no name

love when ignored will run and hide with a stiff upper lip and a heart grabbing to subside into hate. Morning comes to tell the doorman to let me in so we can together heal the mistresses leaking heart with a nice buffet of care. sometimes the butler over sleeps and the maid forgets to make the bed. but the cook knew that you stayed out too late, the lady next door who gets up early to bake, and the butcher has already feed the dog. THEY know where you are at, they know where you have been. they will be the ones that will be there when you fall. Tell you to drink the water, and hold you up till you can stall . the hurts you will see in the morning. the people who will remember your name. are the ones’ that saw your weakness the ones that gave you NO name. . these are your friends… never let them go,….. (c) frankie messina 1.17.20


sometimes when I look back on a time, I question if that time and place has wondered where I have been so long. Did the trees not grow any taller, or maybe the stream stood still since then.. No clay banks fell into the sides leaving larger barriers for tadpoles to grow. Seems when you go back everything seems smaller, that field of green between the two woods once was a good run, and then some more till you couldn’t run no more. Now there is only a small patch of field, and walking gets you to the big oak in the same time as the running did. Place holds space one time only, and for those that stop and reverse to finish that game of turning round . That play as child, that session of innocence lost. Find themselves orphaned from it all. Foreign to love requited, Immigrants by force to find time in new lands, new spaces of rest. f.messina 1.18.20

In my solitude

In my solitude times from my self induced busy life, I often times replay benchmark moments that really make me proud, I remember things that people have said to me along my journey that were positive or inspirational to my purpose. Always searching for that. I am closest to finding out what that is when I live truly open to life. I open myself up to the world wide as I can, I place myself many times as close as I can to a creative and their passions. I am careful to stay out of the way, but remain on the sideline as basically a support, a fan, a cheerleader. I DO get in real close, and give support. I believe that when you are in the presence of true creativity, there is a buzz that happens to all involved. Someone gave me the best compliment I may ever have recently,. I only repeat it here, not out of “vain-ness”, yet out of great pride and gratitude.. This artist was at an art show once, I am not sure if it was his first art show., but many years later, this person wrote to me, and told me “you made me feel like somebody, when I felt like nobody.” (and here come the waterworks.) .Not sure if there is any better thing you can say to someone that just runs so hard all the time, never really stopping to analyze all the ripples that the arts supply in social situations., and one that often times puts himself second. I never make resolutions much, yet I have one this year. To cheer from the sidelines, at my own race more. to complete more things, and to live more in my own skin.To make it happen. To get a round to it. I thank you all for your friendship, and support. WE all need each other. Life is meant to be shared. The most meaningful thing you can tell me as an arts pusher is that I mattered to someone or made them feel better in a situation, or that they began a healing from something that I have said or done. I am grateful, from my core.

look up

it’s all about showing up, shaking the artist hand, about staying and listening and clapping to the LIVE musicians, it’s about giving attention to all the beauty,artistic amaze-ness, that is in front of our eyes, in our ears, and being given to you in loads RIGHT Now.. so many lovely original works right in our backyards. Look up from your phones for a bit and SEE the good.. it’s nice when you look up.. and it’s appreciated when the creators meet you in person, not only the Cyber you.

To Ancient Evenings..

to ancient evenings and distant music… to lost moments, and future times… to hope of true love never being forgotten, and songs of sadness silenced from broken hearts.. to happy tunes, and smudged in landscapes. to horizons on oceans, and stars falling off into the sea.. to dreams of peace landing inside of you and me… to all known moments, and those not planned, to the bear, the eagle, the wolf and the crow. life finds meaning, when breath is shared, and learning goes on, and bad egos are thrown out with the trash. f.messina 10.15, 19 (c)

the Smell of Swollen Particle Board

Even though the rain has gone and skies are blue again, there is an after that remains to be seen, a now that digs into the true grit of your work ethnic. The time that you will see who comes to your aid, the ones in your life that holds you up when your legs have tired of holding you vertical . Mother nature told you to run, she cleared out the valley, filled up the beds of rivers set deep with waters from a half way across the globe. Sister Laura lost her homework, uncle Joe’s truck has been destroyed, yet material things can be replaced, hearts mend through time. The turning of the globe brings happiness to wet rafters.. wondering how many folks have never been through a flood disaster, or sifted through mud to find the leftover thereafter. have you ever been downwind to swollen particle board? if so then you know the pain of losing it all, and then gaining faith in others to hold it together, and strength in yourself to rebuild from within . The you that’s been tested. Treasure the dry, the light, the comfort. The power, the safety, the high and dry life of now…. and the love of others to help you clear sadness, like fallen limbs, and broken road closures.. Life gives community reminders that we are so small alone, much larger together…….. ( thinking of those hurting from Florence, be strong, this too shall pass. F. Messina 9.18.18


– to produce something special as the wave is to the shore. a gentle kiss to be felt, and the slow ripple of sensation that lingers back out to sea. repetition is joyful only when the motion is softly spoken,and the echo of belonging is slowly laid to rest. where you lay is up to you. or do you persist onward to a destination unknown, just so you won’t be left out or forgotten.


A difficult situation no matter what form it takes is designed to break down your own rigid emotional patterns that don’t fall apart just because one morning you get up and say, “Ah, today I’m going to throw it all away”… Precisely at that moment when you come to grips with your own limitations and difficulties, your soul creates a possibility to heal this aspect of yourself and frees you of it.


We refuse the few moments of pure joy from former cracks in the conversation of what has been deemed ours as sad verses of experiences. What we were born into-the molds, the cards we are dealt. The protection of those padded walls surely contain with a soft firm grip the true order we are born to carry. Truth never flowing out from within. Never leaving a crooked line, an overflowed jar, a scribbled smudged line (replaced by another), a torn perfect piece of canvas soiled. Joy and sadness come from the same moment. Blocking one clear trickle, and yielding to clouds, funnels doubt into waterfalls of regret. When creating from a place of joy, the flip of that stays dormant. Find your dormant one, hold it in place, use it for good. Anger it. Pain passes.. Never wins. Happiness is eternal.


tin roof

the winds are thumping the tin roof so softly the kettle purrs back its soft refrain hiss of calm and all I can do is wonder if you are safe tonight safe in the arms of someone who held you as tight as I if those arms are not in place and if the calm is not on your face then maybe we could take the place of those wanting arms who have lost their place replaced by others who have no clue of the love you are needing and the love I need from you. if only the winds could push my time back to where your love was mine if only the truth that i saw in your eyes would return in the touch of your smile I wish I never never said goodbye I hope to survive long enough to see the return of your love through another’s eyes..


a lot of people appear to be alive but their eyes are dead, makes me wonder what made their heart so cold to reflect that nothingness. sad really. Says a lot about my own peepers. I am working on it. my happiness that is. wonder if this is the reason that a lot of people wear sunglasses inside places. to hide their eyes. and just when I want to take a poll with this new found eye discovery, everyone is only looking down, searching for happiness not within their hearts, but into their phones.

7 year war

As we travel along life’s paths.
Sometimes we don’t look left or right, or over our shoulder.
We carry on with our journey,and travel with our innocence.
How can the crossing of bullets fall. The injury.
The injury which has already been experienced?
A struggle for survival, a struggle for peace.
Innocence lost. Inner war raging.
Can our innocence be lost, or will it prevail?
Innocence passes through the inner struggle.
Our innocence can be leveled by the struggle that
we let pass between the demons.
Cowboys and Indians, guns and glory.
The beauty of the world, and innocence lost.
It’s always been found in all things.
In what time will you find it.
At what time will you claim it.
When will you be it.
f.messina 9.15.17