Cast Net Memories

I threw a cast net
into the universe
and captured shards

filled with memories
that made me who I am today.
You threw a cast net into the ocean
and caught fish flailing
dancing for your mercy
and their freedom.
I told you things and waited
for you to exhale when
I saw you hold your breath.
I danced in your light
standing away from the shadow
letting you in to the insecurities
and ugliness
I didn't fear your judgement
I only feared that your love
would wilt and die away.

Spring of Humanity

The seeds of spring

bring me into the journey within.

The colors are the backdrop

to the thoughts taking flight.

I watch the ripples in the pond

of humanity.

We hunger to tell our tale

to share our vision,

to dream,

to nourish our souls.

Dream,

that life can be different.

We share ourselves

bits and pieces all along

hiding our true story

while we drink wine
and taste morsels of life

our road is blurred

by our broken compass. 

The hunger lives

the fragments like the

new leaves sprouting.
The scent of spring is
in  the air,
underneath the surface
the desire is boiling
seeking to convey,
rise, connect.
Our well
waiting to bubble.
 I watch with intention,

I inhale the light,
my landscape
full of this moment
and the tales I carry
in my mind.

Saturday night I had the privilege of going to the Literary Feast and later to have dinner with supporters of the public library foundation and  author Dani Shapiro. She is an amazing writer and a beautiful soul. Several people shared that they want to write their story, but they haven't yet. I believe we all have a story to tell.

The art in this post belongs to artist Sunita Khedekar. We are sharing our thoughts on spring at http://dversepoets.com/.

Breathe Poetry, breathe life

Is there a handbook

to this dance

called poetry ?

This wonder that we call life?

Our words come from within

our soul,

rising, floating, soaring

to embrace our humanity.

You say that you have no time

 for poetry,

but do you have time to breathe ?

to live ?

to grasp today

 and hold it fiercely.

This day that won't

repeat or return .

You say that it's

not your thing

but

I ask

do you understand love,

and pain

sorrow and

 immense joy?

Do you understand 

what it feels like 

to leap,

to bow in pain,

to listen.

To Hear the stories rising from the streets

and weep

walk a thousand miles and then understand that

you never felt the pain of the sinner,

nor the one left out 

looking in

or the one that's left to pick up 

the crumbs while

others are feasting.

You can't understand their pain 

because you have not felt it.

You say you comprehend 

you say you have knowledge

but those are lies

that you tell yourself when you sleep

and then you wake up in a cold

sweat and you realize that you don't have 

the answers to anything.

You don't know much,

you think you are enlightened

and wise

and you realize that there is much

left to learn

taste,

fight for,

embrace.

Poetry is everywhere,

you see the world in different colors

and then you begin to live,

and breathe.

Small

We traveled to his home

on the narrow coastal plain

along the Mediterranean sea.

It was nestled in Caesarea

where the sunset
 took my breath away.

The blue sky filled with pink

and an inviting orange.

I was seven or eight
but I was an old soul.

 I felt like I carried the

world on my shoulders.

The party inside

was all that I had imagined

except I remained outside

with my brother and the chauffer.

Mom said that I was too young

which made me feel small.

I wanted to walk among his art

and breathe it in.
Wander into a painting
and feel the sand under my feet.

I wanted to feel his art
 seeping from his walls

giving life
 to his famous Galilean hills.

His view harmonious
and his reality filled
with grace
in which foes could be friends.

I wanted to look into the fire
 in his eyes

knowing it came from deep
inside his soul.

His passion
 that brought life
 to blank canvases 

filled with color.
He was inspired
by frescoes
his vision
not just seen but felt.

I wanted to listen
 to the conversation 

about living in Paris 

and his first exhibition in New York.
Bridges he built from the past
to a future he dreamed of.
I wanted to know
about being uprooted
and blooming in a new land
and society.

I wanted to hear the sounds

and pretend
 not to listen to whispers

when the conversation became edgy.
His art and life were one
and I understood that.

Mom said that I was too young

which made me feel small. 

I never forgot the day that my family and associates were invited to the home of
 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reuven_Rubin he was an icon.
 I felt so insulted by my mom's decision
not to include my brother and I.
 My mom was a loving mom but there are things we did not see eye to eye.
I told her that I would have never done that to my child.
 When I became a mom she saw that I kept my word.
 I never let my children feel left out and I included them in everything.
 I love her and miss her but I am glad that I got a chance to tell her how I felt that day.
Please meet us here http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.