Happy 11th Birthday Daniel

Your feet dangle,
out of the blue Spiderman quilt.
The room is quiet,
but magical
as my heart dances
while watching you sleep.
Your bunny tucked under your arm
even though you are older,
even though you are wise beyond your years.
You walk through life
with conviction,
extending your generosity to others.
Your sweetness touching those
you love.
A little boy living and dreaming big dreams.
I linger in your room,
I inhale the moments,
storing them in my heart,
wanting this to last.
Giving you wings,
to follow your dreams,
with hope that you never fly far.


My sweet Daniel,
You are 11 today. It seems like yesterday you were born and you brought so much joy into our life.
You are an incredible human being. You are kind and generous and you give of yourself to others. You are funny and you are thoughtful. I tell you every day how much I love you, and adore every moment we spend together.
 You make me proud and I love you forever!

Happy Holidays

Wishing all of you Happiness and Peace during the holidays and always!
 Magical moments and wonderful memories!

Rain

,

 

Rain rolled on my lips,

stealing a kiss like an old lover.

Jealous you watched with regret.

 Into the universe,

I sent 

a thousand paper ships,

lined up like soldiers 

with your name written 

with my blood.

The echos of my voice calling you,

carried by the wind,

followed them on the journey.

This Christmas,

and every day

I give you my heart,

don't put it on a shelf to admire.

Don't put it in a box  to keep,

don't hang it on a wall,

to watch it bleed,

to watch it fall.

I give you my heart,

the rain watches,

 jealous with regret. 

http://dversepoets.com/Please join us where we share our thoughts and our hearts. I wish all my friends Happy Holidays, and may the new year be a great one. 

No Pain In The Rain

The raindrops showered me,
I stood there while they embraced me.
I wanted each drop to be,
like the tears I shed inside.
It was after my father died,
I knew the rain can't hurt me,
or cut me,
or leave me to bleed.
The pain was greater than
any I have ever known.
He loved me,
even though I didn't listen.
Even though I was a rebel.
I was a warrior that lost the war.
He knew,
but he didn't say a word.
He knew but he forgave,
because he loved me with his heart and soul.
He kissed my eyelids,
and my soul would flutter.
like the wings of a butterfly.
He knew I lost my way,
but he stretched out his arms,
to catch me while I fell.
I wept when he died,
sorrow existed in my days and nights.
He was a lover of life,
so I crawled out of the darkness and pain
and I lived.
Slowly allowing sweetness to seep in,
allowing myself to breathe again.




the above painting is by Tera Zajack, aka olive hue designs and over at dVerse brian miller is hosting  a wonderful  poetics prompt for us, featuring an interview with Tera and some of her work. Join us there!

Mask The Pain

No rhyme,
no reason.
The young man claims to be Tupac ,
he claims to be Jesus.
Eleven to seven,
a third of a life,
on the night shift.
No rhyme,
no reason,
the snakes followed him,
to the Emergency Room.
There is no judgment ,
only acceptance.
Mental illness does not discriminate .
It's an equal opportunity lover.



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

A Potato In His Pocket

The grey haired man walked,
a potato tucked safely in his pocket.
The past was his constant companion,
his heart longed for his homeland.
The tapestry of his life woven
by threads of pain and strength.
The grey haired man,
was once a boy that lived across the ocean,
persecuted for his religion.
His mother was murdered,
left bleeding by her infant son.
The infant grew into a brave boy,
he saved a train of children destined to die.
He jumped off the train,
and pleaded with the American soldiers,
to listen to his plight.
His picture was published
in the newspaper.
A hero,
the boy wearing only a tattered men's dress shirt.
The boy with dark bright eyes,
he ran like the wind,
with the will to survive.
His voice rose with courage,
his determination,
brought salvation
to all those children that day.
The grey haired man,
never quite forgot,
the taste of grass he ate from the ground,
escaping to the mountains to stay alive.
He never forgot the hunger,
the potato in his pocket tucked away,
the potato in his pocket a source of comfort.
The past his companion,
all the days of his life.




This is dedicated to my husband's grandfather, Antranik Sheshedian, a survivor of the Armenian genocide. We have a framed photograph of the picture that was published in the newspaper, the day he saved the train of children by urging the American soldiers to listen to him.

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

How

My veins are rivers
carrying pain.
I hurt for you, my friend.
4.74 degrees of separation between us,
tap into Facebook's largest social network,
and it reveals itself like magic.
That what I know is true,
we are all connected,
you and I.
The woman in the Congo raped and beaten.
The man in Ohio that can't buy groceries for Thanksgiving dinner.
The child that was abused but there is hope
in his heart.
How do I reconcile my desire with the feeling of despair?
That I can't save all the drowning
people in this boat.
How do I live with the passion,
only to feel the anguish,
that I can't carry you on my shoulders,
lift you to a safe place,
give you the dreams that you buried long ago.
How can I reconcile the desire with the inability,
of how vast the need is.
Trying to solve a puzzle,
that pieces have vanished to,
that pieces will never fit.
There is no harmony,
there are no simple answers.
There are band aids
but there is no cure.
I want to reject the notion that things will never change,
I want to remain firm and true
to my need to resolve.
My friend, the burden must be shared by all.
To rise from lack and emptiness to a better world.
My veins are rivers,
carrying pain.
I hurt for you my friend.



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