Poem | |
Within the warmth of home, I sit amazed
at the gentle fall of snow through window pane.
Cup of tea in hand, my layered thoughts unchain,
and tumble from the tip of tongue unfazed
to land upon a pristine page appraised,
aided by the silent fall through snowy pane.
Oh, the soft white wintry glow 'pon the lane
leaves a graceful drape, Lord be praised.
Within the warmth of home, I muse on themes
of days to come and those gone bye and so,
I thank the Lord for all of nature's schemes,
for the gift of time, for peace, and for the snow.
Oh, make the blanket deep, I wish to dream,
may all my days and 'morrows have this glow.
Poem | |
Do you know what it is like to be an untouchable?
To be so filthy and disgusting
That people shrink away from you
Do you know how it corrodes your soul
To see how the stench that follows your rotting flesh
Contorts people’s faces in disgust
Even from miles away?
I tell you, you die a thousand deaths
Each time you see them cover their faces
To protect themselves from the putrid air
That surrounds you
And they scurry away
Revolted by your very shadow
It doesn’t help that you have to scream
“Unclean, Unclean” everywhere you go
It doesn’t help that daily you have to find your food
Left behind an agreed upon boulder
It doesn’t help when you taste the bread
Your wife has baked with loving hands
Knowing that the salt of her tears is mixed in the dough
That nourishes your rotting body
It doesn’t help when visions of her beauty and healthy body
Ravage your mind…for she has become untouchable to you
It doesn’t help when all you remember are the last words
Your crying son sobs into her apron….
“Why does daddy have to leave?”
And you quietly slink away…unable even to hold him
One last time
Being a leper
Is the nightmare you can’t easily shed
How unlike your body that easily sheds
Your fingers…one by one
And then you hear of a Healer
A carpenter turned preacher
Who mingles with prostitutes
With tax collectors
Outcasts like you and you think…
I tell you this….
All my yesterdays and all my tomorrows
Were bound in the moment I stood before him
His disciples stepped back
I saw a woman get sick
At the sight of me
And before I knew it, the words tumbled out
“Lord, if you are willing…..you can make me clean.”
I was a crumpled ball on the ground
A discarded piece of human waste
Not daring to look up
My half eaten face covered
Thoughts of my wife, my boy swimming in my head
And pouring out of my eyes in the form of tears
And then for the first time since I was banished to the outskirts of the city
For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime
I felt the touch of another human hand
His hand was on my shoulder
His hand was on MY shoulder
The refuse of humanity
Ah…I had forgotten how good it felt to be touched
It was a gentle touch
A touch of love
A touch of healing
“I am willing, be clean.”
I heard whispered in my ear
The warmth of the touch
The nearness of the voice
Were enough to heal my soul
What more could I ask for?
And yet….I felt something else
New life coursed through my veins
A wave of energy
Started from the souls of my feet
Revitalizing every cell as it rushed up to my dazed head
Bursting into a clarity of vision I had not known
I looked at my hands
Yes, these were MY hands
The hands that she had loved to hold against her face
The hands that my son had clung to when he was afraid
The hands of a workman
Young, strong capable hands
There was silence
As they all witness my rebirth
Finally, I looked up to see
The most compassionate face
That I had ever seen in my life
I saw tears running down His face
And yet, His smile rivaled the sun
And the next thing I knew
I was in His embrace
Whole…body and soul
He touched me.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Poem | |
Peering at the radiating faces of happy families
So much joy emanates from well-to-do children’s sparkling eyes
Wish I could replace the grief, put smiles on the faces of my sons
Without a glimmer of hope even promises of warm meals would be lies
In the brown eyes of my sons, the same eyes their mother, my wife
Sadness the sacrifice, a courageous mother giving life
So great a zest for life she sacrificed to give her sons life
But now greed hath put her seed in peril and my world in strife
No “Help Wanted” signs in the windows of Main Street’s bustling stores
The aroma of fresh bread wafts tauntingly from the bakery
With my hands in pockets, finding not even loose change
Overcome with hunger and jealousy, should I resort to thievery?
Mind reeling, contemplating abating moral principals
Suddenly appear familiar brown eyes amid face so dear
The image of deceased wife, Spanish born eyes filled with tears
Speaking, "Abe, the Lord is gracious, walk until head is clear"
I follow the light in her warm eyes reflecting in glass windows
They lead me down the road to a park at the end of town
Dressed in ragged clothing, a man sits with a smile of peace
Breathing white puffs in frigid air, this gentle soul sees my frown
The message is plain, as my fears begin to clear
There is a greater depth in a soul of love well kept
The night is far spent; I kissed the hand of this gentle man
He smiled sweetly and said, "Lift up heavy head from dread"
I look up to see sun glistening on snow-laden pine boughs
It’s here, Christmas Day, and I’ve left my children alone all night
An ache in my heart compels me to race quickly back through town
Breathlessly, I reach my porch unprepared for a welcome sight
Hearing laughter within, I smell, yams, turkey and ham
I open my door, on the floor, presents piled high as well
Laughing with glee, sons kiss me, sparkle of brown eyes I see
Sparkling brown eyes, of Spanish descent, love is evident
“From where in the world did all this come,” I ask my sons
“Beautiful lady with Spanish brown eyes, stopped at our door
She said a strange thing, as on the floor our gifts were lain,
‘Tell Abe keep the faith; a mother's love is stronger than the grave.’
Her hugs and kisses, will be greatly missed! Who was she, Daddy?"
Thank you, Moses, for joining me and guiding me in this write. Merry Christmas, dear
Poem | |
there’s no footsteps around
but fallen leaves
heaven is listening
wind blows the mind
leaves falling softly
Poem | |
Down where the blackberries now bloom
Blackberry winter is near
Jack Frost comes tonight maybe doom
With you here there's no fear
'Oar's frost might kill the early plants
But in dreams they returned
Strong and better for fall's harvest
Orange pumpkins weren't doomed
Blackberry winter has entered
My life left me barren
Devoid of warmth feeling much strifed
Need again warmth of grandchildren
Holding little one close_ touch softness
Strange how one misses small
Things like tenderness, acceptableness
A kiss that comforts squall
Blackberry winter here to stay
Or miracle will come
For a miracle steadily pray
Baby on knee awesome
Poem | |
Coddled years of uncertainty muddled with unwrapped gifts of faith
Amongst the memories that stand focus is one tender moment I recall
She came without fanfare or sweet attention without ill will or doubt
Knees pressed on floorboards eyes of amber needing quiet rest, I knew
She was the one who could deliver me from pain, without a given doubt
I burned the candle to the ground, and shed tears at the foothills of her;
I saw her in the dark moth eaten closet of my fears and consummations
I saw her in that first communion wafer as the porous tongue absorbed
I saw her in my tender comforts, when there was no one else around
Clinging on pink walls where martyrs hung in symmetrical thin rooms
Through veiled eyes of sorrow, a mystics gender disposition, that I am!
Abridged in breviaries by early morning dawn, a beaded Rosary of valor
Passed down by generations of devoted mother –hoods, she was passage
Between this life and heaven, a calming antidote beyond earth's measure
She surpasses all human understanding, the Ave Maria, is a Fiat of Love
I gave her my heart as a Laudes, for all the canonical hours of my life.
For contest: Jesus and Mary for Easter for Debbie
Poem | |
In the Christmas Freeze of 1983
Mama thought she lost her Oleander tree
Some called it a “bush,” but at 14 feet tall
Its shadow cast wide on her home’s southern wall
How she mourned the loss of this beloved plant
She begged the Lord for any blessing He’d grant
The freeze ended soon, though her tree appeared dead
The scent of water each day clung to its bed
On January twenty-fourth, the call came
Dad said mom entered God’s heavenly domain
A neighbor had found her, lying in the yard
Next to remnants of a plant she’d not discard
In May a miracle appeared to occur
The strong plant revived, as if waiting for her
*True occurrence based on my mother’s death, January 24, 1984.
Poem written July 12, 2014
Poem | |
There is a place you can go that is full of only love and Warmth .
you will be surrounded by a light that shines from the Heavens ,
Sprinkles of Silver and Gold.
This place is filled with brilliant colors of Purple , vibrant Gold, all colors.
not one Color is less significant then another ,
for every color is equal here .
This place is surrounded by the beauty of different Flowers.
All flowers have significance here . No one Flower is better then another .
All Flowers are equal here .
It is important you know , you can cry here , and should cry as often as needed .
For the tears will cleanse your Soul and give the Flowers water to grow.
No one Tear is insignificant here , every tear has value and not one is better then another .
money holds no value , Where you live , what you own, has no significance here .
You will be surrounded by a beautiful light that shines from the Heavens .
A shining warm light will encircle you and allow nothing to hurt you .
Hate will be shed at the door light a old jacket of no use.
There is a place of beauty and Worth.
This place will not be found on Earth .
It is a place where no one person is better then another .
Poem | |
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
Poem | |
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell