I’ve made a deal,
not much of a price was paid.
One last family meal together—
Dad’s cheeks rosy,
my mother happy,
a playful pinch from my brother,
my sister’s belly laugh.
“What is your favourite room in the house?”
At 8, I said my room.
I was alone a lot,
and convinced myself I liked it.
But now,
in my late twenties,
I cry myself to sleep.
I’ve traded a day of my life
to relive another.
At 25
inside my 8-year-old body—
how do I answer?
The living room.
Where we lived the most together:
movie nights,
salty French toast,
big games,
rewatching recitals—
eating, laughing,
breathing together.
My chest tightens,
my eyes swell.
My dad rests his hand
on my shoulder.
“Well said, baby.
I like this day too.“
The skyline cuts through faded tones,
With moonglow blazing gilded bronze
And fluid my ink is interlaid
As nightfall drifts like a peace shroud
The glass pane teeters in the breeze
With my pen zigzagging on damp papyrus
I hear an old couple laugh on the alley
Their banter rolling , perhaps, of younger times--
Across them, a lone man trots, forlorn
His bent spine enduring road's travail,
Leading his wobbly feet to tangles of blooms
While egrets scuffle homeward bound.
My mixed thoughts wander at this picture show
...Receding off so gradually
From the tip- tap screech of cobblestones
To my pane's sill, fingers reach for verses
Where each day is a page to write new stories
About jagged yet sleek edges of time's folly
My hands sinking into tattered phrases, kneading
Recitals of life with unknown episodes.
TO MY GROWN CHILDREN
For my four children I've been working
Almost every day
There was never enough time to play with you
There were baseball games, dance recitals
That you wanted me to come to
But with all the time working
There was never enough time for any of you
On weekdays and weekends, I had to do my chores
So it left very little time for you four
I may always say maybe the next time
Which I might have said so many other times
Sometimes I had to work all night
And I wouldn't see you to the next morning light
I know our lives are short, and days go by fast
And all your children grow up in a flash
Then I finally realized that my children
Are no longer by my side
And now I no longer have to provide
I still have pictures I can still look at
Showing me the past and the laughter
I'm retired now and once I was so busy
Now all my body and hands are still
And for me, these days are too quiet and hard to kill
I wish I could go back into the past
And change all the ways I reacted
And for my four grown children
I want to say I'm sorry, and I want to say you are all
One in a million and I love you all
When I was little, before I started school,
my dream was to be a professional dancer
for I knew I had that natural talent instilled
in me, talent that was not taken seriously.
The magic, beauty of dance stayed in me.
Although, I never had any dance lessons,
I was always selected to perform at my
schools, recitals and community events.
Life took over and as I navigated the many
twists, turns, inclines and descents of my life,
like a roller coaster, it became loud and clear
I was not meant to be a professional dancer.
My burning desire to dance flickered, as it
was put on the back burner for many years.
It was set on fire after I retired and started
dance lessons and living the time of my life.
It has been six years since I have been doing what
I love, dancing to express the beauty of dance in
my feelings, grace, agility, moves that the people
around me watch and feel the liveliness within me.
Yes, they come and tell me ….
I awoken with a song on my heart
As my mind recites, Jesus
In my pointing vision I'm receiving
Views dreams in part
I'm totally found not lost
Awakening in the arms of Our Father
Listening to the bird's recitals
I join in we All praise God
5/22/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2o23
Sixteen years ago he left me,
I was only two years old.
He chose a life of crime instead,
At least that's what I've been told.
He never tried to come back,
No gifts, cards, or calls.
While he was drinking and running from cops,
I was learning how to crawl.
He missed my first steps,
Missed my recitals and my first play,
He missed all my brothers football games,
I wanted to know why he didn't stay.
I thought it was my fault,
I turned toward men and drugs.
I was only eleven years old
Meeting up with plugs.
I replaced him with pills and powder,
Their love in place of his.
For seven years, I road the high,
Until the overdose had proved what this life really is.
Mom forced me to detox,
To rid my body of the addiction.
The drugs, the drinks, and the wanting to know
How my father could cause such an affliction.
I've been sober for a year now,
Sober from drugs and my need for him.
And though it took some time, I know,
The truth is rather grim.
He’s never coming home again,
He chose the life he leads.
And from him and all of my hurdles,
I have finally been freed.
The movers wheeled the piano in the apartment
my tutors revealed plateaus climbed as an artist
hours flying pages turned black and white keys charted
scoured trying ages I played packed plight I started
recitals, concert halls, from practicing hardest
reprisals, my art calls, the piano sits modest
In my twilight years I teach children to harvest
the wild bright light nears, to each the piano harnessed
Life skills for the modern woman:
POSTURE & BALANCE
HIGH TEA PROMINADE
SONG & DANCE RECITALS
ENGLISH GARDEN ETIQUETTE
FASHION & STYLE SYMPOSIUM
INTER-MURAL BADMINTON & CROQUET
GENDER INFLECTIONS: SAYING 'YES' WITH YOUR EYES
DEAN WORTHINGTON’S CATNIP SOCIAL (BY INVITATION ONLY)
If it’s serious, call Poise and Control
1-800-con-trol (266-8765)
ADVERTISEMENT
Tiny seed with embryo in toe
awaits the sower to decipher
all it's wants and needs,
to grow captive, in plots and pots.
Nature knows the needs of seeds off by heart.
Growers learn the code of what and when
by rote declension recitals of scripts,
and wasteful trial and error plantings.
Such failed trials and tribulations prove
costly to seeds left to rot, freeze-dry and die
when sown in cold, parched and barren,
foreign lands.
Fresh blossoms of tall oaks
Cherry tree’s tender flowers
Rose bush’s charming buds
Shimmering wraps of emerald
Butterfly skipping around creepers
Duck pair wooing in pool waters
Family of deer grazing upon pastures
Keen songbirds’ euphonious recitals
Blooming vines’ meditative fragrance
Coolness of breezes carrying it over
Mother Earth’s flair of splendor
Rays of hope and assurance
Smita Kulkarni
04/07/2021
sorting through memories
of concerts and piano recitals
rheumatoid fingers tickle
broken forgotten keys
inlaid with the laughter of
ebony and ivory
Mothers sit and wait a great deal of their lives
At dance recitals
At softball games
At skating rinks
Mothers sit and wait a great deal of their lives
Outside school buildings
Outside churches
Outside art studios
Mothers sit and wait a great deal of their lives
for some fathers to wise up
for some fathers to return
for some fathers to take their turns sitting and waiting
His life was marked by infinite strides,
Breakable down into a chanted psalm;
And a doleful hymn after psalters' word,
Plus a petition to bid the kingdom come.
Keener listeners his recitals yet might hear
In plaintive crescendos in misty auras near;
Are not his footsteps bold in deathless ink,
On dark planes along the latent silvery link?
His ever-pledged faith soared on basis lean:
Choice psalms to check soul's bubbly brims;
Caroled hymns to shut heart's bestial whims;
Tacit prayers for mind and conscience clean.
Opposing these no devilish heads may rise;
No mortal skin more lethal ammunitions kept
In trinity synchrony winning wars against vice;
Blazing witty fires beyond Eden's eternal debt.
With a psalm and a hymn and contrite prayer,
He fought and slew old fogs that trillions dare.
~
Here on the night before yesterday’s dream,
twilight composers retreat
Laughing at whispers a’ flow on the stream,
happily taking a seat
Practicing meadowlark lyrics to sing,
strumming a toadstool in tune
Awaiting the light that the fireflies bring,
blinking a wink at the moon
Tulips with tambourines gather around,
spider web chandeliers glow
Shade tree sonatas, a wonderful sound,
echoing up from below
Pine cone recitals and blueberry sighs,
star dust ovations in rhyme
Choruses sung beneath velveteen skies,
harmonic three quarter time
Orchestral canopies glisten above,
melodic rainbows the view
Performing songs written solely of love,
played on this evening for you
~
I reposted this one because.....I really liked this one. : )
I almost called you several times
I know it's been a while
I had the phone right in my hand
but never got to dial
Something kept distracting me
every time I tried
Babies crying, P.T.A.,
my son needing a ride
Two weeks ago I planned to call
but many things came up
School recitals, soccer games,
we got a brand new pup
It's always nice to talk to you
I know it's been a while
Every time we chat my friend
you always make me smile
I'm sorry when you called last week
I couldn't talk with you
I'm sure my son explained that I
had many things to do
Finally when I got the chance
just the other day
The stranger's voice that spoke to me
it took my breath away
I've always loved to talk with you
I know it's been a while
It's really very easy to
pick up the phone and dial
Oh, how I'd love to talk with you
for you, some time I'd save
But it's too late and here I am
weeping at your grave
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