Self Discovery
I sat in a meeting once; a school improvement meeting, as my children were in elementary school at the time. The principal asked the members what we dreamed of becoming when we were children growing up. Answers ran the gambit from doctor, lawyer, accountant, to ballerina, athlete, and rock star. When it was my turn to answer, I took no hesitation and replied...a mom! At first people were aghast, taken aback. How could a child not dream past the captivity of parent hood? This is not a career, a calling. Then there was embarrassment, as all of these people were parents themselves.
Yes, I replied. I have always wanted to be a mom! I loved my mother, my childhood growing up, the idea of loving and being loved in return; unconditional love, I believed, that existed only between a parent and child. I devoted %110 of my time, patience, and self to the nurturing of my two children. Night after sleepless night of feedings, fevers, and night terrors. The reading of books, rocking to sleep, and eventually sending off to school; where the influence of the outside world could undo the morals we, as mothers, so meticulously instill.
Fatherhood is a different beast. Men define themselves by what they do; I'm a doctor, a lawyer, a government stiff. When their career is defined, and financial status secured, then, they look to accessorizing with wife and children. All the while, however, that part of who they are, the career, never waivers. They go to work every day secure in the knowledge that the doctors appointments will be scheduled, school lunches packed, homework completed, and wife will be happy to greet him at the door, as long as the paycheck is in hand.
Then, the day comes when the children don't need round the clock care. It is enough that they know your physical presence is located in the kitchen or living room where they can easily access you if need be; god forbid you be in the bathroom, bedroom, or laying on a beach somewhere, their world falls apart. Now you are asked the question, “What are you going to do with the rest of your life?” People now want to know how you are going to make a living, pay for college, support the house hold. All the while you thought you had a career, and your home was it.
So I started on a journey; one of self discovery. Who was I? What interests and passions did I possess past those of the immediate needs of my family? They should never have asked, because I found I did have them; and the universe fell apart. I revealed abilities within myself I did not know existed.
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
#
Saturday, October 29, 2011
# #
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
SMILE FOR ME
Smile for me
Show my reflection
through scintillating eyes
Radiate your warmth
from dimpled cheeks
Share one thousand thoughts
coaxing concupiscent dreams
with a mere visage
Melt away my vulnerability
using only the soft fullness
of your wanting lips...
Show my reflection
through scintillating eyes
Radiate your warmth
from dimpled cheeks
Share one thousand thoughts
coaxing concupiscent dreams
with a mere visage
Melt away my vulnerability
using only the soft fullness
of your wanting lips...
Sunday, January 30, 2011
HALLOWEEN
HALLOWEEN
Sky lines filled with rich aromas of hearty green tea
no longer wet my palate; instead golden pound cake
dipped into robust flavored coffees give one last burst
before winter's slumber
succulent fruits turn to pumpkin pie and the
elephant's eyes search the mazes for children
dressed as goblins and ghosts.
Sky lines filled with rich aromas of hearty green tea
no longer wet my palate; instead golden pound cake
dipped into robust flavored coffees give one last burst
before winter's slumber
succulent fruits turn to pumpkin pie and the
elephant's eyes search the mazes for children
dressed as goblins and ghosts.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Life's Breath
You two
are life sustaining
My world
umbilically tied
to one
rhythmic beat
And I grasp for air
waiting
for time to allow me
to once again
breathe easy.
My lungs
fail me
Pain sears
my chest wall
My heart aches
And I grasp for air
waiting
for time to allow me
to once again
breathe easy
Life's Breath
are life sustaining
My world
umbilically tied
to one
rhythmic beat
And I grasp for air
waiting
for time to allow me
to once again
breathe easy.
My lungs
fail me
Pain sears
my chest wall
My heart aches
And I grasp for air
waiting
for time to allow me
to once again
breathe easy
Life's Breath
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Du'a Khalil Aswad
Recoil into your resistance
into your self
into fetal dreams
that once nourished you...
For man, in his dominance
is dehumanizing;
shrouding your dignity
under the feigning of salvation...
Let go the remnant
of this mortal life.
Induce reverie's delivery
to a celestial sphere filled with love...
Resile your fear and subjugation
allowing your supernal soul to flourish
with all the purpose you were born...
The Stoning...
When winter winds
fellate through naked limbs
clinging to their trunks
howling and moaning
When the sun submeres
into a cold dark sea
not allowing the sky to blush
When thick fog
breaths heavy on the ground
indifferent to the beads of rain
slipping from the lashes of
the meadow's wild flowers
Then Mother Nature did not prepare
her daughters well...
For the forces known as man.
As Nature Would Have It...
Why don't women invest their assets
At whose cost do children end their futures
What is the price tag on human worth
The reason all beings continue or stop...
Give me the going rate for a smile
Is there a fee for a word of encouragement
How much is the outlay for a headstone
One that reads "Much Beloved"...
Real Power isn't in an external portfolio
It is in an internal stockpile of consumer confidence
Owned and operated to share the wealth
People live to be valued...
Personal Fortune...
This set of poems is dedicated to Du'a Khalil Aswad.
All children should be allowed to pursue their dreams.
into your self
into fetal dreams
that once nourished you...
For man, in his dominance
is dehumanizing;
shrouding your dignity
under the feigning of salvation...
Let go the remnant
of this mortal life.
Induce reverie's delivery
to a celestial sphere filled with love...
Resile your fear and subjugation
allowing your supernal soul to flourish
with all the purpose you were born...
The Stoning...
When winter winds
fellate through naked limbs
clinging to their trunks
howling and moaning
When the sun submeres
into a cold dark sea
not allowing the sky to blush
When thick fog
breaths heavy on the ground
indifferent to the beads of rain
slipping from the lashes of
the meadow's wild flowers
Then Mother Nature did not prepare
her daughters well...
For the forces known as man.
As Nature Would Have It...
Why don't women invest their assets
At whose cost do children end their futures
What is the price tag on human worth
The reason all beings continue or stop...
Give me the going rate for a smile
Is there a fee for a word of encouragement
How much is the outlay for a headstone
One that reads "Much Beloved"...
Real Power isn't in an external portfolio
It is in an internal stockpile of consumer confidence
Owned and operated to share the wealth
People live to be valued...
Personal Fortune...
This set of poems is dedicated to Du'a Khalil Aswad.
All children should be allowed to pursue their dreams.
Tilghman's Island
Tilghman's Island
The air felt like summer's friend; maybe a sibling, older and wiser. It had an autumn calm that threaded her tires as she crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Sails, each filled with the season's last breath puffing toward the horizon, caught the corner of her eye. And her thoughts turned whimsical.
Memories, like candid snap shots of a playful summer's afternoon, filled her head: Dark hair, dimpled cheeks, and eyes that spoke to her when he smiled. Golden tan, early August heat, and a cool wind that skirted through her sundress as she emerged from her car. These were the flashes that gave texture to her dreams.
She met him at a road side stand while picking fresh produce: A pint of strawberries so ripe one could not tell where the berry ended and the edge of her lips began. Then there were the peaches; succulent and soft, with chin dripping juices that seep from the corners of your mouth, and he, with his roguish good looks. He helped her to her car. Placing the basket of fruits in her trunk, their fingers grazed one another, and emotions stirred.
Today it was the smell of Old Bay permeating the air that drove her toward Tilgman's Island. Trucks clawing the curb-sides posted signs tolling Steamed Crabs and her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again. But the fruit carts now hosted squash and zucchini. Fields once green with watermelon, grew pumpkins for suburban front porches.
Down shifting, the engine slowed as her Audi TT convertible crunched pebbles, rumbling into that same snapshot in time. Engaging in conversation over the fall flowers and Indian corn displays, she casually inquired of the young man who had helped her only a few months back. “College”, was the reply. She nodded with an ironic acceptance; “mine too”, she acknowledged, smiling, and continued on her way to Tilghman's Island.
The air felt like summer's friend; maybe a sibling, older and wiser. It had an autumn calm that threaded her tires as she crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Sails, each filled with the season's last breath puffing toward the horizon, caught the corner of her eye. And her thoughts turned whimsical.
Memories, like candid snap shots of a playful summer's afternoon, filled her head: Dark hair, dimpled cheeks, and eyes that spoke to her when he smiled. Golden tan, early August heat, and a cool wind that skirted through her sundress as she emerged from her car. These were the flashes that gave texture to her dreams.
She met him at a road side stand while picking fresh produce: A pint of strawberries so ripe one could not tell where the berry ended and the edge of her lips began. Then there were the peaches; succulent and soft, with chin dripping juices that seep from the corners of your mouth, and he, with his roguish good looks. He helped her to her car. Placing the basket of fruits in her trunk, their fingers grazed one another, and emotions stirred.
Today it was the smell of Old Bay permeating the air that drove her toward Tilgman's Island. Trucks clawing the curb-sides posted signs tolling Steamed Crabs and her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again. But the fruit carts now hosted squash and zucchini. Fields once green with watermelon, grew pumpkins for suburban front porches.
Down shifting, the engine slowed as her Audi TT convertible crunched pebbles, rumbling into that same snapshot in time. Engaging in conversation over the fall flowers and Indian corn displays, she casually inquired of the young man who had helped her only a few months back. “College”, was the reply. She nodded with an ironic acceptance; “mine too”, she acknowledged, smiling, and continued on her way to Tilghman's Island.
Voices In The Sand
The sand, soaked in mid-day sun, scorched her feet. “I wish I had worn my flip flops.” entered her mind while she played hopscotch to relieve the burn as she made her way to the water's edge. Tranquil surf greeted her. Gentle waves lapped against the shore accepting imprints of passerby's.
Careful to check the tides, she placed her chair just out of reach of encroaching waves and into the direction of the sun. The breeze shook yesterday's sand from her blue and white stripped towel as she lay on her stomach, having wriggled an impression in the sand.
With arms raised above a make shift pillow, warm granules rolled across her fingertips creating a sound like coffee scooped from its canister. Soon, feet crunching between sun bathers melded with voices in the distance; voices reverberated through the sand. Children laughed, women talked, and people interacted with one another. “People Listening” rather than “People Watching” coined itself in her mind as she lay there with her eyes closed and senses open to all that was going on around her.
She focused in on a conversation similar to tuning in to a radio program. Bits and pieces of superfluous talk: A mother handed her child a juice box and carrot sticks, two boys discussed the depth of the hole they were about to dig, and a little girl who had to pee.
“Just go in the ocean.” Her mother directed. “Sit down in the waves, no one will know.”
Then came the laughter, genuine laughter born of familiarity, comfort and reminiscent emotions. One could differentiate this joy because it was deep and meaningful as apposed to shallow and insincere. And it intrigued her. Having begun the season on her own, she missed the camaraderie of her girlfriends and listened in.
Voices In The Sand...
Careful to check the tides, she placed her chair just out of reach of encroaching waves and into the direction of the sun. The breeze shook yesterday's sand from her blue and white stripped towel as she lay on her stomach, having wriggled an impression in the sand.
With arms raised above a make shift pillow, warm granules rolled across her fingertips creating a sound like coffee scooped from its canister. Soon, feet crunching between sun bathers melded with voices in the distance; voices reverberated through the sand. Children laughed, women talked, and people interacted with one another. “People Listening” rather than “People Watching” coined itself in her mind as she lay there with her eyes closed and senses open to all that was going on around her.
She focused in on a conversation similar to tuning in to a radio program. Bits and pieces of superfluous talk: A mother handed her child a juice box and carrot sticks, two boys discussed the depth of the hole they were about to dig, and a little girl who had to pee.
“Just go in the ocean.” Her mother directed. “Sit down in the waves, no one will know.”
Then came the laughter, genuine laughter born of familiarity, comfort and reminiscent emotions. One could differentiate this joy because it was deep and meaningful as apposed to shallow and insincere. And it intrigued her. Having begun the season on her own, she missed the camaraderie of her girlfriends and listened in.
Voices In The Sand...
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Sailor
My dream catcher
Sits atop a lighthouse
Waiting for that ship in the night
A sailor, with the look of
A beautiful horizon in his eyes
Has lips that whisper words
As gentle as the trade winds
His touch is as soft as
The island flowers
And his presence brings
Adventures of past voyages
Stirring passions that
Create the sweetest nectar
Ever to be tasted
When the dunes finally
Receive the force of the ocean’s tide
Hurricanes will blow
And the stillness of this island beach
Will be awakened once again
SAILOR
Sits atop a lighthouse
Waiting for that ship in the night
A sailor, with the look of
A beautiful horizon in his eyes
Has lips that whisper words
As gentle as the trade winds
His touch is as soft as
The island flowers
And his presence brings
Adventures of past voyages
Stirring passions that
Create the sweetest nectar
Ever to be tasted
When the dunes finally
Receive the force of the ocean’s tide
Hurricanes will blow
And the stillness of this island beach
Will be awakened once again
SAILOR
Mêlée
Your eyes fluttered
As if in deep REM’s
But this is no dream
Just stark contradictions in reality
For what feels like a dream
Is yours for the asking
And the real pleasure
Is accompanied by
The pain of conflict
Mêlée
As if in deep REM’s
But this is no dream
Just stark contradictions in reality
For what feels like a dream
Is yours for the asking
And the real pleasure
Is accompanied by
The pain of conflict
Mêlée
The Kiss
Butterflies
Conjured thoughts of
The sound of his voice
Prickly?
Tickly?
Smooth, moist
Like space with no air
Succumbed intimacy
THE KISS
Conjured thoughts of
The sound of his voice
Prickly?
Tickly?
Smooth, moist
Like space with no air
Succumbed intimacy
THE KISS
Monday, November 16, 2009
PRIVATION
There was a moment, a connection
when the breeze whispered
your inner privation.
I stood silent and listened...
Its rustling stirred the smell of Jasmine
embedded in your dreams,
blowing through my fingers, wanting to take hold.
PRIVATION
when the breeze whispered
your inner privation.
I stood silent and listened...
Its rustling stirred the smell of Jasmine
embedded in your dreams,
blowing through my fingers, wanting to take hold.
PRIVATION
Saturday, November 7, 2009
To My Daughter
It is for me to remember the joy
in the news of having a girl. It is
for me to remember the sleepless
nights and constant worry.
I can still feel your newborn fingers
grasp my one, and the smell of fresh
milk on your breath or the feel of rocking
you in my arms to sleep….
It is for you to keep in your heart the
endless, lazy summer days of jump rope,
chocolate chip cookies with milk, and the
opened door of a house filled with love.
But remember if you can, the silver hair
of an angel, wrapped in the crocheted
blanket of autumn colors; for although I
am in the winter of my life, I look forward
to reincarnating in the spring time of heaven.
Where I can once again know the joys
of birth; yours and mine. I can once again
know the love of a parent, a husband and
again a child; and the river of life will have
made its way to the horizon.
TO MY DAUGHTER
in the news of having a girl. It is
for me to remember the sleepless
nights and constant worry.
I can still feel your newborn fingers
grasp my one, and the smell of fresh
milk on your breath or the feel of rocking
you in my arms to sleep….
It is for you to keep in your heart the
endless, lazy summer days of jump rope,
chocolate chip cookies with milk, and the
opened door of a house filled with love.
But remember if you can, the silver hair
of an angel, wrapped in the crocheted
blanket of autumn colors; for although I
am in the winter of my life, I look forward
to reincarnating in the spring time of heaven.
Where I can once again know the joys
of birth; yours and mine. I can once again
know the love of a parent, a husband and
again a child; and the river of life will have
made its way to the horizon.
TO MY DAUGHTER
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Safe Haven
You are...
a beach house in the pouring rain;
my life coming down in buckets...
an assuasive presence on a blustery night
whose golden autumn eyes makes this heart smile!
You are...
brilliant fall colors on a New Hampshire afternoon;
an inglenook blaze rolling through the hills, poaching twilight.
a safe haven snuggled under Eider down
whose nurturing affection fosters impassioned emotions.
Safe Haven
a beach house in the pouring rain;
my life coming down in buckets...
an assuasive presence on a blustery night
whose golden autumn eyes makes this heart smile!
You are...
brilliant fall colors on a New Hampshire afternoon;
an inglenook blaze rolling through the hills, poaching twilight.
a safe haven snuggled under Eider down
whose nurturing affection fosters impassioned emotions.
Safe Haven
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
NO WORDS
Frustration is the manipulator
Of my fingertips.
Lead is pushed across the page
In an effort to express my
Inner most thoughts.
Lines squiggle
As my voice shakes
Starting and stopping
In discursive ramblings of feelings
Meant to turn one’s heart
Arouse one’s senses
And liberate one’s soul.
Analogies of flowing rivers
Seductive sunsets and
Sensuously soft roses
That bring to mind the
Smooth supple anatomy
Of this woman’s strongest aphrodisiac
Seem trite in comparison
To the fervent emotions
Stuck in my throat.
NO WORDS
Of my fingertips.
Lead is pushed across the page
In an effort to express my
Inner most thoughts.
Lines squiggle
As my voice shakes
Starting and stopping
In discursive ramblings of feelings
Meant to turn one’s heart
Arouse one’s senses
And liberate one’s soul.
Analogies of flowing rivers
Seductive sunsets and
Sensuously soft roses
That bring to mind the
Smooth supple anatomy
Of this woman’s strongest aphrodisiac
Seem trite in comparison
To the fervent emotions
Stuck in my throat.
NO WORDS
Friday, October 9, 2009
Du’a Khalil Aswad
Recoil into your resistance
into your self
into fetal dreams
that once nourished you...
For man, in his dominance
is dehumanizing;
shrouding your dignity
under the feigning of salvation...
Let go the remnant
of this mortal life.
Induce reverie's delivery
to a celestial sphere filled with love...
Resile your fear and subjugation
allowing your supernal soul to flourish
with all the purpose you were born...
The Stoning...
When winter winds
fellate through naked limbs
clinging to their trunks
howling and moaning
When the sun submeres
into a cold dark sea
not allowing the sky to blush
When thick fog
breaths heavy on the ground
indifferent to the beads of rain
slipping from the lashes of
the meadow's wild flowers
Then Mother Nature did not prepare
her daughters well...
For the forces known as man.
As Nature Would Have It...
Why don't women invest their assets
At whose cost do children end their futures
What is the price tag on human worth
The reason all beings continue or stop...
Give me the going rate for a smile
Is there a fee for a word of encouragement
How much is the outlay for a headstone
One that reads "Much Beloved"...
Real Power isn't in an external portfolio
It is in an internal stockpile of consumer confidence
Owned and operated to share the wealth
People live to be valued...
Personal Fortune...
This set of poems is dedicated to Du'a Khalil Aswad.
All children should be allowed to pursue their dreams.
into your self
into fetal dreams
that once nourished you...
For man, in his dominance
is dehumanizing;
shrouding your dignity
under the feigning of salvation...
Let go the remnant
of this mortal life.
Induce reverie's delivery
to a celestial sphere filled with love...
Resile your fear and subjugation
allowing your supernal soul to flourish
with all the purpose you were born...
The Stoning...
When winter winds
fellate through naked limbs
clinging to their trunks
howling and moaning
When the sun submeres
into a cold dark sea
not allowing the sky to blush
When thick fog
breaths heavy on the ground
indifferent to the beads of rain
slipping from the lashes of
the meadow's wild flowers
Then Mother Nature did not prepare
her daughters well...
For the forces known as man.
As Nature Would Have It...
Why don't women invest their assets
At whose cost do children end their futures
What is the price tag on human worth
The reason all beings continue or stop...
Give me the going rate for a smile
Is there a fee for a word of encouragement
How much is the outlay for a headstone
One that reads "Much Beloved"...
Real Power isn't in an external portfolio
It is in an internal stockpile of consumer confidence
Owned and operated to share the wealth
People live to be valued...
Personal Fortune...
This set of poems is dedicated to Du'a Khalil Aswad.
All children should be allowed to pursue their dreams.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
RESTLESS
My emotions disable me
Discursive dreams
Slip in and out of my daily routine
Relentless desire
Takes the place of peaceful slumber
Food, no longer satisfies the cravings
Hunger that starts
With the sound of your voice
Is followed by a thirst
Quenched only from your lips
A burning sensation
Cooled twice
By the milk of satisfaction
This appetite reaches so deep
It can only be filled
With a limberness of soul
And a passion
That makes one’s fists clench
And body convulse within
A connection intense enough to bring tears
Filled with a remembrance of my past
Love of the present
And excitement for the future
RESTLESS
Discursive dreams
Slip in and out of my daily routine
Relentless desire
Takes the place of peaceful slumber
Food, no longer satisfies the cravings
Hunger that starts
With the sound of your voice
Is followed by a thirst
Quenched only from your lips
A burning sensation
Cooled twice
By the milk of satisfaction
This appetite reaches so deep
It can only be filled
With a limberness of soul
And a passion
That makes one’s fists clench
And body convulse within
A connection intense enough to bring tears
Filled with a remembrance of my past
Love of the present
And excitement for the future
RESTLESS
INSECURITY
Oh, how I wish for one day
all of my imperfections
to go away.
I would leave behind
for you to find
the vulnerable beauty
of his heart and mind.
No longer will I need to conceal
all of the emotions that I feel.
My wild spirit your subconscious would
reveal, embrace and be understood.
Conditions no longer would there be
for the bond desired
between you and me.
Unguarded acceptance
would I then know
from the trust and faith
that began to grow.
INSECURITY
all of my imperfections
to go away.
I would leave behind
for you to find
the vulnerable beauty
of his heart and mind.
No longer will I need to conceal
all of the emotions that I feel.
My wild spirit your subconscious would
reveal, embrace and be understood.
Conditions no longer would there be
for the bond desired
between you and me.
Unguarded acceptance
would I then know
from the trust and faith
that began to grow.
INSECURITY
Monday, October 5, 2009
AUTUMN
My flowering pear is peach in color…
Summer fruit with an autumn look
No longer blending to the rest
of natures’ landscape
Its richness and vibrancy
flows gracefully with
the direction of the wind
Gaining a relaxed rhythm
once lacking in the spring
It has depth, shadows, and remnants of life
nestled into the crook of embracing branches
A smell and feel, which generates
childhood memories, emanates in the
brisk breezes scattered about
from rustling leaves
Like cinnamon being shaken on apple crisp...
AUTUMN
Summer fruit with an autumn look
No longer blending to the rest
of natures’ landscape
Its richness and vibrancy
flows gracefully with
the direction of the wind
Gaining a relaxed rhythm
once lacking in the spring
It has depth, shadows, and remnants of life
nestled into the crook of embracing branches
A smell and feel, which generates
childhood memories, emanates in the
brisk breezes scattered about
from rustling leaves
Like cinnamon being shaken on apple crisp...
AUTUMN
NOT FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY
Flames filled with hopes and dreams flicker
Materials cannot clothe the heart
A single wish entrusted to tradition
releases a prayer of happiness with a breath
dousing the candles, as I remember your birthday...
Not Forgotten Birthday
Materials cannot clothe the heart
A single wish entrusted to tradition
releases a prayer of happiness with a breath
dousing the candles, as I remember your birthday...
Not Forgotten Birthday
Saturday, October 3, 2009
AUTUMN WIND
Scents of almond, apple and pumpkin
emanate throughout the house.
Thanksgiving day is upon us and too
a casement of opportunity to
reflect on our lives, loves, and friends.
On paper, fall is an ending;
out with the old year, in with the new.
For me, it is a beginning...
New friends, new direction, new light is shed
on work to be done during this rite of drum.
There will be no stairwell to hide beneath,
my end result will mirror individual effort.
AUTUMN WIND
emanate throughout the house.
Thanksgiving day is upon us and too
a casement of opportunity to
reflect on our lives, loves, and friends.
On paper, fall is an ending;
out with the old year, in with the new.
For me, it is a beginning...
New friends, new direction, new light is shed
on work to be done during this rite of drum.
There will be no stairwell to hide beneath,
my end result will mirror individual effort.
AUTUMN WIND
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
