I raise up my hands to heaven
and say to God,
"Pick me up
Embrace me
Love me"
But then I shrink back
and I insist
that God must be hurt
by my exposed, broken shards

"I am not whole,
and not huggable
My pain is like thorns
that cut and inflict"
And so I look away with remorse

But God answers me
as only He can do, saying,
"Then we have a lot in common
Or did you forget the cross?
My Son on it?
Jesus, who was the most
broken of all"

I agree that I do...
I must!
But still...

"A nail in a hand
A wreath of thorns for a crown
He died quite damaged
for those like you
Yet was I not there to embrace Him
and welcome Him home?"

In spite of my tears, I reason
My mind and heart agree
So my Father and I embrace
and I accepted God's grace

After all

The apathetic heart
Cannot be torn apart
It cannot feel
No want to heal
The apathetic heart

A heart made of stone
Does not ever groan
It will not break
When life seems fake
A heart made of stone

A heart broken too much
Cannot feel a human touch
Can it be revived?
Will it pump and thrive?
A heart broken too much

The clouds are set
In a cloud kingdom tapestry
A glorious backdrop upon
the pink orangish sky

The sun has begun setting
After the rain clouds
began departing
to leave us with
a pink orangish sky

My dreams are set upon
The skies above me
Wrapped up in the beauty of
a pink orangish sky

It appears to me as a curtain
and my eyes are certain
that the night skies are bowing
to the pink orangish sky

I hold my hopes
in the heavenly spaces
As I keep pushing forward  
below the pink orangish sky

It really delights me
It really excites me
to write an ode
to a pink orangish sky

Can you hear my song
In this humble piece of poetry?
It all came from my view
of a pink orangish sky

From a bird's-eye view
I bet those feathered creatures
don't envy us

They must look down
from their arial dance
and pity us

We scurry about in
our cities and towns like mice,
as if we are caught up in a maze

Rats chasing after
a prized piece of cheese
in a hectic world

Bumping into one another
in a rush to get to a destination
that is slowly doing us in

How I wish to soar on bird wings
To be rid of this rat race,
finding my way out of the maze

I am a woman
and proud of it
But somewhere inside
in a dark hole of my soul,
like a hidden cavern,
lies a prehistoric caveman

He wants to shun the world
He wants to brood
because he refuses to allow
himself to be too vulnerable
or too naked

There are times
I wish I was a self-sufficient soul
going it solo
hunting for my own meat
and not needing to associate
with the rest of the  world
because life is not always
peaches and cream,
but anger and tears

Islands look like paradise
until you find out
it is just you
It is then I realize
that nobody is his or her
own best friend

Just don't let that caveman
know I said that

Evelyn wore a porcelain mask with a perpetual, pretty, painted smile until one day the cover-up cracked. She didn’t realize how badly she wanted to cry, and the tears just wouldn’t stop.  After the deluge came to an end, she got on her cell phone and gave Cody a call. She was at home, lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with thoughts of Cody, galore. So why not call him? She had been good about not giving into her urge of making contact. She needed to hold off and reassess all her thoughts and desires--not to appear impulsive or desperate. Her mother told her she was too young to worry about serious commitments, but by twenty-one her mother was already married. Evelyn was almost twenty-two.  

“Things haven’t been the same since we were together”, she admitted to Cody, two years her senior. The moment of silence seemed like a lot longer.

Cody was also in his room, strumming on his guitar when she called. He responded, “Yeah, well…I don’t get it. It was you that left me, not the other way around”.

That was typical Cody, she had thought. “It feels like you left much earlier than that—you and your walls that shut me out”.

They were friends since high school. They seemed to be really good at being friends, but really bad at a relationship. They could goof around and have fun, go to concerts and sporting events, hang out with other friends or try new restaurant as they were both foodies. Or they’d catch all the action movies, and Cody would tolerate the chick flicks for her sake—once in a while. But as lovers, he was not what she wanted him to be, he being distant. She was often pushing him away by trying to change him into what she wanted or needed.

“I still love you”, Cody admitted. “That never stopped”.

Evelyn dropped the phone in a funny, sarcastic way, and then she picked it up, again. “Holy cow! Who the hell is this guy, and what happened to my good guy BFF, Cody! Tell me, what did you do to him?” she shouted out playfully. “Really! I almost never heard you say that! And certainly not unless I said it first!”

“Yeah, yeah”, he replied, downplaying things. “Now don’t make me into some **** who has no feelings or doesn’t know how to act. Maybe I wasn’t always the with-it guy, but I tried. I really did try to…”.

Evelyn smiled softly, a genuine smile, and quickly interjected. “I wish I could be there to give you a real one, but I’ll just blow you a kiss over the phone”. She made a kissing sound, touched her lips with her finger, and blew out of her mouth as to send him a kiss”.

Cody smacked his cheek, slightly, and joked, “Got it! Did you hear that? It landed right smack on me!”

They laughed and talked awhile. They just had to be friends, again. Nothing should stand in their way, for there was too much enjoyment of each other’s company, and if that meant the boyfriend/girlfriend thing was off the table, so be it. Maybe it could work, again. It might be worth a try, in time, but the platonic was doable. They just knew they wanted each other back, to be in each other’s life once more.  

.

I take a good look at myself, and what others have told me, and I admit to myself, "Dorothy, you are one hell of a great writer!"

Then I let that thought sink in, and I want to run away in fear, for how did I deserve such a talent?

Precious is the air
Refreshing is the water
Resourceful is the fire
Welcoming is the earth

For you and me

Even though we often failed them

The year is going. It must leave. Let it go and bring in the new. There's no way to stop time, no amount of human effort that can accomplish the impossible. So we must go with time's instructive hands to move forward. Otherwise, we would only inhibit ourselves in the fruitless process. We would be robbed of the gift of the here and now, and never look upon the horizon for a prospect of our future.

In the year, some of us lost loved ones. Those memories can always remain, for neither time nor decay can deny us their gift. Perhaps, the year was good, and it is a great time to reflect at this point. Perhaps, it was riddled with regrets. Learn from those things and forgive yourselves. Grudges that have festered need to be cleansed from our conscious efforts, as cancer is removed from one who is getting a second chance at life.

I talk of this from experience.

New Year's resolutions can seem like frivolous or empty promises. That is why many give little credence to them. But to rethink one's life path is the right idea, and I say that we don't need to put up a new calendar to do this. Any time is the right time for that, whether it be January or December--or anytime in between.

The year is going. It is fading away soon, into its proper place in history. Bid it farewell, for it had its run, but it must make way for its youthful, less-experienced replacement. Look upon in it with hope and perseverance.

Goodbye 2013

A small, frail woman,
very much a shy recluse
who prefered only
the company of few

Like many classical poets
she lived mostly unrecognized
until after her death
Immortality in the pages

Perhaps she was more daring
than her lifestyle
She had to be so, simply because
she was a woman and not a man

It is because of her
and those like her
that female writers,
even amateurs like me,
can let our pens flow
and our papers fill up
with wondrous words

So I thank you,
Emily Dickinson,
for having the courage to write
and to show the world
that females can make
such interesting words
come alive!

Childhood is supposed to be a time of innocence,
a time when it is OK to be naive
So maybe I was duped into thinking
I was hearing sweet children's tales
and adorable nursery rhymes,
some sung in a song
Was I really?

Now I realize  
they were all strangely
scary or violent in nature

Let me give you a rundown:

The mother sings to soothe her baby
Visions of its cradle resting on the treetops (Huh?)
A broken bough and it hits the pavement
Splat! Pleasant dreams!

Let's not forget the Pied Piper
He lured children in with his music
and they disappeared from town
A serial killer!

Jack and Jill needed water
They headed up the incline
but tumbled back down
They nearly ended up in the hospital!

Peter, Peter,
the guy who loved to eat pumpkins  
stuffed his wife in a pumpkin's shell
Wife abuser!

The old woman who bore a ton of babies
found a home in some *****, old shoe
After she practically starved them
she gave them a whipping!

This is more sad than scary...
Another poor, old lady looks in her cupboard
seeking a meager bone for her dog
but had not one crumb to find (she probably ate his dog bones)

Ring around the rosie,
a possible urban legend,
had little tots falling to the ground and singing of ashes
as everyone around them died from the plague!

And when it rains it pours
A poor, old guy needs a nap
but gets a bump on the head
and remains unconscious!

London bridge was falling down
How come that happened?
Did someone blow it up?!  
A destructive depiction!

How about that blackbird pie
Those birds were baked alive!
One bird got his revenge
and bit off someone's nose!

Three blind mice endured a needless amputation
Wasn't it bad enough they were visually impaired?
Now a farmer's wife had to chop off their tails!
Somebody tell me that one is uplifting!

The cobbler's bench was a scene of mayhem
The monkey tried to get that weasel
So he could crack his head like a coconut
Pop!

Who the hell thought this one up?
A nursery rhyme that will leave children crying!
A poor, little ladybug!
Her kids gone and her house on fire!

And they say that TV is full of bad messages?

I belong to a thousand faces
and yet I am my own
I look in the mirror for answers
How did I get this look?
I believe each lifetime comes
only once around,
and I have faith
in eternal heaven
Yet they live in me,
those who came before me
And they shape these eyes
And they shape this nose, this mouth
I never need to wander,
or hang my head in shame
Like a well branched out tree,
with a firm foundation,
I am complete
I have roots

Stop!

Can't get it togther
My frenetic thoughts
But my Molasses-in-January responses
My dreadful fear and apprehension
My lack of motivation
And my struggle to use time wisely

You are my eye in the hurricane
My Help in the midst of the storm
You are my Refuge
Even though quite often
I practically give You
The *******

Oh, thank You for Your longsuffering
For Your mercy
For Your faithfulness
For Your belief in me to rise above
For my heart to keep beating
For my lungs to take in more air

You are my Hope
You are my Shield
You are my Light
You are my Song
You are my Source
You are Everything to me

My God
But not just mine
There is plenty of You
To go around
To anyone who asks
And that is why You are
Above all that ever existed
Or was made by human hands
Period

I just can't shake
these lonely days,
or my lonely ways,
this persistant, lonely phase

I want to be a confident extrovert
I want to break free
I want to let the lonely days be
completely far behind me

But I fear the loneliness
has a cruel friend become
Like a constant chum
that I would rather shun

I can be lonely in a crowd
I can be content in my own space
Others, I've offered hope and grace
but my own pain remains in place 

I feel like an onion
The layers, one could peel off each part
Joy, peace, beauty-- the desires of my heart
Yet at my core is where the pain starts  

Loneliness, I do not want its pity
Wanting the sadness to go away
Yet those lingering feelings stay
as I live these lonely days

Life is hard. Often, it is brutally hard. The battles seem so steep, very much uphill, and acceptance is often a bitter medicine to choke on rather than something to swallow in quiet resignation, in complete surrender.

Mentally, emotionally, physically—many have known our share of pain—or more—a pain that has no rhyme or reason—not when you are in the thick of it. I used to think that was what life was all about—fear, shame, isolation, ridicule, depression. It ruled my days. It ruled my nights.  It overtook the feelings that begged to differ, that insisted otherwise to believe in something more.

Yet now I get it. I wish I could recall the first time I got it, had wrapped my brain around it, into those glimpses of why life truly has value, and my place in this world has tremendous meaning. I'd love to ponder upon it for quite some time, if ever there was such an exact epiphany, and relish it in its new-found beginnings.  Like a child who first grasped hold of life with wonder, I want to prize the bright dawning of such hope, never to let it set into darkness.

Those are the moments I treasure. These moments of bliss, I think of them as. When you simply get it, in spite of the circumstances that impede the joy, and you push past such things and press on, to stumble upon the meaningful, the vast potential. Yes, in spite of the conditions of the world-- that reveal that what it contains is not always as beautiful as a sweet dream —but a fraud—I see value above the mess. Such beauty now doesn't seem like such an illusion.

And sometimes, those moments of bliss aren't just for the blink of an eye. Sometimes, they turn into hours. And sometimes, they are days.

I was born there
I hummed its famous tunes,
those unique harmonies and melodies
I drove its cars
Didn't everyone want one?
Those wheels were built by people like us
My father elevated his lot in life,
a Chrysler man by trade

In time, my parents fled its borders
to join up with the other suburban dwellers
This was before I was born
Few of us stayed behind,
the rest of my kin,
too poor or too proud or too scared to leave

I wish it could rise above its troubles
I wish I could brag about it instead
of feeling like a stranger to it
I can't call it home,
but I can claim it as my birth right
Nobody can take that away from me
Detroit, the place where I was born

The world needs justice
But without mercy
It would be a tyrant

The world needs truth
But without grace
It would be a know-it-all

The world needs love
But without any tough love
It can lose its definition

The world needs humility
For there's too many of us
Who think the world revolves around us

What else does the world need?
I'd like to have all the answers
But I surely am in need, too

The list is too long
To create in the poem
And the needs, never ending

They ran so far, ran so much that the soles of her feet were stained with blood. His hand never lost its grip while hers was bathed in oil, her cheeks blushing with shock and excitement. To think they had pulled it off! She never felt so crazy in her whole, bland, little life!

The couple ran across streets. They ran across fields. The night smelled like a child's perfume. The flowers mixed their aroma with the grass to tempt any lover to imagine what their worth was. Only a sliver moon revealed itself, so they were blind to nearly everything, just as they were so blindly in love. It was an eerie night, but a captivating one.

They whisked past trees as if the tree boughs and twigs would swoop down  like a skeleton's arms and fingers, trapping them into a thorny grip. They dodged cars like they were alien outlaws from another realm. They ran like there was no tomorrow, and the whole world would explode in a moment.

She did not care what anyone would have thought of her. To have hung herself would have made more sense to her parents than to be so impulsive and take off with this man, this stranger. They would have insisted she was out of my mind--and she was--but she never felt so sure sure of herself.

She never knew who she was, but maybe she was about to know and it would be wonderful. The cares of her world seemed to melt, at least they did in the cool of the night as she gathered the courage to run free.

All was going well, as the wind kissed her cheeks and her mind felt eased of her burdens. Yet, for one brief moment, the desire to rip her hand away from his overtook her, a failed moment of self-doubt.

It did not seem like it was really her pulling her hand away. As she yanked free from his firm grip, she froze in her tracks, panting from sheer exhaustion. All the courage had sudenly drained out of her just as mysteriously as it had consumed her.

In the failing moonlight, the shadows played upon his face in ghoulish distortion. The chiseled, calm features seemed to transform. Suddenly, fear rose up in her and she wanted to deny what seemed so obviously grotesque. She rubbed her eyes. Were they playing tricks on her? She gasped.

Inbetween the shadows, his face looked demonic, like death. What was happening? For a second or two, she could not distinguish a man from a monster, who it was she was really following after.  It had to be an illusion!

His lips were formed out of putty and burnt rubber, seriously twisted out of shape. His teeth appeared busted and broken into jagged pieces of rotten glass. His eyes seemed to glow and slowly narrowed at her in frustration, his skin rough and embedded into hardened cheekbones.   She continued to rub her eyes and blinked hard a few times to erase that ugly, horrific  image.

A swirl of clouds veiled the moon, but they soon moved on to give her eyes some clarity again. Her perplexed lover was staring at her, his face fair again, well-proportioned and handsome.  So why couldn't she budge? She convinced herself that her eyes must have been playing tricks on her. She knew he was waiting for her to make a move, but she couldn't find the strength to respond to his wishes .

"Come on", he called out to her. Once again, he reached out his hand to beckon her to place her hand in his.

She now was not so sure of what she was doing. She stood there, dumbfounded, and so ashamed of herself. The leaves rustled in the wind as if they had lost their patience with her, too. Just a few moments ago, she had such courage. Now all the excitement and madness had abandoned her all at once, and she felt so small and powerless to the night, as if it was engulfing her in its darkness.

"Come on!", he repeated. The tone in his voice was angry now, and it sounded unnatural, gutteral. She dared not to look at him for fear the scary image of him would return. The minutes felt like they were ticking away in sludge, and the desire to run was creeping back into her, but not to run with him.

Soon, her lungs were stinging from the chill air of the night. "No", she feebly replied, "I can't do it".  Those few words took the last bit of energy she had.

He started trying to convince her to go on, but quickly the firm calmness in his voice had disappeared as his voice grew threatening. Before long it reached a crescendo of profanity and perversity, again sounding unnatural and more otherworldly than ever.

She began to cry in her helplessness. He mocked her. He shamed her. His words were punitive and cruel. She was nothing.  She was better off dead. She disgusted him and her presense degraded him. There was nothing good about her, nothing at all.  She was ugly, ignorant and usless. Fearful that he may hit her, she took it all in,  frozen with fear. But he did not touch her, yet it would have probably have hurt much less if he had. She shut her eyes to try to erase his image, and she covered her ears to drown out his cruel words and his harsh voice.

It may have been just a few minutes of him taunting her, but it seemed like eternity. She let him rage on instead of fighting back to defend herself. Fighting back seemed so futile, as she felt so cowardly and small next to him.  She could not find her voice even if she wanted to, but soon he had slipped off into the shadows, his footsteps sounding away from her upon the pavement on dirt road they had been running down together.

She was trembling now, more from cold than from fright. She now believed the threat was over. That was it. It was finished. As surely as it started, it was over. He was gone.

No, she was not going to run away that night. No prince or knight in shining armor was not going to rescue her to whisk her away to safety.  Nor was anyone going to take her away to a happier place that she often dreamed about.

So she slowly turned around to head back to her old existence. The hurt she felt was now turning into numbness, but that was nothing new in her life. She was used to it. She knew I did not have the life she had wanted, but she began to realize that it could have been much worse. Maybe she was nothing, like he had told her, but she was walking away and she was free. Yes, she was free from that nightmare that could have been the end of her.

She did not feel alive anymore, not like she did earlier, but she was able to put one foot in front the other take herself away from what had now become "nowhere".  She was confused at first to which way was which, but she  eventually found her way back to her familiar surroundings and headed home.

Absurdity
is all I see
in our society

All I desire is beauty
in nature's bounty
but all I see is man's folly

On the 24/7 cable news on TV
Shooting and killing sprees
Tell me why, please!

I don't want to be me
I wish I was her, instead
Or anybody else
has got to have it better
than me

Or maybe a speck on the wall
would be better
For then I would could
nearly disappear
And not be picked on anymore
Just blend right in
And never be noticed
in a bad way

Or any way at all

It just seems that being me is so hard
I'm not comfortable in my own skin
I'm fat
I'm ugly
I'm not cool
Or "in"
Maybe I'll starve myself
So I can get on the cover
of a magazine one day

Yeah, right
That will be the day

Broken hearts
need a jump start
Broken hearts,
so ripped and torn apart
Broken hearts,
immortalized in art
as the martyr of mankind

All around the world

Those cardboard people,
they exist everywhere
Slaughtered souls
seen upon the streets
Like paper, they are 2 dimensional  
People who walk about
just like sticks
People a centimeter thick
go about their way but
Who knows where they’re headed
Can’t go very far,
ripped and shredded

All around the world

Whether they are mentally battered,
physically battered,
spiritually battered,
battered by poverty and disease
or battered by oppression
they have lost their way
because by a throw away society
that exists today
they are now tossed aside
and on the inside
they feel nothing

All around the world

I think you get the picture
of what I'm trying to say
Cardboard people
have caught the paper disease,
a little gust of wind
and they go blowing in the breeze
Little weight to hold them down,
They are descending sidewalks
with their tattooed frowns

All around the world

They pass us on by
but few of us
really look anymore
at the souls who
are torn and tattered
their hearts bleeding
and quite shattered
Often we wish not to
be bothered with
their sight
Consumed with our problems
and not with their plight

All around the world

I have to remind myself
to not look away,  
not wanting to be reminded
that I was also there
A card carrying member
of the Broken Heart's Club
and still at risk
must I say
But God sought me out
a scared, lonely girl
as I felt no place
in this cruel world
Judge them not He commands
It does not matter
how they met their despair
Broken hearts
need to mended,
and can be repaired

All around the world

I imagine the human race
as refined paper cut outs,
delicately designed,
exquisite and fragile
in their intricate beauty
Once linked togther,
hand in hand in unity
were we
But  we are not puppets
but are free
to choose whether to love
So the world was torn apart
by those who have
hardened their hearts
and the broken pieces
are now scattered everywhere

All around the world

So I wonder when
we will ever learn
that people are not paper products
of this thoughtless world
A world in a hurry to look out
for its own interests
as it continues to go about
And I wonder when
we will ever learn
that people aren't like dollar bills,
Something that crumbles and burns
Spent away like paper currency,
Used up like old money,
Flimsy, worn and past the urgency

All around the world

Broken hearts
need a jump start
Broken hearts,
so ripped and torn apart
Broken hearts,
immortalized in art
as the martyr of mankind

P

         *O

                    E

                               T

                                           R

                                                      Y

A­wakens the senses....

Captivates the eye with a unique flair, like a skilled artist on the stage-a great dancer, a supreme actor, an athletic acrobat, an experienced musician, an engaging orator, a gifted singer, a heavenly choir
Entices the nose to imagine the hint of various scents, soothing or disturbing, and often blends different aromas into peculiarity
Touches the heart, mind, soul and skin--when it is spot on, perhaps with shivers, or perhaps with warmth
Teases the tongue to taste the words, salty, sour or sweet, vaguely satisfying, sometimes mystifying
Pounds on the eardrum to listen to its beat, at times, offbeat, at times, in perfect rhythm

Worm,
cant't you stand a little rain?
A puddle here,
a puddle there
You squirm so helplessly,
desperately seeking out higher ground,
hurriedly scurrying for shelter,
but stuck in a rut
for want of dry land

Some lay before you,
fully defeated,
a mass exodus of worm refugees
The blazing sun
shall work against you,
to parch the ground below
How cruel does this world
seem towards you
when all you want is to stay alive?
To survive,
to thrive,
for one more day

I opened the closet
and yelled at all the skeletons:

Get out of my closet!

I don't want your secrets!
I don't want your shame!
I don't want your ***** laundry!
You have been in here long enough!

I started tossing out the junk,
ridding myself of the mess,
like ruins in an old tomb,
Garbage that I have been trying to contain,
useless things flying everywhere:
Unfulfilled dreams,
unresolved anger,
old sadness,
unhappy childhood
etc, etc, etc....

Those bony beings started
making their way out,
grumbling because of
their harsh eviction,
clanking away down the stairs
and out of the house

Well, that felt lots better
but I'm not sure if they
all left for good

It will be time to do more house cleaning soon

Emptiness is
akin to starvation
boring through your growling stomach
a gaping, horrible hole
trying to penetrate your soul

She married him just to get out of the house. He, in turn, was a great rescuer of helpless cases, and she was a damsel in distress. They were both so young. She was barely eighteen and he was almost twenty. It was the Spring of 1968, and none of her friends thought it would last. Those were the days of free love, and all her friends did not expect her to stay tied down for long. After all, she was young and did not experience that much in life.

At first, everything went smoothly. They both tried their best to be a good marriage partner, but their parents weren't good models. Their marriages seemed to be lifeless and void of love. So they  had to learn on their own, by their own, day-to-day experience.  

Soon she became bored with him, and he distanced himself away from her. He tinkered away at his workshop in the basement, bunkered down in his own domain while she found her haven in the kitchen. She quickly became love-starved, reading cheap romance novels to fill up the void.

She became relieved when she was pregnant with her first child, so she would not be alone anymore. Yet the birth of her son did not make life any easier, and it only added fricton to the distant couple. Another child, a daughter came only one year later. Instead of feeling closer to her husband, she only grew more weary of him, and he of her. All of her efforts was put into her children to attempt make her life happy. It did not work all that well for her, and she struggled with depression often. Yet she hid it, putting her best face forward in the midst of her desperation to convince her friends and family that she was fine.

They were both very surprised that the third child came around four years later, another girl, for he barely touched her. They had been existing like two roomates instead of a husband and wife.

It was nearly inevitable that he would stray from her. When she became more and more suspicious, she confronted him and he told her the truth. He did not love her anymore, and he was happier in the arms of another. She cried to her friends, and they all told her to divorce him. Even though she had few working skills, she was better off without him. She cried even harder, for she had to admit that she strayed, too, and she believed she may have been the first to do so.

She caught another man's eye, and she could not understand why a mother of three would be so appealing. Now she felt truly ugly, that her marriage was a lie, and there was no way back, but to be out of it. Most of all,  she felt that she wronged her children, and her illusion of a perfect family shattered before her eyes.

Her husband packed up his bags, but even he had tears in his eyes. He never meant it to be this way. What happened to the time when he could not keep his eyes off of her? He knew his children were counting on him, and he vowed he would always see they had what they needed--the basics like shelter, clothing and food. But they weren't going to have him, not like they once had. He felt like he let down everyone who counted on him, and it was a heavy load to bear.

So he went away, but neither of them could sleep at night. The other side of the bed seemed emptier than ever. The woman he thought he now loved was not going to make him any happier than he was before.

He now discoverd that he was just as much in his soon-to-be ex-wife's life as  he was while they were together, doing repairs on the house, paying bills, visiting the children. So why couldn't they give it another shot? They just didn't know how to revive the mess they were in, but both admitted they were willing to do do. She did not want him to rescue her, like she before, for it never worked in the first place.

They made several trips to their church pastor for counseling. Each one had to forgive the other, and not harbor any hard feelings, in order to begin the process of getting back together. It had been nine years since they first married, and they weren't that young, naive couple anymore. Life had matured them, often the hard way,and they were ready to try again.

Even though all her old friends thought she would never make it, she had learned to love her husband like she could never do before. He had learned to be there for her, and not distance himself. They could have stayed together for the children's sake, but nothing would have been any better unless they changed.  They both knew they did not want a marriage of convenience, or in name only.

Life was certainly never going to be without troubles, but they had remained together, weathering every trial. And they never regretted that they chose to stay together.

Where goes the clock's time?
The brevity of life, quick
The blink of an eye

Looking upon Lake St. Clair
I saw it lying there today
In its watery grave
A large and lovely monarch butterfly
Its gossamer wings outstetched
As if it had gallently fought its death

And was determined to fly
Ascend to the air
To its temporary abode
Inbetween earth and sky
As far as its wings would take it
But it sadly did not succeed

On the one side, it was facing the lake
On the flipside, the open sky
I almost couldn't recognize it
As if it was a piece of junk floating along
But I eventually saw it cleary
This exquisite creature of noble name

And now I say that
Even this winged, airborne creature
Is bound to this earth
Like the rest of us
Who have not the gift of wings

And death is not just for suckers
The unfortunate who cannot hack it
For gravity must triumph in the end
And there is never a day
In which there ceases to be any death
Upon this mortal world

Many of us want to ward off its coming
As we bide our time
And try to outrun the inevitable
Hoping to outsmart the clock
Yet we are all creatures of this earth
Just as was this beautiful butterfly
Born to inhabitant this world
But never designed to stay

This isn't poetic license
In order to construct a clever poem
It truly happened to me
Making me stop and think
Out from a day in the ordinary
To ponder upon the brevity of life
With the instant reminder that

All magnificent things must die

The Wind is fickle
A mighty blowhard so fierce
A soft, puny puff

At times,
I get a creative tornado
in my head,
as I am going along
in my daily life
And I can't wait to go home
to sit in front of my computer
to write all my poetic thoughts down

I'm convinced they are masterpieces,
that people will be blown away
by my work
but.............

All is silent on the response button

And suddenly I think
I am not that talented
That my work really wasn't
so great to begin with

This must be what all
artists go through...
painters, authors, sculptors,
screenwriters, playwrights,
songwriters and musicians
Doubting themselves
when art lies in the eye
of the beholder

Its all part of the subjective
nature of art

I am not Eve
Not paradise
I live in this world
Many troubles I have seen
Yet hatchling sparrows
in the pottery gourd
I have set up outside
by my kitchen door
have reminded me of simplicity

As squirrels come by to beg
for a scrap of food,
my two cats
lazing in the sun inside my home.

Is this how it feels in
the Garden of Eden?
Tending the animals I love so much,
providing shelter and food for others
that belong to the wild
If just for a moment or two,
no worries, no struggles,
no sadness, no doubts
A complete feeling of joy
at nature outside and inside my door

Child, woman.
Wise, innocent.
Stained from the past
with blood of the ages,
generations make their nations
out of common DNA.

Slipping slowly
is my memory of youth.
Not forever forgotten,
but the little girl inside
is like an apparition,
who has tried to go away
for good.
I yearn for the newness she once had,
and I wonder if I'll ever
know her again.

Paradoxical chimes
on the ticking clock
fog my yesterday
and alarm my tomorrow.
Memories are like a sun-setting dusk,
some at peace, some not.
The future and I never met
But I want to race there to meet it
and not in foolishness pass by today.

Not underaged,
not a wise, old sage,
I'm a half-breed to both
Thirtysomething.
Stuck in the middle.
Wading waist deep in exasperation
waiting to fly,
to fly higher and higher,
regretting that I did not fly that far.
But I cannot turn this watch inside out,
I cannot turn back time.
Can I accept that?

I'm half brave,
half afraid.
I'm part greedy,
part giving.
I want to be part
of the whole picture
of the puzzle...
but I'm holding back
the missing piece.

Child, woman.
I'm a tree splintered in two directions,
and after much inspection,
I wonder...

Which one will I be?

We have known each other
since first grade

At one time we were
like sisters
I mean we enjoyed
each other's company
I thought we would be
best friends forever
that we would never grow apart

Now it is not so

I mean there is
a huge wedge of resentment
We talk on the phone
like we really have enthusiasm

But deep down inside of us
is smoldering disgust

Last time we got together
to play a game of dominoes
Which being around one another
Is a rare occasion
You really couldn't tell
Nor could I

That there was an elephant
in the room

Built up things that we wanted
to say to each other
But did not deem appropriate
Like we were too ladylike  

But the closet alcohol abuse
And all the lies
I could hold back no more
When you called me later on

To tell me off

You throw up money in my face
You make me feel bad about myself
You do this
You do that

And my reply was
You nearly killed us both
As I drove with you down to Kentucky
For the funeral of our fellow, childhood friend

And now I just don't think
I want to be your friend anymore
You are angry all the time
You need help

There, I said it

I've waited six years to reveal that
Glad to have it off my chest

I am so glad now that the elephant
in the room

Has been noticed

As I sit here today,
apart from society,
hit with this cold,
feeling not well,
I struggle again
to find my purpose
in this world,
as I often do.

But if I have just
helped out one person
and I know I have
I already laid
a firm foundation
which leaves room
to be builded upon
some more,
perhaps by me,
perhaps by someone else
coming along.......
the floors,
the walls,
the ceiling,
the windows,
and the roof,
or simply planting
a seed in the garden
which will from one
tiny beginning
spring up life.

I am broken
Into bits, it might as well be
My bones--oh, they throb...
And my soul--oh, it moans...

So one might say
"Throw her away"
But God, not you

My heart is squeezed out
My spirit, lowly
Tossed to the wind to and fro,
And so I am forced to my knees

So one might believe,
"She'll never achieve",
But God, not you

Hatred floods my eyes,
Unforgiveness stirs in my soul
Bitter salt, hostile resentment adds
To all my shortcomings

And since because
I ask, "What is love?"
I don't believe it's for me

But it's then that God calls
Like lightning over the plains
He gloriously lights up the way,
A field of faith to the path I trod

And since I feel doubt
I lift my voice with a shout,
"God, why me?"

Because they say,
"Throw her away",
Because they believe,
"She'll never achieve",
I have called you by name

And without love,
There'd be no God above...
So come unto Me

Dear Santa

I know you don't exist
So I've no requests on a list
You see, my parents had me believing
And I never thought they'd be deceiving!
My mom confessed to me, one time
Oh, the shock that blew my mind!

No, I'm not- for good- traumatized
I just don't care much for lies!
Truly, I'm sick of all the attention
Nauseating, and really much to mention
A jolly, fat guy parading through the sky
Has been nothing but a childhood lie!
You're as bad as the tooth fairy
Suit of red and white--AND hairy!

Godlike powers to know who's been bad or good
And reindeer taking you to every neighborhood!
Come on, hey!
I say, "No way!"
Sure, there is a kernel of truth I can pick
A generous man of old - St. Nick!
He really gave gifts to pass around.
For his kindness, he was found.
So get lost, Santa Claus, just go!
I'm cynical, yes, I know!
Kids might hate me!
They might berate me!
But when they grow up, they'll get my drift
That you are nothing but a myth!!!

Okay, it's off my chest
I can give it a rest!
So, really, why do you dominate the Xmas scene?
Makes me wonder what it really means.
Is it really for the children or the child inside?
Who's it truly for, the simple fun it provides?
Yeah, I do get it, your silly charm.
Actually, it's done me no harm.
I long for what Christmas should stand for.
Love for others, the needy and the poor.
But I think you get in the way!
Shopping up a debt isn't right, I say!
Comprehending a love that came here on earth.
Two millennium ago, that wondrous birth.
That gets lost in the hurry
All the frenzy and the scurry!
Cliche-but I've just pinpointed the reason
At least for me, for this season.  

Quite sincerely
Dorothy

P. S. Merry Christmas, everyone!

The future is framed
in a painting titled, Unknown
It appears to me as
a scene in a winding road
that is shrouded in a thick veil,
a misty fog of doubt

What tomorrow holds for me,
I do not know
For I have yet to arrive there
Certainly, nothing comes easily in life
Nothing seems set in stone

I cannot accomplish the journey alone
Inspite of my stubborn insistence to try
Counting just on myself,
out of my own efforts,
And I surely encounter failure
I've learned there is nothing worse
than going it all alone

So one assurance of hope do I fiercely cling to
It is the only way that I can survive

Therefore, I place my mortal hand in His,
A that hand is always offered to me,
And I grab hold of it for dear life
As the Lord is perpetually near
A divne lantern
unto my feet

The pathway ahead is still dimly lit
Only a few steps can I see at a time
But it is meant to reveal
only just what I need
To get me along through,
to penetrate the darkness

For what is faith
If I need not trust?
What is faith
If I demand to know everything?

I've been having a good one this year
I've been creative
I've been enjoying the music
I've been appreciating the decor
But melancholy never ceases to creep in
The loved ones who are gone for good--my dad, my brother, a few friends, faulty relationships

Expectations
Expectations always come
Though I try to banish them
Expectations of a perfect holiday
Of a Norman Rockwell time with everyone in a perfect scene
So goes the melancholy

He dealt me a hand
that was sure to lose
Slick and quick
wih the trick of his fingers,
shuffling fifty-three cards
in a tainted deck

Jacks and Kings
with a nasty wink
A queen of red hearts
that was really pink

Not your usual poker
I was the joker
He was the ace of spades,
a devious cheat
Never could I beat
him at his own game

Until one day
I called his bluff
Enough was enough!
And I threw in my chips

All or nothing
In or out
His hand was loser
I had a full house

The gospel of Christ
My hand, life
The devil's, death,
designed to draw
my last breath

So the *** was mine
but it looked like hell
I left it behind
My soul is not for sale!

I can't take it anymore
This pain is overwhelming
Why go on?

Keep on going

I'm so  tired
All I want to do
Is go to sleep and not wake up

This pain will subside

I feel all alone
Nobody understands or cares
This is killing me on the inside

Keep reaching out to others

Everything in my life seems wrong
Life has no meaning
I just don't see the point

*I gave you life, and it does have meaning

Storms!
The weather vanes twirl about
in mass hysteria
North!
South!
East!
West!
Lightning crowds the skies
with white gold
Instantaneous rods of crooked steel
pierce the horizon
Booming, clamorous crunching
clap throughout the hushed heavens
quaking the frames and foundations,
making cats and dogs
rush under the beds for protection
The young ones peek out of windows
and defy their nervousness
The adults slam the windows closed
to shut out the savage elements

Blustery winds work their way
through each crack and crevice
as looming, ominous clouds
hanging low in readiness
finally burst forth like a breaking dam

People run for cover
running for their very lives
from the rods of steel
that slice the sky
ducking drops so wild and wet
that they make the very soul
shake and shiver
drenching each victim to the bone

Flowers and grasses drown deliriously
in the quenching drink
Worms migrate for safer territory
to find little comfort at all

Until the deluge is done
and the skies have decided
they have bore enough
will they subside
yet only to blow their way through
to trespass another town
their violent wrath satisfied
for now

Because they provide us with
needed sustenance
we can be obliging to them
these storms that strike us
usually against our will
Because they amaze us
educate our thoughts
and entertain our imaginations
we can be forgiving of their tempers

There are volumes and volumes
on the subject of love
As ancient as time
are the poems
and the books
and the plays
that have inspired
us all to desire
such love

Some of it seems
so lofty or unrealistic
to be experienced
That kind of love seems
unobtainable,
unreachable
and truly false
It only satisfies the heart
like cotten candy,
sweet to take in
but not fulfilling

On the other hand,
some love tales are filled
with heartache,
with a desired love
never achieved,
or unfairly thwarted,
but always
hungered and thirsted after,
like life-giving sustenance
to feast upon,
for love seems to be
the needed remedy to prevent
us just from existing  
for the sake of existing
  
With so much
that has been presented
in all kinds of art forms
on the subject of love,
I often am saddened
as to why
there is such the lack of it
in our world,
in the real world,
which is a place  
in which our fantasies collide

Hollywood love
is often our guide
in our modern world
and I have often
fallen for it
and could not get
enough of it,
like a drug that I craved
But how much of it
seems so selfish
and hypocritical,
such a mirage
and a hoax?

Is not love
more than an emotion?
Is not love
more than what "I" can get out of it?

Yes, this kind of love
I find repulsive
and cheap
and hallow
and cold

What I am writing about
may not inspire
the heart to feel tingly,
for we have all been taught
that love is only this way,
when all is good,
and all is perfect
as to two beautiful people
entwined in love's rapture

I now know differently

There are those dying
a slow death
from a lack of love
and they may not
even know they are
mortally wounded

Others may know
they need more love
than what the world
often brags about,
yet live a life
of quiet desperation

They may feel unworthy of it
They may hide from it
and avoid it
They may not be
very enjoyable to be around
to invite others to love them
But they need it anyway
just like everyone else

Like one needs air
basic water, food
and shelter to live
we all need love

I am not just talking about others,
although I've observed it, personally
But I have suffered my share of droughts
often suffered that disease myself
I do not admit it proudly
for it is a horrible feeling
of shame that
I wish never, ever to feel again
How I often longed for something
that did not seem obtainable
Or how I felt that I was not worthy
to take in such love

I also have to admit
my wrongdoing in reaching out
How guilty I have been
to not offer a smile,
a kind word,
or a sympathetic ear
to someone in desperate need of it
Too rapped up in my own problems

So I challenge myself,
for I know how it feels
to wish to experience love
in a more pure form from above
Not what I can get out of it
but how I can bless another

If the whole world
was to truly love
the way God meant
for us to do,
we would all be
saturated in its gift
and the ugly disease
from the lack of love
would be no more

Light the candle
to my world.
Don't let it burn away.
Preserve it,
guard it,
share it,
say a prayer over it,
and it will rock your world.
For its light is of God,
and nothing can harm
its fluorescent flame,
no shame,
no darkness.
Healing and blessing
are its radiant essence.
Like tears of pain,
as the wax drips
down to the bottom,
and the wick
fights on
to survive,
keep the flame alive!

You may be wanting from me
Something profound
Some great masterpiece
Something that demands awe
And expands your mind

Something so wonderful
That The Thinker
Will have something to
Ponder on forever
In his ageless, stoic, iron pose
Wondering of its great depth
And wisdom!

But to heck with that!

I want to write of fluff
And all that stuff
Something of bubblegum *****
And unicorn dreams
Something of kittens
Doing summersaults
Something of polka dots
On Dalmations

I don't want to solve
The worlds problems!
I don't want to be a
A nobel laureate!

I want to write of fluff
And all that stuff
Of honey dripping
Off the sugar trees
Of the moon
Made out of cheese
I'll solve the world's problems
Another time!
For now allow me
That fantasy!

Sleep seems to be
a daily taste of death
It is like death's cousin,
so I have heard
Our eyes closed
as we often lay flat on our back
in on our beds
like we are layed out
for our own wake
Perhaps, we should see it this way
so we are to know that
it is not our enemy
but our constant companion

For you see,
in our slumber
our spirit is alive
We dream of things
that we often
could never do in life,
to fly like birds,
to have superhuman powers,
to travel to lands, unseen

I often wondered what
death felt like
My body in a coffin
Once open for those to shed
a sea of tears
before it becomes
shut up in darkness forever
The image seems grim
and gruesome
until my imagination
tries to conjure up
a Pollyanna scene

Almost like a cocoon
Our old shell of skin and bone
will soon be no more as
our spirits become free,  
transformed like a butterfly,
taking off to a higher realm
We will not be what we were before
but like the butterfly,
we have not vanished, either
We will just journey on
becoming more exquisite
as we are now free from gravity
A lovely concept my mind needs to behold

But who am I kidding
I fear and dread that ultimate separation
Fear that the promise of heaven
would be a cruel hoax
Finding demons waiting to torment me
Fearing that God would not accept me
A nightmare instead of a dream

I guess I have enough reason
to have my doubts
I often felt like I had died
Died a thousand deaths
Or wished I had died
Death often felt like a welcome release
And life felt unreal
Too painful to live
Numbness felt better
I must confess

But even though death
has invaded this earth
and we are in constant reminder
that it will be our final fate
I refuse to believe
that death will triumph over life
Like a baby leaves the womb
It is born into a new realm
A new unknown
but welcomed into the comforting arms
of another who embraces and loves it

So what does death feel like?
Do we feel that fear
as we are fading
from this earth?
Is it like sleep,
a lovely dream?

The shortest of months
Warm, red hearts in cold winter
The time of my birth

I have a beef with plenty of things. One of them is how self-absorbed we have become because of those **** cell phones. No, I am not a hypocrite. I own one. I cannot imagine not having a cell phone, for it comes in handy, especially when one is stuck on the road with a car that is broken down or if an emergency call comes. Though I know, from personal experience, how life was before cell phones. We survived.

I still have a flip phone. Yeah, I'm behind the times, I admit. It's just that I do not want to pay a higher bill. I got enough bills. Would I enjoy those extra bells and whistles? You bet! But like my car, I just am looking at what I need verses what I desire.  I don't want to google and go on the internet here, there and everywhere. I have plenty of internet use as it is, enough to say that I don't want to access it in a moment's notice.

So what has become of us? It used to be that the biggest enemy to being behind the wheel was intoxication. "Don't drink and drive",  a terrible problem. Now we are intoxicated on our technological toys. Texting and driving has become the new road hazard, comparable to *****.

Cell phones are everywhere, and people are on them like their lives depend on them. And do we really pay attention anymore? How about the person next to us who we may never notice? Our cell phones have invaded our need to be aware of our surroundings. It seems we are missing out on so much because of it.  

We would be lost without our precious cell phones--at least we think we would. I admit I am guilty. But sometimes, I'd just like to throw mine out the window and be free of the thing once and for all.

Been a fighter all my life
From a home filled with strife
Decided to put down my boxing gloves
Make not war, but love

But I realized the fight has merit
It is something that fuels my spirit
When I begin to lose that spark
My mind gives up, goes dark

I become the passive person I am not
So I'll take up the banner, a lot
Because the battle is never won
When you feel your life is done

I've been a fighter all my life

Lord,
I want to be dazzled by you
Overwhelmed by you
In awestruck wonder

I thank you that you never give up on me
I thank you that you give me great vision
beyond my limited eyesight
That you put desires in my heart

To have compassion
and sympathy
and understanding
and sorrow for others
less fortunate