He Has Wings and He Can Fly & Other Poems by Ben Nardolilli

Still Shining

From New York, Ben Nardolilli writes from his heart with a kind of soothing longing. It is well worth your time to swing and sway with the flow of his word!

He Has Wings and He Can Fly

Logged out for inactivity, I promise you all
Something better, a more active
Version of me that has yet to be born

Oh how it struggles, listen for it, I know I do,
A shadow of my being
Who will get into the system and dance

In ways I never thought were possible before,
Keeping all the trip wires
Busy with contemplation over the next move

The Theory of Forms

Come, prove to me now that anything persists,
All I see are stabs and brief flights
At immortality and then the inevitable decay

But I am willing to consider new evidence if
You can bring it to me to peruse,
I am no judge, but a jury of one, at your attention

Perhaps something survives, perhaps something
Is able to go on despite efforts
To stop it from ceasing its drive onward to an end

Tell me, I want to find out what struggles
And wins against the sunset,
Not for harvest, but for personal contemplation

Ticker Tape

Dear office park towers, shake your floors
like branches and make these steps
of mine part of a parade,
fling out your waste of papers and posters,
drop them all and make them something
more than just idle kindling,
toss out the furniture, the desks and beds
which sit so heavy on your concrete ribs,
especially now, at night,
now that you are empty of unhappy people too,
whose nervous steps make your floors itch
I call out to you,
dear walls and edges of this would-be chasm,
rise up, collapse, and give me a shower

The Reference Section

Life’s instructional manual, everyone seeks it,
Those quick answers, or at least
An easy index to dig up the answers
Buried under reams of ponderous paragraphs

I don’t want that book, it’s not fun,
And there’s no telling if it’s up to date,
An instruction manual to life
Needs to be a living creature in its own right

So, I search for a different manual to follow,
A guidebook to dreams,
How to have them, how to shape them,
How to leave them when it’s time to wake up.

Expectations on Columbia Pike

Greet us when you see us,
We try our best to be a landmark

She will have red pants,
And I will have just as red a scarf

I will have facial hair of some kind,
A hat of some import

She will have henna on her hands,
No hat, but a yellow headband

The lost French poet and his mother,
This is what you will encounter

The talk flowing from you to me,
The singing supplied by she


Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish a novel.

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