Joseph Aprile's Page

 I walk the streets of the city like atraveler from the distant starsnoting every nuance of the human thirst forsurvival, for pleasure, for reverence,for glory and for meaning.  Humans seem to be beleaguered by thecomplexity of the inner life,the images of self and others and thesummation of the infinitely diverse interpretations of thesingular events and circumstances of a lifetime.               There are many nomads in the city,many homeless,many hanging precariously to life.  There are many…See More

There is a nascent screamforming in my throatits origin runs deepwithin the labrynth ofmy psyche,embedded in the fabric ofmy persona,beneath the scaffolding thatsupports the beating of my heartintermingled with my breath. I’ve endured for far too longthe pathetic nature of thehuman condition,the endless stream of senseless violencethat circumnavigates the globe,pointless murders based onan infrastructure of crazed logicembellished with religious beliefsthat tolerate no answer except…See More

Within the house of innocencethere are no mirrors,no telltale inkling of the truth. The spin of the disc jockey,the alluring call of thenear-naked model with thefabulous jugswhose nipples entice with asuggestive glance as shemounts the hood of a honda accordurging the hapless to buy with abandon,the clearasil politician withflatulence in his pantsconstructing a doomsday devicewithin his agile brainwho tells quite another storystitched together withlies and misinformation,all the nimble admen…See More

I travel on the roadto nowhere. There are old people in wheelcheersqueueing up at the food bankswith hopelessness dawning intheir eyes. There are the hapless childrenof the street,wayward and indifferent to thesuffering they inflict,hollow is their journey. A growing army of thoseon the margins,desparate for joy and relieffrom the unrelenting grayness,from somber mornings and thenightmares that plague their dreams. I travel on the roadto nowhere throughmiles of parched terrain,towering…See More

The intent of this group is to use the poetic form as a wondrous conduit for self expression.

Emotions Rag I hold onto my emotionslest they disappear into theoverwhelming silence,lest they shatter on thejagged shoreline,crushed by waves ofsheer indifference. I encircle my emotionswithin my own embrae,coldness is everywhere. I no longer insist on acceptance,or futile gesturesbearing more shadow than meaning. I’ve planned the ceremonial drowning ofmy own meager expectations. I anticipate no visitors at thebedside of my dying fori will soon be forgottenas it should be.See More

The intent of this group is to use the poetic form as a wondrous conduit for self expression.

Collateral damage,what exactly is it? Is it a rock band,perhaps heavy metal,some obscureauto insurance termitemizing what’s not coveredin case of an  accidentwritten in miniscule print,a mistake a surgeon might makein the midst of a delicate operation,those individualsindirectly injured from theside effects of a nasty divorce,debris left over from anoverzealous football game? Collateral damage,what exactly is it? The stupefying carnage,the chaos and mayhem thataccompanies ferocious and brutal…See More

I remember Illinoiswhen i was a boy,i remember the rugged winter’s snow-blown rage,the sharp rush of cold air that turned my breath to smokeand the good feelings it spawned within me. I was happy thencarrying songs with me wherever i went,i knew joy andslung it over my shoulder,but now,the snow is mingled with theblood of careless youth,the wind carries sounds of distant drumsand screams of soul-less bodieswithering,enshrouded in the stitch of their uniformsand their devotion to a cause. Death…See More