My Alter

You took over from time to time
What I have:  I have accomplished from nothing
I must give praises to you my alter
You terrified me, you strengthen us

You took over without signaling.
we became unique individuals
Sometime we merge and we got to
To the other side:

From beautiful memories to ugly ones
From beautiful quotes to the hideous one.

The most beautiful things are not associated with money
They are memories and moments and if you
Don’t celebrate those they can pass you by Alex Wek
.
I had to swallow my poor pride: an instant jaw clench
This was so not I:  unfolding: heart wrenching:
Nothing I earned didn’t came so easily,
I share a lot but not my inner or outer pain
it was all on us: mostly me

I was loved; I was also being hated
I was that woman that sang the blues into the night
It seems like I had created you for good intentions
Intervention or soul searching:

We are in for the long haul:
Good morning! Good day and good night.

Oh how to
To think that my body once capture your attention
From the top to the bottom of my physique:

To think that our minds didn’t care what our brains thought,
When we said I do: knowingly we did not:
And when we went ahead and tied those awful knots: such crackpots
Regrets we had a lot! But then again who doesn’t,
Marriage is like wall papering.. Choose your spouse carefully
Else that fumes will lingered and lingered forever:
My lover!
How we made each other unhappy
How we fought like the bull and matador
In and out of the ring:
I won!
You were dragged off to the slaughter house:
Since marriage to you were twenty- eighty: I knew better:
Too painful were the memories, but how sweet was the revenge

We use to say young and old alike, aging and living together;
Alone but never lonely: not I/ not with my narrative poetry:
Arthritis and constant back pain: hair coloring and
Wavy weave: one with myself and loving me to death.

Too think that my body once captures your attention
from the top to the bottom of my physique:

From the look of you:
I became the arrow and you were my bow
That aim right at my heart:

I grasp my chest
Looking for the blood of redemption

You were my rock,
Never my divider,
And I fell right into your trap.
Launch into nothing…

I leant upon the cold iron prop
On the subway flat form: suddenly,
my thought turn to this movie from the 80s
About a little boy name Alfie
Whose tongue got caught on the frozen lamp pole
During a daring rush trend:
Winter months can be so brutal

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not;
and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Winter Depression, / a seasonal S.A.D
In the mist of all this: I saw a small bird
Rumbling through the garbage looking for food
His dotted feathers caught my attention
Perhaps not all birds fly south for the winter after all:
Homeless birds seek shelter with homeless humans
Without the small outdoor wood fires:

The beautiful landscape we once admired is blanket with snow
The roar of the winds and the surging of water;
It wasn’t a pretty sight to see with my watery eyes

We cried out to our God for a little relief
But most of all we keep praying for safety
I fell on my **** trying to step over a bank of snow
Luckily I didn’t land on my face
The humiliation and the botherations of dealing,
this kind of weather year after year:

we just have to bear in mind that
Winter begins on the winter solstice and ends on the spring equinox.
The roses will bloom again, the tulips with rise again in April
And we will determine which one is the morning dew
And which one is not the icicle dripping:

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Prayer for autumn and winter days
I’ve just rediscovered this beautiful prayer from belief.net. I know it’s now winter and the title is Prayer For Autumn Days, AND I’m not crazier than usual, it is still appropria…
sparklesandangels.wordpress.com

Life has no guarantees
We can’t sit back and believe
That life is perfect
There is an action, there is a reaction
There is no perfect poem:
there is no perfect world

Poetry comes from within, Poetry is all around us
Sometimes we see perfect images
But without the poetry insight
It would feel like *** without love:

We just have to listen to silence to find real poetry.
Poetry walks the Brooklyn Street lacking clarity
Poetry sits amongst the congregation grasping:
back alleys and subways cars waiting,
but each in its own order to recite their observation.

We just have to listen to silence to find real poetry,

We just have to listen: the world is changing……

My love looks like a choir boy tonight
His angelic voice lighten up the air waves
But he is in his sixty, a pensioner
His weaknesses make me strong

To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable;
to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” ~Criss Jami

He looks like a teenager engage with his first crush
His low haircut and a soft whispering voice,
His only mission is to make me happy
My advice for him: comes from a quote

##To see the world, things dangerous to come to,
to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other and to feel.
That is the purpose of life.
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty**

I have a lot of admiration for my love
A wonderful man with potentials

Death only uses violence,

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

Standing naked in front of a mirror of truth
Did you gasp for a moment?
Or did you grasp the robe tightly by the string?
Our mirror the body shaming objects
Our brain Positive or negative to the truth:

As we stand in the front of the mirror of truth:
Our eyes become terrible liars
Fat stigma is spreading around the world: everyone is our mirrors
body shaming us into believing that skinnier is healthier:

The three rolls at the side of your body a reminder that those
Thanksgiving mini apple pies was a **** lie too,
Everything in Moderation is only  sweet poetic words

**Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.”
― Anne Sexton