Rose Aiello Morales, Summer 2017

Yearly Projections


Mind’s edge grows wings,
near, it comes to brinks,
closed eyes grow wild, rapid movements.

Dreams come with grains,
salt rubs in lid expanses,
clouds dispense elixirs of truth.

This floater is me, above the heads of ravens
fear falls behind in stuttering step,
umbrellas are butterflies who guide my way.

Reason talks in voiceless riddles,
hear, I know the answers,
a doorknob sings ‘neath someone’s fingers.

Clocks guide me to sodden sheets,
grey calls out its explanations,
sodium upon the wound cries out its contradictions.



I Fell On…..


I heard it rolling,
roiling across fertile fields
delicate in edibles, fish left
stranded on the breach
while Agent Orange combed it sideways.
Through the bald expanses horsemen came
in honor of fulfillment policies
and graphics of a million years,
a million monkeys screeched at the results,
glaring from computer screens, buttons of apocalypse
left long awaiting lesser creatures.

Suns exploded, planets fast imploding
as the detritus flew everywhere,
umbrellas lifted high against the plague of nothing,
placards finally dropped in resolution.
Those who voted inmates as their leaders
wondered where it all went wrong,
when no one ever found asylum
packaged sardines waited for tin cans to sail
and they were hit by junk left over from the Star Wars.

Forces weren’t employed, the black days came upon us.




Fortitude! She cried,
wondering if her fortune
would escape her lips forborne.

Before each skipping trip
she’d be forewarned
for four times four as all obsessions are.

As she would count the fingers on one hand
(the thumbs, named simply digits, never coming to the fore)
her flapping never warmed the warnings, tepid as the tidings bore.

She jumped into a furious force,
the tides turned once twice thrice
and then, well, any fool would know.

The sanctity of three was known onto the faithful few,
but sin left clues in threes, times two, three times
the mark would show, and it had shown itself before.




Rose Aiello Morales is an almost 60 year old child prodigy. She has been writing poetry since the age of seven, when she was published in the Boonton, NJ town newspaper. It took another 13 years for her to discover that she just might be good at it, and another 30 years to convince other people of that fact. Affirmation has come in the form of having her poetry published in Mad Swirl Magazine, Red Fez, Stray Branch Magazine, and Ink, Sweat and Tears Magazine among others. Her books are for sale at

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