Tuesday, March 31

The Creator

For one to say there is no G-d,
That man is just a fool;
    For one to say that G-d is theirs,
    That man is a fool times two.

For one Creator, does exist,
And is all to all;
    No man owns the rights to G-d,
    Even though he believes he does.

G-d is not a religion,
Nor a man disguised as one.

The Creator is a spirit,
And nothing within is flawed;
    And even with our visions,
    the Creator is not what we deem.

For the Creator is the Father
and the mother to us all that be;
    the western mind can't see these things,
    so instead they twist and scream.

The Creator is not a man,
nor a human disguised as one,
    The Creator is a spirit,
    in which we cannot comprehend,
         For once you place G-d in a box
         You limited G-d to your plan.

The Creator by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Sunday, March 29

Created Six

Created six,
did the Creator insist
with every letter spoken.

And in between,
the letters seen,
did lay the hidden tokens;
     to remove the veil
     from the hearts of men,
     allowing his will to be spoken.

Created Six by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Friday, March 27


cracks in the ceiling
signals the end has begun
     destruction awaits
          do we stop what has started
          or relax contemplating

Cracks by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Thursday, March 26

Cigar Smoke

Battles fought and won,
with the price of young men's blood
    - over cigar smoke
Politicians entertain
in order to obtain votes.

Cigar Smoke by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Tuesday, March 24


You challenged the beast with your wise speech,
even as his bullets did sing:

    "Aim for the head … leave for dead,
         He will no longer speak!"

So what did you do?
you did not swoon;
you fought; you
slew the

Challenged by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Monday, March 23

Beaver Pot Pie

A crick in my neck
and pistols in hand,
I'm stopping the beavers
from creating a dam.

Shots explode;
     an unsightly surprise;
          a year supply
          of beaver pot pie.

Beaver Pot Pie by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Sunday, March 22

Case Closed

When Megan was young, she heard whispers everywhere. Many believed it to be the devil, others swore spirits of the dead. They didn't realize this was a gift, a gift allowing her to transcend time.

As the years past, the whispers transformed into vocals of rage. They sang of terror, of murder, of mayhem, forcing her to watch as their songs unfolded.

She would cry, "No more! Make it stop!" But the haunting continued. The time arrived for her to welcome this gift.

She joined the force and rose through the ranks. She worked day and night, case after case. Every case assigned; she closed! The felons would plead for mercy; for they knew and dared not challenge. In return, they received life without parole, instead of the electric chair.

Then one day, things changed. She was assigned a case involving a young girl that was beaten and left for dead. The damage was unimaginable. Sickened by the report, she went home and slept until the voices came telling of the horrors.

"Megan, three men entered. The organizer, in his twenties, was whipping the child mercilessly. The second feckless perpetrator suffocated the girl to the point of unconsciousness. The third shattered her eye socket and jaw. They raped her Megan; they left her for dead."

Awoken, she could bear no more. "Justice must prevail!" she cried.

She calls in the lead at once, checks her weapons and heads out. Within sixty minutes, she arrived at their location. She storms the building finding the three men, stinking of whiskey, out cold. One by one, she served them justice. She slit their throats, stretching their tongues through the opening. The mark of a Mafia hit, the Columbian necktie. They each gasped their last breath. Once finished, she fled unseen.

The next morning the newspapers read, "Gang violence: three men found butchered in their apartment."

Her colleagues, aware of her ongoing investigation, worried she may have been one of those murdered during the attacks. When Megan walked into the precinct, relief overwhelmed them.

The case was now closed.

As she headed towards her office, the Captain replied, "Megan, we deal with so many cases that never get resolved. You, however, never stop to amaze me. How could you have known the mob targeted these animals for assassination?"

She turns towards the Captain and smiles as he assigns her the next case.

Case Closed by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Saturday, March 21

The Alphabet

The connection of man to the Devine
flows from three letters of the pen
that transcended before the creation of time.

The Aleph, the Tav and the Mem,
when positioned in line
is the veracity of the Devine.

For surrounding every letter —
thought of, written or spoken;
from the first to the last … right through the center;

the truth is clearly perceived
by those willing to seek,
the significance of the letters seen.

The Alphabet by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Thursday, March 12


They braved the crowd, to speak aloud,
with a flitter to their speech -

     "Cornbread and beer and toasting all year!"

was their impolitic speech,
to tax you beyond belief.

Politics by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Monday, March 9

Left waiting

Im left waiting, and contemplating
for how your life will end;
a gun unloads or your car explodes,
either way you'll lose your head.

For in this life, you abused all in sight,
your a disgrace to all your friends.
You lied with grace, as you spat in their face;
all the while, you just pretend.

I pray for your soul, that it becomes whole,
before your friends bring your end.
For a gun to the head or an explosion instead
will be kinder than what your friends intend.

Left waiting by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Thursday, March 5

The Interview

This morning the quadrants of my heart were coming apart. My car wouldn't start, no matter how much of a nudge I gave it with the sledgehammer. This was my first interview in four months, and now this!

So I did what any other rational person would do, I seized a brimful of whisky and chugged every last drop. Right then, I knew I needed a win. I could not forbear paying rent any longer.

I called the taxi and exchanged all my paintings for a ride. And to my surprise, drunk and wasted, the job was mine!

The Interview by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Sunday, March 1

The Storm

Winds howling,
the blizzard is prowling
     - no mercy in sight.

The Storm:
     a Revolutionary War;
     a relentlessness storm
         - of historic proportions.

The Coast:
         death entwined with life,
         as the whirlwind of ice
             - devastates beyond prediction.

The End:
     mayhem has set;
         no food, no water, no light;
         no travel day or night
         until the storm rescinds:
             ending her fury of ice!

The Storm by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse