Thursday, March 31, 2011
I lay beside your open grave
and I placed a stone shaped like a heart .
I covered it with the earth and hid it inside.
The stone was smooth and perfect,
but my heart
had a deep scar
that could never heal.
Did you hear me weep?
Did you feel my touch?
I placed shells on the stone
that proudly has your names carved out.
I wanted the shells to warm you,
where you are.
I chose them one by one
on Peanut Island,
where I go to silence my thoughts.
Where I feel whole.
Where I miss you most.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
swaddled in my blanket,
my thoughts drift to him.
The swells are rocking him
to sleep tonight.
His sky speckled with stars,
the silence magnified.
I could feel his heart,
as he floats
luring me into your arms.
Today you tango with a Marlin,
luring him into your life.
He shakes his head in defiance,
you are the matador,
and he is the bull.
He doesn't surrender,
it's all a dance in this thing we call life.
As you touch him,
he doesn't heed.
You feel the majesty of
Your soul soaring,
as you let him go back
into the ocean.
His safe release his happiness
Monday, March 28, 2011
" If you look deeply in the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people. " -Thich Nhat HanhThis weekend we were at a baby shower celebrating with family. I am going to be an aunt again come May. As I spent a few hours with relatives we were reminiscing of the past when life was simpler. When you could just knock on someone's door and visit them. You didn't have to call or make special arrangements. You could just stop by and have a cup of coffee and sit and talk about whatever is going on in your life. Every Saturday my grandparents would come over and my mom would bake a cake and make coffee and the adults would talk about life and about the issues of the time. They would talk and the children would listen and take it all in. There was family time with extended family all the time. It was not reserved for weddings or funerals, it was a part of life. I miss those days. The house would be filled with voices and filled with laughter, and sometimes the conversations would escalate but it was like watching a bull fight. You don't want to see the horror yet you can't look away. You are absorbed in every exchange and in every expression and even though you are a child you are better for witnessing it. For being a part of it. It becomes a part of you that you can't deny. The stories about the war and how my grandfather saved our family and his in laws and another family of friends becomes a part of who we are and what we become. The stories about people persecuting your family and discriminating against your family in their own birth country makes you want to fight for others. You can't help but care for others because others have cared for yours. During World war II my family was in the ghetto, a lady from Ukraine risked her life to help them . She would hand over a jar of soup across the barbed wire to my grandfather. He took the soup and with one spoon he hand fed everyone from the jar. They were all sick and weak except for him. As he fed fifteen people the only sounds were sighs , the sounds of gratitude to have a spoon of soup. It was medicine to them. I think of my grandfather and there are many stories I have yet to tell. He was a hero because he kept all those people alive and whatever little that he had or that he could smuggle into the camp he shared with them. He carried them on his wings. Even though he was hard sometimes I think life had made him that way. He had seen horrors and he survived abuse. His heart was always in the right place. His heart was big and his will to help was endless. As we sat and talked about the past , my thoughts were connecting the past and the present. Who we are and where we come from. In these happy times there is always a reminder of the past, of the struggle, of the many tears. The longer we spoke , we recognized the goodness over the evil. The gratitude in our life. The gratitude of having a history filled with sad and hard memories. It is a map of our family. It is the legacy that we give to our children.
Friday, March 25, 2011
We search within and we challenge
ourselves to see the beauty in
the moment waiting to be seized.
To bathe in our sweet freedom,
to feel the air upon us,
calling us to rise and acknowledge ,
the turmoil, the affliction , the disappointment.
My dreams are saturated with pain,
for those that lost their voice.
Where do we lay our heads,
heavy from the burden we carry.
where do we find our solace?
Is it believing that we have
the strength to sway for change?
Is it hoping that we can,
recapture dreams and create new ones.
Where do we go from here?
This wonderful adventure we call life.
I will go within for answers.
I will continue and ask questions
because I am going to grow ,
until I no longer reside here,
until I reach my final destination.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
sifting through the wreckage of her life,
sifting through the wreckage of her dreams.
Her landscape changed,ruined.
Her canvas gray and empty.
She pauses in disbelief,
surrendering to unknown blur.
She searches for a photo, any article
that's a part of the life she once knew.
I want to remember her,
I want to remember this moment
as I view the wounds that she carries.
I want to remember and make
every day count, every moment cherished.
I want to remember her,
and her struggle.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
happy colors in her palette.
Spring awakens those that dream.
I held her hand,
skipping and jumping.
She held on tight.
I was six years old,
my brown hair caressing my face.
I remember mom's voice,
sweet and kind.
We passed the abandoned lot,
and I discovered the yellow flowers blooming.
My soul was singing,
"mom look at all the yellow flowers"
My face light up,
she smiled to share my joy.
The girl that loved the yellow flowers
grew up to discover that they were weeds.
To me they were flowers,
To me they were salvation,
to me they will always be spring.
To me they will always be a part of mom and me.
How I wished to always hold her near,
how her memory lives this spring,
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
I kiss his inner tears.
The ocean is his lover,
his skin tastes of her saltiness,
her scent lingers in his hair.
When she is fierce and unforgiving,
he finds his way back.
I cradle him the way she does.
He hears her whispers calling him,
and he surrenders ,
When he is old,
he wants to lay beside her.
As he dips in her blue waters,
she will soothe his soul,
and he will soothe mine.
Friday, March 18, 2011
hope is rising from the ashes.
Woven in their fabric is strength,
open hearts extend kindness to strangers.
In a coastal town a miracle,
a baby girl was swept away.
Her cries were heard by rescuers,
sounds of joy, sounds of courage.
Her parents grateful, their spirit hopeful.
Grace will lead them to tomorrow,
a better day awaits gentle souls.
The sun will smile at them ,
the flowers will bloom once again.
A new day, a new life.
Faith will heal, love will survive.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
in a black box
that confines it.
Red velvet shields it
from the storm.
The Clarinet is silent
and longing in it's journey.
The Joy Of Music School
in Knoxville, Tennessee
will embrace it upon arrival.
A child will hold it,
and blow a breath.
A breath of hope,
music flowing through his veins.
The sound will soothe
like the ocean.
The sound will heal like basking in the sun.
will come to life,
The child will change forever
music dancing in his soul.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
" Each of us as human beings has a responsibility to reach out to help our brothers and sisters affected by disasters. One day it may be us or our loved ones needing someone to reach out and help. "-Michael W. Hawkins, American Red CrossFrom the corner of my eye, I felt him watching me. I gasped at the sights of devastation from Japan. I was fully aware that he was watching it with me. "Oh my God", he said . I didn't make him turn away. I wanted him to witness it . This moment he will remember when he is a grown man. The images of this disaster, the magnitude that in an instant changed lives forever. It will be a part of him. Daniel was watching the destruction, the despair, the urgency of survivors to find their loved ones. He is ten years old and many would argue that it's a young age for a child to be burdened with such worries . It's important that I should mention that he is a child with a strong spirit. If I knew my child couldn't watch this I would guard him from the images. I would protect him from the sadness of it. When I was a child there were always serious issues discussed. My father never turned away from injustice and he believed in voicing his opinions. His passion made us enlightened and interested in the issues. He planted the seed and made us aware of the world outside the walls of our home and outside the borders of our country. My son Josh is twenty five now, and he lives with a social awareness and conscience. When he was small I would read to him children books about important issues of our time. I felt that it was important for me to raise a child that would care about the world around him. He is a humanitarian and he has made a difference in the lives that he has touched. My son Daniel has saved up money for charities from a young age. He has empathy for those in need. I don't question why the seed is not always planted early on. I don't know if it would work for everyone. I just know that it works for me. Planting the seeds for a better tomorrow. Planting the seeds that will bloom into a better world.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
innocent blood seeping into it's roots.
We have come far you say?
I wonder if that's really true.
Men, women, and children in despair.
They are violated, abused, beaten, raped.
Blood is flowing, blood is spilling,
there's no solace, there's no refuge.
Echos of injustice in this land,
the spirits of lives lost whisper.
They sigh with a rage unheard,
can you hear their voices rising.
Atrocities that exist today and now,
we have come far you say?
I wonder is that really true?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Carried by the wind.
She is your mother,
wife, sister ,
She stands with all the women
that marched before her.
She is beautiful
in her courage.
She is beautiful
in her spirit.
She is my friend,
she is you,
she is me.
As long as she has a voice,
as long as her voice is loud, clear, proud, strong.
As long as she speaks,
as long as we speak
we will never be alone.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday afternoon was sad for Daniel and I. Most Tuesday afternoons we head on over to our neighborhood Borders. We know the employees and we feel at home there finding our way through every aisle. We love our Borders and we love books. As all of you know Borders is closing down two hundred stores in an attempt to restructure their company. Daniel has a favorite sales clerk that always feels challenged by Daniel's questions, and always has a fun time trying to help him. We have gone to Borders to meet Mo Willems when he came out with the Knuffle Bunny squeal. Years ago we also went to meet Laura Numeroff and she signed Daniel's books among them, If you give a Pig a pancake. We have nostalgic memories. Today we walked into Borders and it was a war zone. Signs displaying the discounts available and shoppers looking for bargains. Daniel's first words were "Oh my God." He looked shocked. He expressed empathy for those losing their job. What really hit home was when he turned to me and , "this is so sad, I've been coming here since I'm this small." and he pointed down to his knees . He looked devastated . Our haven was no longer. A sad lesson in how the world changes around us. How people's lives are affected by those changes. We love reading and we love our books, and we will miss our neighborhood hangout and the people that welcomed us every time we walked through those doors." We change, whether we like it or not."- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Friday, March 4, 2011
that I might change the world,
Fueled with desire and a passion.
Second avenue was barely lit up,
cardboard was sprawled on the sidewalk.
The shelter closed down the doors,
the streets were dark and dangerous.
My cooler filled with milk containers ,
brown paper bags with homemade sandwiches,
they welcomed me with silent gratitude.
My thoughts dancing in my head,
I wanted to change their world.
I thought I should and could .
I thought I might some day.
There's a tree in my soul,
it's branches are adorned with leaves,
it's roots are tangled and twisted.
The past chains me with shackles,
social change has been too slow,
the need is greater than ever.
Change comes by helping one soul,
one dream that becomes a reality.
Change translates to many different possibilities .
I still believe that I might,
I still believe that I can,
change a life, for the better.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
" Words are the voice of the heart "-ConfuciusWords are powerful. Words can lift us. Words can wound us. Words can express a dream, describe concepts, words can rouse us into action. When babies speak their first words, we are delighted in how clever they are. As time goes by, we are proud at how articulate they become. Words are so much more than I can describe here. Saturday, I spoke to a friend and she was hurt. It wasn't a physical pain it was an emotional one. She was hurt by words. She said her brother uses words to cut down and humiliate everyone including his children. He is verbally abusive to them. I felt an immediate sadness. It's devastating to a child to hear that they are unwanted and worthless. When she tried to explain this to him, it fell on deaf ears. I don't understand it. She doesn't understand it either. To me words are a gift. To me my sons are everything. I tell my sons how proud they make me. I tell them that I love them. I don't tip toe with my words, my words are powerful and they leave prints in their soul. My sons know they are my universe. They know they hold my heart. They feel it, they live it, everyday, always.