Two Friends

Two Friends

on a beach

walking,

talking,

planning,

dreaming,

birthing

their visions

into existence.

One Friend,

compelled by her Soul’s necessity;

The Other,

moved by an insatiable curiosity.

Both,

desiring to leave behind

an indelible legacy-

to inspire,

empower,

unleash creativity;

to free the masses

from contraction and boredom

by en-couraging

expansion and freedom!

These two friends

on that beach

were destined to meet,

brought together

by old friends

now deceased.

The story continues

until it is

complete.

 

 

 

The Children

20 November 2016,

it is Universal Children’s Day.

And so, I pause

take time

to breathe

to pray.

So much inside,

I want to bring out,

to display-

especially,

given the climate

of our present day,

where our children

are forced a diet

of intolerance and hate.

How do we teach our children well

in this painful realm?

How do we speak of

the rights of the child

when rights in general

appear in such peril?

We can,

indeed we simply must

do

be

better

for the Little Ones

who look up to us

with such innocence,

such tender and abiding

trust.

They are our teachers,

the children we bear,

holding us accountable

for all we say we value,

the principals we purportedly

hold so very near and dear.

Little mirrors,

our children,

the opportunity

to either see

their reality

and respond accordingly-

or ignore,

leave our mess

in their hands

for remedies to explore.

Either the chain continues,

or we

destroy.

 

 

 

 

 

Prodigal: A Portrait in Words

The middle child,

the second

in a Girl Tribe

made of three;

born into a

matriarchal family.

She has a

distinct,

special pedigree.

A quintessential

Scorpio, She is

often perceived

aloof,

not so easy to know.

One minute,

She herself

to others

shows;

and the next-

poof

off She goes,

traveling into

that sublime mind,

not intending

to be cruel and unkind-

unless betrayed

or played,

then out comes

the devastating hand grenades!

Beware of the Scorpio sting,

her bite

her weapon

to protect

her gentle heart,

her sensitive skin.

A relatively quiet Soul,

this one as Prodigal

privately known-

a familial moniker

for this magical

misunderstood

wanderer.

Many secrets

held tight

under her beautiful exterior.

To unlock,

to enter her interior,

sustained trust,

an absolute must!

Once inside,

much and rich

treasures to find-

fierce loyalty,

staunch integrity,

stunning efficiency,

endless creativity.

So blessed am I

to take this life’s journey

with She,

to walk together

hand in hand,

feet to feet!

 

Sculpture by American-born British sculptor Sir Jacob Epstein.

Poem dedicated to my beloved sister, Prodigal – much love and many thanks!

 

Memories of the Child

Memories of Me as Child

very rarely

feature

prominently

in my mind.

Sometimes,

a memory

will come

spurred by that

of another One.

Such was the case

recently

when the memory of

a beating came to me.

Perhaps, the worst ever

by my parents

wrought,

the result of me following

my child heart.

An adventuress,

I have always been

from deep within,

yearning to explore my world,

for real life to unfurl.

Such was the case when

at ten years old,

I did something very bold,

against which I’d been sternly told.

I visited the home of a classmate,

Molly was her name.

She had dark hair,

freckles and such seductive flare!

Molly lived in the biggest house I’d ever seen,

just down the road from my apartment building.

Four stories, it stood,

dignified and handsome –

in sharp contrast to the rest of the ‘hood.

Intrigued, curious, in love, I was.

Hence, how could I have declined

Molly’s invitation to come inside?!

Adventure called,

I could not it stall!

A blissful afternoon I spent

while my parents wondered

where their child went.

Alas, all good things must come to an end;

my parents found me at my friend’s.

That evening, I learned

there is a price for authenticity,

that its sweet pleasure is earned.

Fear and anger were unleashed

with every swish

my father’s belt

on my young skin

released.

Though, the physical wounds have since healed,

the memory is sealed,

seared forever into my Soul.

There to one day be told.

Not a story of pity, no!

Rather one of victory

and great resiliency.

For you see,

I am still me

filled with the same boundless curiosity,

in love with Life immensely.

Always will I be,

no matter the external story.

 

Sculpture: First Portrait of Roma of Barbados, 1932, Jacob Epstein

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elephant

how do I

adequately

describe

what it feels like

inside

when I look

elephant

in the eyes?

It is as if

elephant

is kin,

as if we share

the

exact

same

skin!

My heart flutters,

a sudden

recognition

it utters

at the

sight of

elephant.

My Soul leaps

as it greets

an essential piece

long buried-

very deep.

A sigh of relief;

the end of a subtle grief;

a mystical reunion

is of what I speak

when

elephant

and I

meet.

 

Another Life: Dream One

The next incarnation of Me,

I foresee

three darling babies

to whom

I am

doting, dutiful mommy.

Each said man-child

from my womb

shall come,

manifestations

of a long-held covenant

finally

exhumed.

 

In this other Life,

to an extraordinary Soul,

I will serve many roles:

His first lover,

babies’ mother,

forever friend and wife.

A beautiful home

together we build,

me and my boys,

filled with the Love and Light

we pray and persistently will-

cups so runneth over

that unto the world

our joy spills.

Eleven Years

On the sixth day in the month of September of the year 2005:

A cell phone rings.

“It is your father,”

says the somber mother

to the busy daughter.

“He has been taken

to hospital…a stroke.”

 

Eleven years ago,

my Pop transitioned;

he left body

and went to Heaven.

One is never prepared for death-

especially that of a parent.

You know it will come eventually,

makes sense intellectually;

a matter to run from emotionally.

The day before he was to die,

he kept calling my cell line.

Over and over, he tried.

too tired and busy was I.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,”

I thought, fully justified;

not knowing he would not then

be alive.

Did Pop sense

his time had come?

Is there something he needed to tell

his eldest one?

What did I miss in

missing his call?

Did he go

thinking

I cared not at all?

Along with grief,

from guilt I found little relief.

Over and over,

in my mind,

I wrestled with my use of time.

Questioned my responsibilities:

Were they aligned with my priorities?

Eleven years later,

older,

a tad wiser,

I can begin

to myself forgive.

We do our best

in the moments we live.

Perfection, not the final goal.

Missteps, falls –

a part of it all.

Lessons learned

in his life and death-

Thank you Father!

No more regrets.

 

 

 

Blue

 

what you say about Blue

is really a reflection of you.

what you think about her,

a mere child, another’s daughter,

only reveals

your mind’s fodder.

it’s all about you,

Beloved,

never “the other.”

about the lens

through which

you see

your world

and your brother.

look deep within,

my Friend,

see finally

the depths of

your own self-hatred.

bring up to Light,

the memories,

tragedies,

stories

against which

you constantly

struggle and fight.

the ones that state softly

with great malignancy

only that

you’re ugly and unworthy.

beware,

going there.

for, ego will be scared.

it will deny,

try to you from yourself hide,

play with your mind,

saying:

“don’t go within,

too much of a burden;

play always on the outside to win.”

alas,

illusion, so easy,

often trumps reality

for many.

brothers, sisters, family –

we must re-member what we truly are:

Shining Stars,

servant spirits on a human journey

born of Him

to fully manifest

only our highest

and very best

Self.

Nothing else.

 

 

Sun Salutations

Dawn of a new day-

hooray!

Awake!

Give thanks!

Pray!

As within,

so without.

Morning meditations

strengthen thy House.

No perceived stress felt.

Mind, heart, body –

all aligned,

all in exquisite rest.

Work flows smoothly.

Everything moves so easily.

All that is seen is beauty,

even in this, the

big

busy

City.

No cacophony,

just sweet melodies.

No hurry,

only curiosity.

Frowns turned upside down;

smiles abound.

Gratitude, shared and found.

I see you, you see me.

Namaste,

we are a family!

No self-recrimination,

no regrets;

only admission

one did one’s best.

And so,

the stage is set

for when

dusk is met.

Peaceful sleep

will thee meet

with this day complete.

 

Saṃsāra

Where do Souls go

when in flesh no more?

How do they choose

what next body to use?

What memories of the pasts

are let go of-freed-at very last?

What unfinished business

sets the tone for the next visit?