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.

The Fourth Floor

Grandma lived on the fourth floor,

but you would never know it.

A jungle of 

plants adorning her terrace,

serenity would wash over us when we 

were small.

We could see the zoo from the terrace,

spy on the giraffes,

the smell would rise above on windy days.

That was before developers came in and bought the land.

I missed the zoo when it closed down,

the feeling I was in a far away place,

even though I was caged in the city.

Grandma had open arms,

and an open heart.

Her kitchen abundant with food,

cooked with love.

She was sunny,

and colorful like the beads she wore.

Her eyes blue as the ocean,

her strength deep,

but silent.

She had wisdom that was not taught in books,

but life. 

Grandma smiled with kindness as 

she offered casata ice cream,

three flavors living side by side,

in a box of wonder.

Her eyes would sparkle,

as we tasted the sweetness. 

She had endured war and loss,

pain unimaginable.

Yet, she found the way,

her days unfolding,

her days filled with simple gratitude ,

Her ways taught us,

about love and family,

about dignity,

and survival.

Grandma lived on the fourth floor,

you would never know it because

it was a world of it's own. 

Dedicated to my grandmother Dora. She was an amazing woman that survived the war. Her parents were murdered and she had to go on and struggle through the war with two small children. She was a survivor and

she had grace and dignity. She worked hard all her life and she was all about family and her children. I appreciate now her quiet strength, the older I get the more I understand. Please join us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.

 

 

True To Myself

Grief tastes like bitter tea leaves,

floating in sewer water.

Grief tastes like limoncello 

I drank when my dad died.
In my head,

silence is loud,

screaming,

roaring.
In my head,

noise is silent,

gagged,

still.

This invisible bubble between us,

I don't want to swim in these waters filled with misery.

To be honest being grateful does not make this

task easier,

I am human and I am flawed,

I need to feel the storm sweeping 

me away inside my head,

leaving an imprint on my soul.
I need to stand still and acknowledge
it and welcome it,
I need to feel.

I do not mean to cause you more pain,
I do not mean to linger,

I just need to be true to myself.
I remember when my mom was sick,
and dying,
I came to you depleted, 
you held me,
our eyes interlocked,
I inhaled your breath as you inhaled my sorrow.
We've been here before,
this part of life,
facing that we have no control.
Life fragile,
pain is pain,
and there is no sequel.
I do not mean to cause you any pain,
I do not mean to linger,
I just need to be true to myself.



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

Forever Daisy

By the gates of heaven you'll wait

for me,

wagging your tail in delight,

howling to greet me and I will smile.

By the gates of heaven you'll wait 

for me,

the way you waited every day 

for me to return home,

celebrating my arrival ,

your happiness innocent and unbridled. 

I see you in every corner,

in every step I walk alone.

I celebrate sun kissed days

we had,

a life shared,

sweet memories that live in my heart.

By the gates of heaven,

I will lay down beside you,

and roll with you among the clouds.

I will hold you,

the way I held you in my arms today

when we said goodbye.

Until then,

swim in aquamarine pools,

run in sunflower fields

chasing lizards and butterflies.

Run through the fields of heaven,

until we meet once again.

Our beloved Daisy passed away yesterday. We thought she was going in for surgery to pull an infected tooth. The infection was a symptom of Leukemia. From Saturday to Monday morning the vet saw a major decline. He said the right thing to do is to let her go. Sadly and devastated we said goodbye. My husband and I held her in our arms. She was a part of our family. She brought us so much happiness . We will miss her and she will live in our hearts forever. So many have come here and left comments how she made them smile. That's the way she made us smile every day.