It's Not About The Grade But The Journey

We walk,

our steps rushed,

the ground hard.

The sun is shy but

smiles upon us.

I ignore the wind,

playing with my hair.

I'm listening closely,

to you speaking,

kindly,

softly,

trying to heal the bruised ego

of your brother.

His tears cascading down,

his exam a disappointment.

You carry his heavy backpack,

wanting to lighten his burden.

I listen as you encourage,

with words of tenderness.

His glasses fog up,

from tears and distress.

You hand him a napkin to wipe

them away.

My boys,

one a man,

the other still a child.

Your story weaved with love.

The beauty of the moment

cherished in my mind.

On the way to the airport,

bumper to bumper traffic .

We take side streets,

as our afternoon unfolds.

I will savor today,

the snapshot of my sons,

standing side by side.

I will soak it in ,

with grace and gratitude in my heart.

My older son was visiting ten days ago. We went to pick up my little one from school and he was devastated about a math exam he took. He is in 6th grade and his class is a college credit class and very difficult. He loves the challenge and he was disappointed in himself. It was special for me to watch my older one speak to him with such tenderness and love. It's those moments that make everything worthwhile. 

Please meet us here http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.

A Moment In Our Life

In the corner of the room,

the green dragon watches silently.

He stands tall, 

wrapped around the spear from Kung Fu.

His older brother left it as a joke,

like a note trail

reminding him that he was there.

I watch him as he writes an essay

about uniforms stifling individuality,

his eyes intense,

his fingers flying on the keyboard.

The book he read on Tesla 

on the nightstand,

along with twenty five dollars,

he earned folding laundry. 

His effort toward raising

money for Thanksgiving baskets for

the less fortunate.

His father walks in

to listen to the essay.

I inhale the moment  in this room,

painted with blue walls,

SpongeBob bedsheets,

and a bunny he still tucks

under his arm in his sleep.

The bunny battles nightmares,

and keeps this space safe.

My boy,

his eyes sparkle ,

his imagination bigger than these walls.

His imagination takes flight,

and has no limits.

I watch with tenderness.



Meet us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.

Kept Promises

Colorful Lego bricks scattered

like confetti on the ground.

Spaceships and rockets built

a feast to my eyes.

His eyes shine as he runs to me,

" I need electrical parts for my Legos."

I smile quietly,

" please mom"

his voice urges.

I take a deep breath,

" we will see " I answer.

My thoughts unravel,

as he chatters away

details of inventions and

dreams he dreams.

He captures my attention with

his enthusiasm .

An ache fills me,

as I watch him build a fort

out of food cans,

I want to shield his heart.

I have to make up for a dad

that's not present in his life.

I have to make up for promises

his dad did not keep,

a treehouse he said he would build,

baseball he said he would play,

tears of a little boy.

I need to fix it with a band aid to his soul,

he is five and I am twenty nine.

We are growing and learning

together.

I hold him closer,

shelter him from the pain,

nourish him with books and love.

I remain silent,

and determined,

I never make a promise that I can't keep. 

This poem was inspired by my friend and talented poet Brian Miller , he wrote this poem the other day that touched my heart. http://www.waystationone.com/2012/11/everydayman.html I had my son Josh at the age of 24. I was the happiest girl when he was born. I raised him alone starting at the age of nineteen months old. He was my world and I was his. I never wanted him to feel lack of anything and it's hard sometimes as a parent to admit that we can't do it all for our children. I did have great family support so I was blessed but it was always the two of us. When he was nine I met my husband and he became a dad to my son. It was a gradual growth of their relationship and it was not always easy. It grew into a great father and son love and respect.  Most of you know about Josh because I have shared many poems about him. My Lego boy is now 26 and a doctor that is selfless and a humanitarian that I admire. We did grow up together and through our various struggles we learned many lessons. My son Daniel is 11, he has had both parents raising him which is a different situation. He is a wonderful young man as well. Meet us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts. The picture above is when Josh was eight years old and I was able to take him to Legoland.

Eight Weeks

The mullets are jumping in the bay,
up in the air,

on an invisible trampoline.
He smokes inhaling the cigarette,
like a lifeline,
as if it's her
still here beside him.
The ringlets of smoke,
find their way into the clouds.
The reel squeals but
he holds back.
Sunny skies,
but we are gray.
We dance around the conversation,
her absence felt.
Weeks ago she collapsed
like a wounded bird in his arms.
The lobster claws remained untouched
in the ice box.
The football games became
a background noise of a devastating Sunday.
The mullets were in the bait motel,
and he released them,
for her,
for her spirit,
a gesture of love.

Her spirit remains,
in this home at the edge of the ocean,
where ashes are in a green pouch
waiting to be scattered into a Turquoise ocean.
Framed photographs,
snapshots of happier days,
a life well lived.
Silent thoughts,
a longing heart.


Meet us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.