by Joe Belotte



Have fun.

Ride around in a merry coach

In a gay way

All day--

And enjoy.

Life is sweet,

But men, asleep

To the times

And moments of Life’s happy dream,

Work and weep--


While the last chosen few

Picnic in a field

With the breeze

And the scent of the countryside,

The businessman,

With his day half done,

Works toward one at his desk;

The sun at his window,

His sleeves turned up.


This man

With his worries

And such responsibility


Or see

Or enjoy

This toy that is Life?


You unhappy creature,

Come down from the office

And up from the subway

Into the sun.


         An Answer With Love

                      Joe Belotte

I heard what my little girl said.

   She said, "Dad, how do I grow?"

I heard what my little girl said,

   And I told her, "That's easy to know."

I answered my little girl then.

   I said, "Growing's not really so new."

I gave her the answer with ease.

   "It's finding new things to do."

She wondered, then, how people get old,

   How people get weary and small,

How people get quiet and slow,

   When before they were active and tall.

My answer was really quite sad.

   I could cry and complain, but I won't.

"Getting old is easy to do,

   Just finding more things to don't."

Copyright Joseph Belotte 1992


By Martin Buxbaum

& Joseph Belotte


                        To be brothers, each man

                            Should place his hand

                        Into another's

                            But how can I

                        If your fist is clenched?

                                                    Martin Buxbaum

                                                        Table Talk Aug. 1971


                        It's easy, Sir, to take that hand

                            Once you truly understand

                        That clenched or not, the fact will stand;

                            That fist is owned by your fellow man.

                        No problem, Sir, to take that fist

                            Once you fully get the gist

                        Clenched or not, through that troubled hand

                            Could flow the love of that fellow man.

                        So once you reach, reach all the way.

                            Take that hand--- whatever way.

                        Give freely yours, don't pause for whim

                            Accept his fist, and you'll have him.

                                                        Joe Belotte


Love is a venture

Including adventure

Pummeling depths

So great

It's loss

Is the greatest.


Pain is hard to share,

And remaining cornered


While joy spews out,


And then disappears,

Hoping again for new reasons

To recreate itself.


Am I what I see

in the mirror?

Is that the whole

Of my fate?

Or, could it be

Anything dearer?

This is the question

of late.

Joe Belotte

Poetry: Rhyme with some Reason

From 1985:

The Tiger

A tiger stalked

Into the clearing

Wherein the rabbit sat.

Still full was Tiger

From recent meal

And left the rabbit pat.

Despite the fact

That he didn't touch

An ounce of rabbit fat

He knew darn well

He was still a tiger

And that was that.

(This was written for the young son of a friend.)

From 2009:

Tiger in the Night

The night is dark

The day is light

But Tiger’s eyes are burning bright.

Where I see dark

He sees form

To me it’s nothing

To him it’s norm.

I am needing tools to see

What he perceives so naturally.

But tools I have

My science, my mind

So developed by humankind.

I’ve learned to think

To talk and more.

To expand my mind,

With tools galore.

And so I see

A broader sight.

So here I am

A tiger --- in the light.

Written for Walter Ames and Jim Wray who got me started again. (Yikes!)


From my Science Fiction years.

By Joe Belotte

He flits from star to star in a blazing flame, carrying news to people of the Universe. A pony express rider on an atomic horse, a roaring, whining steed. The mail must get through.

Orion challenges him. Scorpio. The Lamb. He carries news from the Big Dipper, letters to mothers and aunts in the Milky Way. Cosmic mail sweeping the heavens free from the dust of doubt and loneliness. Words from friends on far worlds spreading farther in cosmic tides.

Communication holds together the Universe. A string between two people, a chain between four, unbreakable. A thought between two, an idea between four, blending between nations, between worlds.

As the stars twinkle with happiness and sorrows, with grief and then joy, his face beams and he is proud to be an instrument of the mail.

© Joseph Belotte 1953


by Joe Belotte

I love thee.

Hold-- don't wince.

Don't dare to stop my tongue.

Bear to my will but this once;

Let me revel in my revelry.

Let me function as I must,

Though I might

Only in one way,

And that,

Let me tell thee that I love thee.

I wish to tell it to all the world.

Should anyone care to stop me?

Should anyone be unhappy that another

Has joined the fold

And learned to know

That which God has held for him a time

Seeking to transfer it

Only at the proper instant?

Should anyone forbid my love?

How and why do I love thee?

Can anyone count the ways?

Where are the reasons?

And were the why-for's?

I know not.

Yet, walk me before every lover that ever loved

And I can say I love as much as he.

Walk me before God, in His Heaven above;

He'll make it shown how I love thee.

I love you deeply; freely; surely; purely;

Your hair, your eyes, your lips,

Your mind! your being!!

Did not you know what I am seeing?

Your airs, your sighs, your quips.

Your gaiety, and that touch of blue.

Reasons--- why I love you.

Come many more...

But one more thing I'll sing:

My love,

Deeper than desire, truer than wanting,

Not jealous, not selfish,


And pleasures only

That you exist.

You Can't Take It With You

By Joe Belotte

You can't take your money

    Or "things," it is true.

You can't take your body

    Though some say you do.

And memory often

    Gets lost on the way.

So you can't even take

    An old Happy Day.

So, what Can you bring

When you can’t take your wealth?

What can you keep

    When you run out of health?

What Can you take

    When you travel the gulf?

Only your essence

    Your spiritual self.

So, know thyself truly.

    See deep into friends.

Develop Your Being,

    Only that never ends.

© Copyright 1991 Joseph Belotte


Good is often bad

Turned around

By a turner

Whose mind is sound.


by Joe Belotte

Sunday church is a solemn mess;

A pool of gradate souls,

Dressed their best

In human skins and gaudy clothes.

Poetry 101 Copyright Joseph Belotte 1952-2007

Here you will find poetry, stories, an essay, and other philosophical concepts. To visit them click on links above.