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Ron Cervero  (email)


About the Poet:

Originally from New Haven, CT, Ron began writing poetry when he worked in the TV & film industry in Los Angeles, CA.  He has been published in DeComp Magazine, Other Voices International, NYC Poetz, Censored Poet, Scream of the Buddha Magazine, Electrato, Blue House, Verse Marauder, Praise Nation, Poetry Life & Times-London, Strange Road and more.




The Cat wasn’t dead

The head contains a capsule of confusion.

Decisions, some right, and most wrong.

Loneliness makes the capsule sad and angry.

What is wrong with me?

How did I become a social misfit?

It’s because I have experienced the true gutter of life.

I don’t mean physically, but mentally worse.

The television ruined the world.

Look at life before the 50’s

It was entertaining to rub a popsicle stick, on the ground to make a wooden knife.

How many have caught bugs,

then fried them with a magnifying glass?

Entertainment was made, not bought.

I was born out of time…that’s all.

My father told me that he bought his first car for 6 bucks.

He used a 57’ Chevy to create me in the back seat The drive in movie was more like “the drive it in”.

Technology killed the cat.

9 times…



The Light

A dark angel without wings --

The trumpet call of light,

Surrounds the universe --

Where is the power ?

Who has it ?

Light a match in a dark room,

And you will see who scampers without choice -- The light always wins, but my mind is dark.

The light does not have authority over it.

We must invite the light in --

The light forces no hand, and

Freedom comes at a price --

A bloody tree is justice for our darkness.

A gift that needs to be opened to make the blackness flee.

The wisest of all will be confounded by this light.

It has been in place for centuries.

Opinion does not change truth, and a lit match, Will not change the course of time --





Been seeing a shrink for 15 years --

I talk...

I yell...

They nod…

When I walk in the Veterans hospital,

I see the remnants of war.

No legs, no arms...death beds --

My brain is sick...it tells me to blow it off -- I really want too...the physical and emotional pain, is beyond reason-It's torture.

I ask God every night to take me out.

Can't deal with another day of this --

When I wake up...if I sleep... there is a second of lucidity, and then the whole thing comes crashing down -- My depression is clinical, with suicidal ideations -- People don't know what real depression is...

When they tell me to take a walk, or pull up my boot straps.

I always ask them...


How many times did you taste your .38 this month?