Sun Kissed Days

Sun Kissed Days

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Tree of blood

Sadness evokes memories,
morning dew on leaves forsaken.
Light penetrating,
piercing the morning
with a new promise
.A moment held through time
threads of our tapestry
that were unraveled
 and forgotten.
Where have we gone wrong,
lost our keen,
and our desire to know our blood.
Am I the only one to celebrate
the roots of our tree
that had spread
to different lands
planting seeds
and building new worlds
only to forget the ones
that spilled their blood
their desire for us to live and escape
hate and oppression. 
The threads frayed,
the threads in desperate 
need of repair.
I am the one consumed
with the tales,
the history,
the need to remember.
My heart 
like bruised grapes,
beating in anticipation.
I am the weed left behind,
seeking the light. 

This poem is about finding new family that I didn't know existed until this week. 

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Through the fog

The wind carried the sound
 of my weeping,
scattered dandelions floating
My grief broke me open,
brought me to my knees.
My thoughts,
 waves of despair
and sorrow.
I was told that I should numb 
my pain with pills,
with wine,
with life.
I refused
I soaked it in,
I drowned.
 The grief 
let my heart bleed,
the blade deep and sharp.
 My thoughts consumed me,
I surrendered
 to my anguish. 
Every morning the sun rose
and I learned to walk through 
the sorrow unhinged,
I slept on a bed of thorns,
the darkness draping me.
I walked the path,
on shattered glass.
One day the sun rose,
my burden felt lighter.
I chose to rise from the ashes
and find glory in the morning light,
in the love in my life,
in remembering that you
would want me to live and
breathe again. 
I chose to live
among the glory that 
is in a new day,
the only day that's promised.

Marina at dVerse is having us write about the things that make our world shatter, what it needs and what we do to make it whole again. I wrote about losing my parents.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014


The city vibrant,
 loud and familiar.
The moon watches over us
knowingly lighting our way.
A homeless man,
laying on the ground
holding a cup
while he recites poetry
about a yellow canoe.
Schizophrenic or prehaps
he is saner than all of us.
His voice loud and clear
yet gentle.
I am filled with emotion,
tears well up
 of old wounds
I have forgotten.
At the museum
we explore the beauty,
 a little boy
while he hangs on his mother's arm
as if he was drowing 
and she is his life preserver.
My thoughts drift
 to sleepless nights,
restless days.
I look away and
fight the tears
because I love you more
than you can ever understand.
Our time brief,
this is where I want to be
in this beautiful city that
you call home. 
You work from ten to seven
all night
caring for humanity
while the moon crawls to greet me
through the window.
I sleep and dream 
of my wide eyed boy
tending to those never cared for
uprooted and lost.
The past is calling
but I choose today
I choose this moment
bittersweet yet glorious.

At dVerse Abhra has us writing about places around the world where we want to be, for me it was Boston for a brief visit with my son and my future daughter in law. I am sharing a link to my interview with the lovely Laurie Kolp at dVerse yesterday.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The Apple Tree

Dad wrote mom poems
that he read to her.
 I listened
while they thought that 
I was sleeping.
His voice filled with passion
and love.
 Dad wrote me stories
about a horse with a broken leg.
It was published
 in the newspaper.
Life was art to him,
and art was life.
I watched him mesmerized at
how he was bigger than life
    and how an entire room
would be captivated by 
his conversation.
Mom said that the apple
does not fall far from the tree
and that I was like him.
I wanted to write poetry like
and love like him
his flame burning.
His thirst of life,
never quenched,
his hunger
never satiated. 
 He never followed anyone
he always followed his instinct.
His seeds of wisdom
ingrained in my being.
His life was filled with sadness
and despair during the war.
The obstacles never defined him,
he rose and overcame
to build a life that was well lived.
Mom said that I was strong as steel
when I went through my journey.
I told her that 
I was not strong as steel,
the strength was born out of necessity. 
My bloodlines rich with struggle
and endurance.
I think of them
and honor the place that
I come from,
and the apple tree I fell out of.

This is written for dVerse where the lovely Grace is having us write about our ancestors.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

An Olive Branch

The canopy of trees 
the leaves sway to an 
invisible symphony
wearing crowns
like the layers of my heart.
In my green peridot field,
in the orange grove
I planted seeds of hope,
seeds for peace.
I found the walls and distance
between us
all the reasons why we are
the same instead of different.
I planted seeds with my bare soul,
the words that sprouted were hopeful
like an olive branch offering.
You half smiled and half mocked
my hopeful dream. 
Verse sprinkled with
wonder and destruction.
Layers of life risen from the trenches 
soaring to enlightenment.
The leaves are dancing
in the breeze,
like words of truth that I stuffed
into my soul.
Bleeding unto the page,
soaking my bones,
like the water soaking 
the seeds I left behind to 
saturate and grow.
Words that liberate,
words of peace.

Peace may seem like a foreign concept for many of us. The peace within, the peace in the world. Peace is ambitious and necessary yet it seems like a dream that we can't reach. I still wish for Peace.