Pressed Flowers



I can still see you,

Pressed paper-thin

Between the pages of my life,

Faded and half-forgotten,

Flowers spared the frost

Only to spend the rest of eternity

Fragile and fitting imperfectly

Within the leaves of a former forest.


I can still see you,

Softly lit and spirit-like,

Spiraling through the city of my memory,

A brightness dancing across those dim and dismal years,

Skirts lifting as you spin,

The veil of the years that has risen between us

Casting the whole scene in a magic light,

Not quite poetry,

Nor quite perfection,

But something approaching

The one, or the other.

On the Mortality of the Moment



The shutter clicks,

And a photograph is born,

But what of the moment?

It is not quite over yet,

But, then again, it’s ending soon,

And though you just immortalized it

With your clever camera,

Some deeper, more primal part of you can’t help but feel

That you missed it entirely,

That while you were busy remembering the rule of thirds

And telling everyone to smile,

You were too far removed by the separation

Of the church of the camera and the state of the mind

To be fully present in the moment,

The one that is now lost;

The one your children will find buried in a shoebox

In the closet behind the door;

The one that you let flare and float away,

So consumed by your fear of missing it

That the moment, that shining, long-lost moment,

Ended up fluttering away on some wayward breeze,

Having missed the people it came from above to see.

The Dew



The dew that dazzled me this morning

Is gone,

So I was wondering if


You’d want to go back,

With me,

To when it was still shining,


A tiny drop of the ocean


To this terrestrial world,

Fast fading,

Yet glinting and glimmering in the sun

As if

It had nowhere else in particular to be.


The Day After



The sun does not fail to rise

The day after.

It does so quite like it always does,

Ascending high over your empire,

And when it sets,

It does so upon another world,

Waiting just beyond the horizon,

Golden and ripe for the taking;

The field turning fallow

In the absence of the farmer,

The conquest going unconquered

In the wake of the conqueror’s demise.

Interview with the Author: Part 3

Interviewer (I): Hello, all. Today, we’ll be interviewing Caitlin Cacciatore again on the projects she’s working on, and hopefully we’ll learn a little bit about the author as well.


Caitlin Cacciatore (CC): Ah, I see. Should I begin, or should you?


I: I do believe we’ve already started.


CC: Go ahead, then. Ask me anything.


I: So, Miss Cacciatore, what are you writing these days?


CC: Mostly poetry, to be honest. I find poetry wherever I go – case in point, just yesterday morning, I was walking my dog when I found an apple looking lonely by the side of the road. I went home and wrote a poem about it.


I: Let’s change characters for a moment. CC’s mother (M) has kindly agreed to interview her for part of this post.


CC: Brilliant.


M: What do you think is your worst quality?


CC: I believe my worst quality is my inability to let go of the past.


M: Fascinating. Tell me what you are interested in doing in the future.


CC: Well, I plan to keep writing. I also have a mission – to code empathy into Artificial Intelligence by combining deep learning with advances in neuroscience and quantum computing. I believe that this goal is vital in light of the upcoming Singularity.


M: I agree. What is your favorite book?


CC: The Picture of Dorian Grey moved me.


M: Why?


CC: I felt I could relate to Dorian’s quest for immortality. Though I know it ended badly for him, I do believe that my moral compass would protect me to a greater degree if I were to live beyond the average human lifespan.


M: Hmm. Let’s move on to education. What is the one subject everyone should study in school and why?


CC: I think that  the study of Artificial Intelligence should be essential to any university curriculum. I believe that it will be a huge part of our lives in the future, and that everyone should be well-informed about its potential dangers, advances, and ethical dilemmas.


M: Explain your philosophy of life in three sentences.


CC: Life doesn’t last, but it’s beautiful while it does. I fiercely believe in having a purpose, a mission, a goal in this life, in making a difference and living as boldly and as wildly and as audaciously as possible. Also – never, never give up, but do know when to lay down your arms and make your separate peace with the war you are waging, whatever that might be.


M: Well, I hope you’ve all learned a little bit about Miss Cacciatore through this interview. We’re just about finished.


CC: Yes, indeed. Thank you for tuning in. And thank you, mum, for interviewing me.


M: Anytime, love. Want to finish with something poetic?


CC: Isn’t the question mark at the end of this sentence poetry enough?


See also:

Interview with the Author: Part One


Interview with the Author: Part Two


Ode to the Apple Abandoned at the Side of the Road



The fruits of the tree

Lay squandered;

How is it that to the side of the road,

This singular apple has wandered?

Where are his brethren?

And dare I ask, is he lonely?

I picked him up,

But haven’t we all been taught that abandoned fruit is unholy?

I left him there,

I must say,

And though his flesh looked sweet,

I condemned him to a fate of wasting away,

A lone traveler lost

By the side of the street,

A wayward grocery

Left to rot in the oppressive heat.

Don’t Call Me Beautiful

Girl with delicate  flowers in hair and fashion  fuchsia nail


Don’t call me beautiful;

I am not the sunset to your sky,

And besides, hasn’t anyone told you that beauty is but a fleeting lie?


Don’t call me beautiful,

I am not the soundtrack to your cinema debut;

And in any case, I – I am painted in a darker hue.


Don’t call me beautiful,

I am not the moth to your flame.

Call me by my name.