reply S. caiazzo July 31, 2020 Joe I love the Son of Mario and the other ones are spot on. Reply Sam Eason September 2, 2020 Good thoughts put poetically. At one time I knew a Joe Tessitore who worked with Grolier and then Scholastic. He has a son John. John published a book Bio about Hemmingway and some other titles also. I believe that Joe has passed, however. Sam Salvageot Eason Reply Joe Tessitore September 6, 2020 It was a practice in our family – my father was named John and his father was named Joseph – going back farther than any of us can document. The Tessitore’s you knew were second or third cousins, or “removeds”. A lawyer told me that we often confuse the two. P.S. I went to grammar school with a Selvaggio. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Joseph S. Salemi July 23, 2020 Your final poem on the Governor reminds me of the short Neapolitan dialect song that used to be sung about Mario Cuomo, by the radio commentator Bob Grant: “Mario, Mario, tu si un proprio sfaccimm…! It’s hard to translate, because “sfaccimma” is one of the most insulting words in Neapolitan. But here goes: “Mario, Mario, you are a real lying little squirt of diseased semen…!” The song can also be applied to his equally detestable offspring, Andrew Cuomo. Like father, like son. Reply
Joe Tessitore July 24, 2020 Life Goes On There in the nest, They do their best. See how they try! They’re born to fly! Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant July 24, 2020 Well composed, hard-hitting poems that convey their grave message perfectly. I hope they go a long way to making many see clearly. Reply
Jeff Kemper July 24, 2020 Nicely done, Joe. My governor (Wolf) is a little better. Emphasis on the word “little.” Or maybe not. I hope we soon see how intricately and by whom this 2020 chaos has been planned and funded. Reply
Sam Eason September 2, 2020 Good thoughts put poetically. At one time I knew a Joe Tessitore who worked with Grolier and then Scholastic. He has a son John. John published a book Bio about Hemmingway and some other titles also. I believe that Joe has passed, however. Sam Salvageot Eason Reply
Joe Tessitore September 6, 2020 It was a practice in our family – my father was named John and his father was named Joseph – going back farther than any of us can document. The Tessitore’s you knew were second or third cousins, or “removeds”. A lawyer told me that we often confuse the two. P.S. I went to grammar school with a Selvaggio. Reply