This page was last updated: February 16, 2012

Memorial Page for Joe Treceno

Joe Treceno, long time member of  the River Poets Writer's Workshop, passed away this September. 

This page is devoted to his Poetry and Tributes.

Joe was a graphic designer for years in New York. He retired to Lambertville, NJ, and  continued over the years to commute between Lambertville and his apartment in NY. 

He was also a long time member of a New York Writers Group that began in the sixties.

His poetry has been published in The River, River Poets Journal, the River Poets Journal anthology, “The Eclectic Muse,” and Phantom Billstickers Poetry Project

River Poets Journal invites Joe's  friends and associates to send tributes, anecdotes, and photos to be posted on this page.

Send to:  judithlawrence@verizon.net

Anatomy of a Poem

Ashen slivers of poetry

In spill of enlightenment

and imagery,

born of flesh-mind

and sculpted thought

Perfectly formed, caught and

placed in the diary heart

In perception of wisdom,

polished meter seeks a

flowered laurel welcome

Abetted with lap top computers

and lap top dancers

In confessional soul

abstractly rhymed,

leaping onto pages

Luminously timed.

Universal OM, dissecting

today’s illusions

and tomorrow’s conclusions

awaiting the long decay

In eloquence of phrase

and prophet vision,

alongside restless dark delusion

As holy wafers

Give way to Doritos

And in stilled waters,

a refection

clones me.

          

            © Joe Treceno 11/11/05

Eviction Notice

It showed first

in clouded confusion,

wide owl-eyes gave evidence

to the intrusion

The annoyance of

a guest uninvited.

The look of bewilderment

gave it away,

death had moved in to stay.

No fire flies lit his night sky.

“Ignore the eviction notice,”

he tried.

Premises still occupied,”

he lied.

The foreign invader spoke

in nighttime tongues,

and stole the breath

from his lungs,

Jostling him, fumbling away

his reasoning.

Seasons interweaving,

coherence leaving.

The furrowed brow strained

between announcements,

someone was asking for

his undivided attention.

Passing days and

blighted hours,

his garden now empty

of all flowers.

Reason only a whisper,

his PC in shutdown mode.

In search of his poem,

in befuddled consternation.

Next stop; Hereafter Junction,

someone kindly rewind

the video, please.

© Joe Treceno  -  10-12/2006

Phantasmagoria

    Tremors are causing the

Easter Island heads to bobble

     and the Radio City Atlas

              to wobble, dropping its

                       oxidized world

                               down 5th Avenue

    toward St. Patrick’s

              Cathedral it whirled.

Splintering the confessional and

                 shattering the condom dispenser

                           as Rodin’s Thinker

                                     jumps up exclaiming,

    “I remember!  I remember!”

      They’ve replaced Lady Liberty’s

pledge for the needy and desperate

     with: “Send me your affluent,

                stock diversified and

                          portfolio literate.”

While Starbucks franchises the

     Taj Mahal into a coffee shop,

              Ghandi ambles by Union Square

                        in cargo pants, bling chain

                                  and afro-hair,

      muttering; “Peace, mother-fucker!”

                Gripping tight his walker.

                 And arms outstretched, from afar,

Corcovado bungee jumps

                        off Pao de Acucar.

      Overheard at a Washington luncheon:

              “Our president resembles an

                       erectile dysfunction.”

In search of additional commandments,

    ecumenical’s continue to study

            graffiti on tenements.

While NYU students are kept

               busy with their theses,

                        Venus de Milo tries on

                                her new prosthesis.

      They’ve also customized coffins

               with cell-phones, in hope of

                         instilling an inner relief.

And Michelangelo’s David,

                petitions for a larger leaf.

                                  ©Joe Treceno 1/24/08

March of the Lemmings

Their lust for heroes and Gods

                              leading to every disaster,

       dutifully they glide the

                   diagrammed steps of

                               the dance master.

And grip the hand blindly to be

        led to the slaughter,

                  into the killing of reason

                               and light, never to falter.

Fervent flags waved and

       brass buttons gleamed,

                  in harmony they followed while

                             the warm blood streamed.

Wall Street barons with Governmental

       blessing saunter forth

                   and gleefully rub their hands over

                              the warmth of ill-gotten wealth.

       Spiritually intoxicated on the promise

                   of tomorrow’s hereafter coming,

                              in psalm singing cadence they

                                            parade questioning nothing.

Never a doubt or query, always

                               belief without rationale,

        Serbian cleansing, Islamic

                    lamentations and no criminal.

Fascism, patriotism, communism,

                               religious fanaticism,

        by the North Star light they seek

                    the burning bush, is it Him?

        Hiroshima burnt flesh drifts on

                     winded rhetoric finality,

                                 and the holocaust corpse sits

                                          up in anger at a world’s

                                                       lemming mentality.

Rosary bead minds unburdened

      with conscience in silent hallow,

                   annihilation, massacres, inquisitions;

                                dutifully still they follow.

Marching in rapt adulation,

                                claiming they never knew

        and sadly in blissful unison

                                            the lemmings still queue.

                                                  

                                                           ©Joe Treceno

I really was devastated at hearing about the poetry world's lost. Joe was amazing and I really benefited from his friendship. Thank you for bringing him into my life. Ant (my nephew) was so touched by his brief friendship with Joe he had to write it down.      

                                         Elijah Pringle, poet

Joe Treceno

                                by KIRAAT

lost i was

sitting there amongst some of the Greats

nothing but a rectangular table separated him from me

I

I seen it

I felt it

Greatness

respect raced towards him

when his lips parted

ears widen to allow the eardrum to properly rely the message

so that the brain could register and store

Great advice

I knew that this guy

Joe

was a Great poet

his persona demanded respect

and there I sat directly across from

Him

hesitant to open my mouth

to comment

not of fear of mockery

no

I was struck

stuck in his Greatness

once i was able to absorb

I returned

his Greatness was a fuel

I am an engine

Dedicated to the memory of Joe

Tributes

Joe made a big difference to my time in America. I just found him to be a thoroughly decent human being. I remember the first day I met him, he was cycling past me as I was stapling poetry posters on poles and we had a conversation. Then we began to meet up. Just a random passing in the street...but there was so much warmth. Joe had a special way with words.

      Jim Wilson, Phantom Billstickers Poetry Project

I will always appreciate Joe because many times he encouraged me to continue writing by saying," You are getting better."  I loved Joe's sarcastic government poems and I saved many of them. 

Send us a little inspiration from heaven Joe.

May you rest in peace. Carolyn Constable