The Poetry of Nelson Mongiovi
Big Bend Poets chapter, Florida State Poets Association
Family Photos
I do not live the fiction
or suffer the addiction
of families, over-rated
where memories are jaded.
By pictures framed with lies,
convenient alibis, of
actions just before
the shutter closed its door.
I see motion – hear the sound,
as it wallows on the ground,
smell the black and rotting rose,
and the pain behind each pose.
All conditioned to believing
there is merit in deceiving,
and denying all the rages
never found in album pages.
Creating an illusion
without madness and confusion.
A reusable routine
Concealing all that is obscene.
Therapy
Don’t talk to me,
mouthing numb
psychobabble—
suggestions that I build
collages—scissor out
my torture from the New
York Times and Hunting
and Fishing magazines.
Don’t talk to me
until you gag
as I have gagged
on my childhood’s end—
where sin began.
Don’t talk to me
until you are a thigh-
high boy, the perfect
size for his pleasure,
the back of your head
gripped by a greasy talon
that clutched and shoved—
your eyes wide open
to the bulge of his heaving
belly on your face.
Don’t talk to me
until you taste his release—
the milky death of me—
the spewing salt
that brings me here—
an old turtle shell—a cold,
brittle cell cloaked
with veneer. I lived long
in this—crawled naked
toward your numb voice:
your poisoned honey voice,
seducing me with words of pretend
peace—another drone for your majestic
soft humming appointment book—
your lovely meter of money—
your perfectly rehearsed and deadly
sting of what you cannot know.
Don’t talk to me.
Me, this potholed cavern
left behind in the grass
when I lumbered off to die,
unless you possess a proof
of my hell—until you produce
his corpse ravaged beneath
a transparent sheet—a tag
on his toe—and his sweet
juice of justice
on your own cheeks.
Blue Jay
Where he had wandered,
I well did not know—
off to those places
where young boys do grow.
My son, in his forest,
alone with his gun—
communing with nature:
his journey—his fun.
He strode from his hunt
that man beamed with pride,
a death of blue jay—
gun tight at his side.
I looked to the lawn
beneath the old cedar—
a shatter of glass
below the bird’s feeder.
Why blame him in anger?
My sermon to waste?
A lesson was needed—
and something to taste.
He wept there in horror—
face red as new meat.
I fired up the grill,
and made my boy eat.
Trouble
A game from my youth,
we called it, “Trouble”.
Two dice on a board,
sealed in a bubble.
Push on it hard,
they rattle and shake.
Wait for the numbers,
the path you must take.
We would play hard
and calculate odds,
knowing the outcome
was left to the gods.
You take the game further,
cast life in the dirt.
No place for the pieces
when taken or hurt.
No rules in your game,
or board for control.
It ends - in an instant,
just one dreadful roll.
I’ve feared you’d tossed snake-eyes
ten thousand times.
Each night my phone rang,
or the front doorbell chimed.
A uniformed stranger,
Is speaking your name…
Stammering softly…
“He’s ended the game.”
I pick up your pieces
with horror and fright
Trouble is over.
The box is closed tight.
The Horizon
I long to seize
the horizon.
Delusion
vivid and clear.
Darkness whitewashed
no shadows.
A tree line
amid no fear.
I leap at
the chance,
a wild cat.
Quarry pursued
in sight.
Possibility eludes
eager claws.
Futile
to capture
the light.
The chase
will resume
tomorrow.
Twitchy again
come near.
I long to seize
the horizon.
Waiting for her
to appear.
Nelson Mongiovi
"I long to seize/the horizon"
NELSON, Director of Marketing and Development for the Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services, has
garnered three Emmy Awards, a National Gabriel and more than two dozen Associated Press and United Press International awards
during his 30+ year career in broadcasting, communications and marketing.
In his present position, the Columbus, Georgia native manages all aspects of the State’s International and Domestic
marketing activities including radio/television productions, publications, graphic arts, exhibits and media relations.
Prior to his current position, Nelson held positions as Chief of Information Services, chief videographer, PM Magazine field
producer, executive news producer, chief of special projects and executive news director for governmental agencies and network
television affiliates throughout Georgia, Kansas, and Florida.
In 1981, Nelson served as a foreign television field producer in El Salvador and Nicaragua. He came to the Department in
1987 from the Gannett Broadcasting group in Jacksonville, Florida where he was Director of Broadcast Operations and Creative
Services.
His lifelong passion for all forms of poetry is reflected in various writing styles. Ballads, free verse, simple rhyme, limericks
and allegory reveal his efforts to find a unique voice. As a poet, Nelson describes himself as, “just another writer
dangerously close to being completely understood.”
In addition, Nelson is an accomplished public speaker, writes for various publications, and can often be found fishing with
his Airedale on Mashes Sands.
