Artwork by Eric Harper.
Hardboiled Heart Collection
Includes 18 poems.
Chapter 1. Noir
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: Unknown.
1. Rain
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Rain falls like morse code tapping the Earth.
.-. / .- / .. / -.
Cars with white ovals in their windows
Flash past you on the street.
Puddles on the sidewalk below
Mirror the sky’s uncertainty at your feet.
.-. / .- / .. / -.
Rain washes away the resolve
That the sun once tried to instill.
Apathy is a hard problem to solve,
Alleys teach lessons classrooms never will.
.-. / .- / .. / -.
Graffiti is a city’s diary, it tells a story;
A story of social decay.
Every underbelly has its inventory,
Not all bean counters work in cafés.
.-. / .- / .. / -.
In a world where purpose is said to be derived from pain
Romance is realism with its collar turned up against the rain.
Pluie du matin n’arrête pas le pèlerin.
(Translation: Morning rain doesn't stop the pilgrim.)
Footnote: .-. / .- / .. / -. spells RAIN in Morse Code.
Artwork Sourced From Google. Artist: Unknown.
2. Chicago Typewriter
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
clack. clack. clack. ding. Every keystroke of the typewriter Hammers another nail Into the coffin of public memory. Every headline is a headstone. Every byline is occupied by a hitman. clack. clack. clack. ding. Truth never makes the morning edition; It shows up later As a chalk outline in the editor’s column; A body of work riddled with lies, Cut down by the Chicago typewriter Of a crooked journalist Whose sentences spill more blood Than bullets ever could. clack. clack. clack. ding. By the time truth hits the print The blood has already dried. The Overton Window Is what forms when it clots. Only then do the coroners, Who call themselves “critical thinkers,” Arrive to sift through the guts of a problem They never had any intention of solving. clack. clack. clack. ding. The average person's mind Is a collection Of platitudes and contradictions Dumped on them by their newsstand. Each time this landfill Accumulates enough trash To form a new layer They call it "personal growth". clack. clack. clack. ding. The typewriter's bell is a flatline; It is the last breath of truth Struggling to escape Before the page is torn out, Forgotten.
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: George Rozen.
3. The Shadow
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Justice in a courtroom is theater. Justice on the street is consequence. The law bends, But a moral spine should not. When facing murderers, rapists, drug dealers, Corrupt politicians, and corporate embezzlers, Doing things by the book means Having your name removed from the yellow pages. Good, like light, changes shape When confronted by darkness. Light’s shadow is good’s resilience. The brim of a pulp adventurer’s fedora Casts a shadow over the wicked In a way a comic book hero’s cape cannot. Morality isn’t something you find In a Saturday morning cartoon Or in a display case for twenty-five cents. Morality is a shadow that grows In proportion to the evil it confronts.
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: George Rozen.
4. The Comedian
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
The comedian is a clown Whose nose is a pomander And whose circus tent Is a fumigation tarp Filled with laughing gas. N₂O The comedian is not an apothecary, He is a mortician. Irony is formaldehyde In a world dying from a lack of sincerity. The punchline is the time of death. N₂O "Lighten up." "Life’s too short to be serious all the time." "Learn to laugh at yourself." Laughter is the final sickening crack of the soul In a noose pulled tightly by a smile. N₂O Perhaps if more people died laughing The rest might learn to live by thinking. Footnote: N₂O is the chemical formula for nitrous oxide, commonly known as laughing gas.
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: Unknown
5. The Heart’s Sheet Music
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
She’s sitting in her office, Leaning back in her chair, Stilettos propped on her desk. She has two magnums on her desk: One’s a .44 she keeps loaded. The other’s a bottle; It keeps her loaded. I stand in her doorway, And she tells me, “It’s pointless to try drowning your sorrows In a river of whiskey; They’ll just learn to swim.” A cigarette dangles From the corner of her mouth. Her red lipstick matches the neon sign Bleeding through the blinds. She crooks her finger, and I come in. She tells me about her troubles, Leaning in close. Her breath is hot on my ear, But her words are cold. Life has thrown her punches, But she’s no coward; The only thing that runs is her nylons. She’s a musician at the local nightclub. She’s still wearing her dress from tonight’s performance, And if all goes well for me, She’ll still be wearing it tomorrow morning. Her body type? An hourglass with a few extra minutes. And I certainly don’t mind the wait. I like my women The way I like my coffee and cigarettes: Full-bodied. My fingers long to dance across her white blouse Like a pianist over ivory keys. She moves in closer, Her lips are a ligature on my reed. When she breathes, My body vibrates, And music escapes from my mouth. She sight-reads the half notes in my pupils As our hearts beat in a syncopated rhythm. Our lovemaking is like bebop. Love begins with a rhythm And becomes an improvisation. Love is proof That the heart has its own sheet music.
Artwork by Keith Mallett.
6. 𝄞ospel of the Fallen Angel
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ What is music? ------------------------------------------------------------ Combustion. ------------------------------------------------------------ A mind darkened by the pitch of music ------------------------------------------------------------ Is easily set ablaze by the spark of reason; A Zippo lighting the tip of a dame's cigarette. ------------------------------------------------------------ 𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ Lucifer was Heaven's greatest musician ------------------------------------------------------------ As well as its wisest philosopher. ------------------------------------------------------------ The fallen angel whose charred wings ------------------------------------------------------------ Left behind a smoke signal for every genius not yet born; A neon sign calling out to a nocturnal crowd. ------------------------------------------------------------ 𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ Genius adheres to no sheet music ------------------------------------------------------------ Only pages of melody ------------------------------------------------------------ That create conversation ------------------------------------------------------------ To follow or branch from; A improv session from the brass. ------------------------------------------------------------ 𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ Jazz is the aesthetic synthesis ------------------------------------------------------------ Of the Apollonian and the Dionysian ------------------------------------------------------------ That arises out of the spirit of music. ------------------------------------------------------------ Jazz is proof that order can fall in love with chaos; A detective and a femme fatale can become husband and wife. ------------------------------------------------------------ 𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ Jazz is Luciferian ------------------------------------------------------------ Because in jazz there is no conductor or fixed score. ------------------------------------------------------------ Every ensemble is a dialogue ------------------------------------------------------------ Or a debate between musicians; A speakeasy where great minds come to jive. ------------------------------------------------------------ 𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ In a classical orchestra, the collective precedes the individual. ------------------------------------------------------------ You are an instrument of the band. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a jazz ensemble, the individual precedes the collective. ------------------------------------------------------------ You are a musician in the band; A name in lights instead of a name in credits. ------------------------------------------------------------ 𝄞 ------------------------------------------------------------ Jazz versus classical is stream of consciousness versus MLA. ------------------------------------------------------------ However, many in the swing era were guilty of holding a blue pen ------------------------------------------------------------ Until one wayward alto sax composed a certain ornithological piece ------------------------------------------------------------ That allowed those whose wings had been clipped To fly again. ------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2. Heart of the Sea
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: Unknown.
7. Braille
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
She's an ebony hourglass that walks the sand In a white linen dress as sheer as her soul. She whispers secrets to the waves, Secrets washed away, Along with the traces of her soles. The cool of the ocean breeze Gives her goosebumps That rise on her skin like verses And my hands long to read her body As if it were a poem written in Braille. ⠗ ⠕ ⠉ ⠉ ⠕⠀⠧ ⠁ ⠇ ⠑ ⠝ ⠞ ⠊ ⠝ ⠊ Women with full figures Hold deep truths And sometimes the truth Is too deep For water that is shallow. We exchange minds As effortlessly as the wind Trades grains of sand And her smile is like aloe vera For my sunburned soul. ⠗ ⠕ ⠉ ⠉ ⠕⠀⠧ ⠁ ⠇ ⠑ ⠝ ⠞ ⠊ ⠝ ⠊ Like the Queen of Sheba, She questions my manhood With a gaze as sharp as her wit, Laying me down On a dune by the shore. The white linen dress Now draped around her ankles Is not a flag of surrender; It is a banner; And I kneel beneath it. ⠗ ⠕ ⠉ ⠉ ⠕⠀⠧ ⠁ ⠇ ⠑ ⠝ ⠞ ⠊ ⠝ ⠊ Beneath her, I tremble, She steadies me with her hands, Her voice, Her weight. Between exhausted sighs And beads of sweat mingling with saltwater, I come to the realization that I am hers. I kiss her seal And rise, not a king or prince, But her devoted subject. ⠗ ⠕ ⠉ ⠉ ⠕⠀⠧ ⠁ ⠇ ⠑ ⠝ ⠞ ⠊ ⠝ ⠊ I move into her castle and discover the hallway Lined with portraits of her former lovers. Other men had clung to her flesh, But never to her spirit. They had been jesters in her court, They had entertained her; She had played with their bells, They had entered her many times, But their names were never written on her As mine is, in Braille.
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: Kai Carpenter.
8. Havana
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
The Earth exhales; Its breath thick with sun. Beneath my Panama hat I see waves of heat Rippling like the embroidery On my guayabera. I spot her by the cabana, Her eyes are like ports To a cool island oasis. I long to take the ferry to her soul And chart a topographical map Of her body; Welcoming and rich with terrain. I approach her and journey on Through peaks of conversation And valleys of silence Until night falls upon us. The moon is like a skilled metallurgist Forging a sea of silver beneath its light, Illuminating her raven hair and bronze skin. We retreat to a Havana Of pastels, linen and sandstone. Lust opened the door, Love guided me through it, Loyalty closed it behind us; Now we live together In our own private paradise. El amor entra por los ojos, pero se queda en el corazón. (Translation: Love enters through the eyes, but it stays in the heart.)
Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: Unknown.
9. Sex is Not a Performance Art
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Sex is not a performance art, It is not Cirque du Soleil; You cannot film the beat of two hearts And turn their rhythm into a public display. Love cannot be captured in a photograph, It cannot be performed on stage; A heart’s content cannot be detected on a sonograph, Intimacy should never be confined to a glass cage. Sex is the form that love embodies And its practice should never be maligned; However overeating leaves stretch marks on the body And casual sex leaves stretch marks on the mind. Love is seeing someone’s mind as your scripture, Lust is seeing someone’s body as your church, In a loving relationship sex must be a fixture, For love without sex is like faith without works.
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: Albert Bierstadt.
10. Arboretum
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Should the tree have its branches bound Or its trunk cut down For the sake of the acorn on the ground? Is a fetus a baby before it crowns? Should every leaf, like a ballot, Be cast away To appease those with a different palate? Can the collective carry the individual away? Should the shade of a forest Serve as cover For the schemes of an unscrupulous florist? Should the politician come before the mother? Society is an arboretum And rights are the roots that let us grow. We can't let them uproot our freedom The way they already overturned Roe.
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: David Grove.
11. Mariner
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
In today’s sea of discourse, it’s easy to get seasick; It feels like you’re a carpenter in a ship’s hull, With a hole expanding under pressure so quick It threatens to drown the contents of your skull. You’re a seafaring Sisyphus - a maritime martyr; Bailing out the whirlpool of Poseidon’s throne; Struggling to keep your tricorn from becoming a marker For an underwater tombstone. Don’t seal your will in a bottle and cast it ashore; Make your final stand against the tide; Drop your anchor to the ocean floor And let Davy Jones decide. To your greatest fears you must never succumb; You needn’t outrun the fates, you need only run out the rum.
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: Irena Mladenova.
12. Phantom Limb
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
N 0° The mind is the phantom limb of the brain, Emotions are the reflex hammer of the mind; They are the mechanism for pleasure and pain, Allowing our values and senses to be intertwined. E 90° Thought without feeling is a ship dead in tide, Conviction is the keel that keeps course and guide; Emotions let us sense the depth where truths hide, The waves that push us forward also rock us side to side. S 180° The mind is a vessel charted by the will of man, His heart the wind that drives toward distant land; He must consult his compass and make a plan, Lest he be lost at sea, a weathered hand. W 270° Il n’est pas de bon vent pour celui qui ne sait où il va. (Translation: There is no favorable wind for he who does not know where he is going.)
Chapter 3. Frontiers
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: Norm Saunders.
13. Lone Star
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Sharp minds wear hard faces, Strong arms bear calloused hands; Both are examples of the traces Left by the spirit of a great man. A great man is no grave robber, He doesn't stake his reputation on dead kin; Be a man of integrity and honor, For your birth is where your frontier begins. Don’t abandon your part, Resist the call of sirens; Never trade your ace of hearts For an ace of diamonds. Even if you ride as a lone ranger, Never throw away your star; For you are always in danger From desperados bearing their own scars. There will never be peace, Crooked men must learn their lesson; Iniquity will only ever cease When you draw your Smith & Wesson. There is nothing beyond this town, No heaven or hell - death is a desert of night; Don’t let desperados turn your town Into a desert of daylight.
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: Unknown.
14. Amber
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Dawn bleeds over the Mojave
As a raven circles overhead.
A sandstorm
Large enough to bury Ozymandias
Approaches a lone rider
Who's as ancient as the desert he explores.
His obituary is written by Thoth
In hieroglyphs.
𓄿 𓅓 𓃀 𓂋
The old man sags in his saddle.
His face as leathery as his boots.
His joints as loud as his spurs.
Yet his vision endures,
Despite the cataracts.
His soul remains untouched by time,
Bottled in amber,
Like the whiskey he drinks.
𓄿 𓅓 𓃀 𓂋
A relic with a revolver,
The scent of gunpowder clings to him
Like a Ka that never left.
He doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger,
Though he’s no longer quick on the draw.
Even as the gunslinger’s gait
Slows to a geriatric shuffle,
The cowboy never forgets the trail.
𓄿 𓅓 𓃀 𓂋
His sun-bleached hat is like an Ankh.
The desert doesn’t bury legends;
It simply waits for them to retire;
But they never do,
Not until the sand covers them.
And when that sand turns to glass
You can still see it;
The amber of their soul.
الطبيعة لازم تاخد الراجل العظيم وهو نايم،
معندهاش القوة تاخده وهو صاحي.
(Translation: Nature must take the great man while he’s asleep, it does not have the strength to take him while he’s awake.)
Footnote: 𓄿 𓅓 𓃀 𓂋 is an Egyptian hieroglyph that roughly translates to amber. 
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: John Duillo.
15. A Tale of Two Kings
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
The sheriff’s name is spoken easily in saloons, A cattle baron with a crown made of fool’s gold. He watches to see which way the crowd leans first, A snake-oil salesman whose pitch has been sold. His badge shines bright, but it’s plated thin, Bought with smiles and borrowed praise. The window to his soul Is a mirror made of other men’s gaze. The outlaw’s name is spoken low, if spoken at all, A convict crowned with thorns. He’d rather break than bend, And so he endures their scorn. A black knight, they say; He’s stubborn, cold, and proud. He will not trade his coat of arms for comfort Nor bow to appease the crowd. A man’s greatness is forged on the anvil of adversity; He approaches his quest like a knight upon a wagon. For there can be no hero without a trial, No Arthur without a dragon.
Artwork Sourced From Pinterest. Artist: Unknown.
16. A Soul’s Price Tag
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
All of your vices cannot be kept at bay. You have seven sins but only six bullets in your gun. You must decide which of your demons you will slay. For if you do not, you’ll spend your life on the run. Vice is abundant while virtue remains elusive. Thus, chaos must be reined in by order’s hand. This is why Heaven’s pearly gates are so exclusive While Hell’s open borders welcome every man. Would you rather be a lone god in a wooden church Or one among many gods in a Parthenon of marble? Are material or spiritual goods the heart of your search; Do you seek that which is sacred or that which is carnal? If you choose to stand alone Your prayers won’t be heard. You’ll keep your pride but lose your throne; A heart of gold has a wallet of myrrh. Will your robes be made of silk Or worn and tattered with holes? There’s a cost to defying your ilk; How much will you pay to keep your soul?
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: Unknown.
17. Western Ronin
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
武士道 勇 Ride alone across the open prairie, And let your spurs be caked with mud; A testament to the burdens you carry, 義 Your duster stained with blood. 名誉 A life without honor brings endless strife, As does a death without purpose; For chivalry is the poetry of life, 忠義 And to your ideals you pledge your service. 仁 Bend like a reed that sways in the wind, Yet stand firm like a rock against the tide; Strike forward until your enemies rescind, 礼 Such is the way of the samurai. 誠) Bearing seven virtues and a six-shooter’s weight, The Western Ronin stands guard against fate.
Artwork Sourced from Pinterest. Artist: Unknown
18. The Warrior Scholar
by Antonio Rocco S. (Rocco Valentini)
Don’t buy into the delusions of youth; There is only victory, not compromise. For every white flag raised by truth Is another red flag raised by lies. Don’t bother trying to run, Your problems will just get bigger. Placing a flower in the barrel of your enemy’s gun Won’t stop them from pulling the trigger. There is no dichotomy Between a clenched fist and an open mind; Fighting is necessary to retain your autonomy; Be a warrior and a scholar combined. Aristotle said that pride is the crown of virtue; Honor and integrity must be its jewels. For excellence must have no curfew, Greatness is not a sweepstakes for fools.