Sun Kissed Days

Sun Kissed Days

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Legacy


Tomorrow April 24, 2017 is Holocaust Remembrance Day as well as Armenian Genocide Day. I would like to share here poems that I had written for both. I am a child of a holocaust survivor and my husband is a grandchild of an Armenian genocide survivor. Our tapestry is woven by those that displayed a remarkable courageous spirit.



Numbers


Numbers tattooed
on my soul.
Lives snuffed out,
erased,
roots of humanity pulled out
like weeds,
so they would not grow,
or flourish,
so they would not survive.
Numbers tattooed,
like branded animals,
identities robbed,
discarded,
destroyed.
Voices silenced,
voices of philosophers,  
poets,
bakers,
doctors,
mothers,
fathers,
children.
The old woman sits with me,
she remembers and weeps.
she remembers walking into
an empty house for refuge,
  a photograph 
of a rabbi on the wall,
his blue eyes haunt her in her dreams. 
She remembers hunger,
cold,
despair.
Her grandparents murdered,
her uncle vanished,
her aunt dismembered.
She is a part of me,
a piece of my legacy.
Her eyes the same color as my 
beloved father's eyes.
 They held hands at the gates of hell
and survived.
I write down the stories
seared with pain
 of portraits of life
ripped apart,
families lost,
unspeakable horrors.
I write stories,
I witness,
as tears fall down,
we remember. 


This next poem I wrote to commemorate 100 years from the genocide. It is dedicated to my husband and his beloved grandfather.


Armenian Genocide -100 Years


Coal black sky,
awakens repressed memories.
Whispers of angels silenced.
You are not forgotten,
the moon watched 
while humanity looked away,
one hundred years of denial.
Grandpa,
I stood beside you as a boy,
and as a man I carry you in my heart.
Your kind but dark eyes,
pieced my consciousness with
stories of your plight,
living in a cave,
marching in the desert,
eating weeds and plants.
You were a baby boy orphaned,
grief held your hand.
You were too young to remember
your mother's love
your mother's embrace.
The emptiness,
and the sadness lingered.
The oppressors sought to destroy,
they sought deportation,
humiliation,
death.
The oppressors wished
to erase you
and our bloodline.
One hundred years of denial,
echo like whispers,
reverberate from the earth
of those that perished.
You survived
to flourish
you survived 
to tell your story
the darkness always in the shadows
 of each day.
Grandpa,
I remember.
Grandpa,
your words are not forgotten,
I retell my children of those dark days,
of their legacy,
of survival rich with
honor of your life.
Grandpa,
I stood beside you as a child,
as a man I carry you in my heart.
 
 

Remember And Change


Dad,
I don't want to write about spring,
flowers blooming,
touching my skin,
making my spirits rejoice.
Dad,
I don't wish to write about egrets 
flying into my yard,
celebrating glorious blue skies.
Dad,
I want to write about hunger and pain,
about a dark time,
when the sun did not shine for you 
and for others.
A time when your belly was empty
and your eyes witnessed 
horrors that remained with you
till the day you died.
I don't want to be gentle or soft,
I want to awaken souls.
I want the world to remember,
humanity at it's worst.
I want them to know
 that you did not
let it define you.
You were a survivor,
a champion,
that fought for other people's rights .
Your heart open and your mind
filled with dreams.
You wrote beautiful words,
soaring above the pain and horror.
Dad,
I want them to remember ,
the people that perished,
the people that did not
get to go home and build
a new life,
in a new land
I want the world to remember.
 



Sunday, April 9, 2017

Silent


Hesitations,
confrontations,
conversations.
Crumbs leftover from yesterday
fear induced.
I am sliced paper thin
by questions and self doubt.
Hesitations,
conversations,
truth,
words dancing on the page.
Complications,
hesitations,
thoughts percolating,
truth illuminating the way.
Silent,
suffocating,
drowning,
casting shadows and
darkness.
If I recall our story
with truth and beauty,
unveil it with clarity and charity
will you let me
raise my chest into the air
let the steam and fire rise,
and let me spin my words
saturate life
breathe secrets into the universe
or will you silence me?

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Enchantment


Your sweetness 
awakens peace within me,
an immense joy
that roars like incoming
waves breaking on the shore.
The tides rise and fall
with time,
as I look into your eyes 
and our souls meet again.
My words palpable
pour on to the page
unassuming
brimming with enchantment 
and truth.
You nestled in my heart,
my love,
pure,
immeasurable.
I wait for the universe to lift you,
embrace you 
and write the chapters of your life
with peace,
felicity, 
and enlightenment.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Precious one


May the sound of the sea
give you tranquility.
May the sight of the blue topaz sky
spark your desire to fly.
May you bloom like a flower
on the side of the mountain
resilient and graceful.
May your steps be light
and your touch gentle.
May you be strong like
the roots of the oak tree.
May you find the sacred in
the ordinary,
in the light breeze on your face,
in the crimson sunrise,
in the salty taste of the ocean spray.
May you delight in powerful words.
may you be charmed by sweet poetry.
Play in the moonlight,
sketch on the large canvas of life,
bathe underneath the stars.
Dream big.
Love fiercely.
Laugh,
Laugh,
and laugh some more.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Aiden



Hello world
he seemed to say
with one eye open
as he gazed at life.
Seven pounds
fifteen ounces
infant warrior.
Hello snow 
blizzard raging.
Hello mother,
father,
grandmas,
hello nurses,
doctors.
Hello world,
wrinkly fingers and toes,
dimples,
footprints engraved on our souls.
Hello world,
sucking noises,
sighs,
sweet cries, 
the sounds of the Wheels on the bus,
abc's,
paw prints on the sidewalk.
Hello world,
breath,
love,
peace,
I am Aiden and
I am ready to celebrate it all.






Photo credit to Robert Cernuda. You can find him at Robert Cernuda.com

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Little One



What do you see in your dreams
little one?
sheep that you count
white and dreamy
like the billowy clouds above.
What do you see in your dreams
when you sigh in your sleep,
green endless fields,
yellow and black Labrador retrievers?
Do you smile because you see
your mother and father gazing
at you with adoration
sparkle in their eyes.
Do you dream about
your maternal and paternal grandmothers
rocking you to sleep gently and lovingly.
What do you see in your dreams
little one?
The sun shinning through 
the gray morning
as the snow melts off
the bare trees
outside your window.
Milk and sweetness
life and love.
Do you see the future smiling on you,
what do you see my love?
 
 
Photo credit to Robert Cernuda. He is a gifted photographer and artist in the New York area.

Monday, February 13, 2017

Aiden Karl Ethan



My precious grandson was born February 8th. I am over the moon with love and gratitude.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Breaking the chain





Dad,
I stand before you a man,
inward a young boy,
a spectator of our life.
The man has no expectations,
the boy remembers.
You left me on the shore,
like husks and shells
that you stepped on. 
The boy remembers shining
to your blind eyes.
Your acceptance
not felt, nor voiced.
Your arms never stretched
to raise me,
to lift me.
My stories were chatter,
you did not want to hear.
Sound bytes buried
as you became increasingly
irritated by the tone
of my voice.
You were deaf,
your mind self absorbed.
Whores and drugs seduced you,
friends and the bottle captured
your attention.
I was an after thought,
oblivious to my needs
you lacked empathy.
I searched for light in your eyes,
I waited for a kind word,
but encouragement and respect
were not in your vocabulary.
Dad,
I stand before you
 as a man,
as a father.
I am not you,
your errors and indifference
shaped me,
your road-map not my own.
The sounds of my children are
the dearest
to me,
their pain is mine to carry.
No task too great,
no sacrifice enough.
I encourage,
I nurture,
I lift,
I broke the chain.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

I am the immigrant-I am an American



Bury me in a pine box
breathless yet breathing.
I won't leave,
I won't go.
I rested my weary head
on her shoulders.
Her courage,
became my own.
I swam in her oceans,
I climb her hills and mountains.
I swore my loyalty,
my allegiance.
Her flag engraved across
my heart,
the stars and stripes my own.
I brimmed with emotion
and devotion.
Her outstretched arms
embraced me,
took me in.
She whispered words of inclusion,
she roared words of freedom
and love.
I am not a stranger,
this is my home.
I am an American,
I won't leave,
I won't go.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Happy 31

 
 
 The years slip away,
the days evaporate,
the moments sustain us,
love remains and thrives.
 
 
 
 
Happy Birthday to my boy! I love you always and forever <3 br="">
 
 

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Sixteen



Sixteen
is the handsome boy
that feels like an
ugly duckling.
Sixteen
is wise remarks
that make me laugh
even though I restrain myself.
Sixteen is dark humor 
mixed with silly undertones.
It's tousled curls in his hair
when it was always lank.
Sixteen is a world
I want to step into
as I sink into a marsh.
I try to remember
my sixteen,
my youth,
my insecurities,
and struggle 
to mirror his uncharted sea.
Sixteen is loving
in small gestures,
it's late nights,
boundless energy,
it's heavy and light.
Sixteen
is sinking into a computer screen
for endless hours,
talking to friends
while saying nothing
of importance.
Sixteen
resides in a room 
that resembles a dungeon.
The only beacon are keepsakes
buried in the closet and chest
of drawers.
He is witty like Stephen Colbert
and funny like Jon Stewart
not that I would compare him to either.
He is unique,
this sixteen unparalleled 
to any other.
This is his path to walk on,
and mine to follow from a distance
with unconditional love.