Whispers as I hurriedly pass them by.
Whispers that could really make me cry.
Those whispers filled my head with doubt.
I didn’t realize what being poor was all about.
Whispers about the clothes that I wore.
Whispers as if it was a crime to be poor.
Rumors were rife in the school yard.
Those whispers really did make life hard.
Invited to parties, I didn’t want to go.
All snickering. Did they think I didn’t know?
I knew bringing a gift of a potted plant wasn’t right.
Their whispers didn’t even wait till I was out of sight.
Whispers continued when I was a young teen.
The rumors got worse, the whispers were mean.
Slowly but surely, I overcame their sneers.
Learning to be proud of who I am, over the years.
Now and always in my heart I will keep,
Whispers from my Dad "We love you" each night as I fell asleep.
Reflections of reading poetry SK
At eight years old I read the famous lines
and spellbound, read each word again,
then I was there: I stood in snowy woods,
no longer seeing school and constant rain.
Finding a place to belong,
in childhood's lonely song,
up on grandma's swing,
I fly high and sing.
Sailing in the clouds of blue,
finding joy so true,
supported by a walnut tree,
I am finally free.
As my friendless soul escapes
by the tangerines and grapes,
I sail from earth to heaven,
a boy of only seven.
Birdy, please, a quill to pen,
for when I'm back on earth again.
By my window, I stay and watch children play
I can hear their shouts of joy and hilarity.
Like tiger cubs, sometimes they fight,
Alerting the neighborhood to their noisy gaiety.
This scene has taken me back to my childhood.
As I move my hands through grooves of the past,
Before me opens, lovely vistas of happy days!
When such shadowy phantoms fill my brain
I yearn to be reborn once more a child.
As tiny kids, we ran down grassy slopes,
Looking for wild blooms and butterflies.
Ran up high hills to gather wild berries
Our carefree days, buoyant like bubbles.
Gone are those sweet times of frolic
With springing steps, wrapped in wonder~
Is it the death of verdant spring?
Or autumn’s ripe mellowing?
As a bygone sunset, the joy of childhood is gone.
Lost in tides of time. Will we ever get it back?
Childhood- a sweet gift, once and for all…
The crayfish hies it
Under the flat, shale rock that
Smells of moss and fish.
He stands fierce; claws akimbo
Ready to fend off a boy.
Leaves dance around the maple, complaining
Grumbling that autumn’s breath is too near
And, I remember times that don’t need explaining
Leaping in piles of crunchy leaves, without fear
Melodies, graceful as a prayer in the soul
Glorifying the Creator of this gentle fall
Winds and rain couldn’t stop – we felt whole
Because of the wonder in that autumn’s call
We soared through the air toward the pile,
Mountains of leaves buried us in their scent
This is what it means to be a child with a smile
Playing in leaves with autumn’s quiet consent
It felt like a psalm was being read by this day
Our hearts knew the melody of such grace
This is the meaning of heaven sent, I pray
That everyone discovers autumn’s sweet embrace
On the hills, and in the valleys, there are leaves
Just waiting for a child’s laughter and mirth
It only takes this memory and my soul believes
Nature offers solace to the children on earth
A white tear bled from the foil seam,
a cold, lactic rot sliding down her woven leather heel,
drawing a pale, sour map across her instep.
I watched the porcelain skin of her shoe drink the milk,
and in that quiet curdling, my entire small frame snapped.
A choir of jagged iron shrieked beneath my skull,
tearing through the bone and behind my eyes:
a ruined child deserves no sun.
I did not wait for any reflex.
I dragged myself by the throat,
spat curses into my own ears,
and ran.
I bolted past the garden gate,
past the tall, unbothered grass,
my bare feet slapping the dirt in a rhythm of
self - contempt and fault.
In the damp dark behind the compost heap,
I pressed my face into the stinging nettles,
scraping my knees against the jagged limestone,
offering my own raw, bleeding shins to the air
to pay the debt for what I had done
praying the earth would swallow the wretched thing I was.
Lavender clung to Grammy like a familiar blessing,
a soft aura rising from her walk-in closet~
that kingdom of faux furs and pearlized buttons
where dresses hung like quiet stories waiting to be told.
I sat beside her at her dressing table,
watching the slow choreography of her bronze-brown hair
as she brushed it into its practiced sweep,
each stroke a reminder of the elegance she carried
long after her hand-model days had faded from magazines.
She tore two sheets of paper poudre,
handing one to me as if passing down a secret rite.
“Gently,” she said, and I followed her movements,
feeling the powder lift whatever childhood dust remained
from my ten-year-old cheeks, leaving them soft, matte, new.
Foundation, rouge, a whisper of plum on her lips~
then her porcelain hands folded mine inside them,
their warmth steady, their touch feather light.
“You’re a lady now,” she said; in that moment, I believed her~
believed I was becoming her lady-in-waiting,
one beautiful enough to be part of her gracious royalty.
My childhood memories as I recollect
I asked for bicycle as Christmas present.
Dad said ‘Fine! Just to put a clause.
Not me. It will be gifted by Santa Claus.’
Rejoiced to see the bicycle on Christmas day.
Door ball rang, someone produced the bill to pay .
I rushed to Dad ‘Santa in guise has come to claim money.’
Dad told ‘He has sent me message, my honey!
I am paying just at present.
He is sure to make me repayment.’
Pain creeped in with the early hours of the morning,
I was doubled over in pain.
As I was screaming,
my dad was wrapping me in a blanket.
Off to the hospital he sped,
then carrying me through the big doors.
My appendix was about to burst open,
emergency surgery was for me.
Red maples blush at dusk
their turning leaves drift down in soft quiet spirals
soft fall dusk
Autumn winds rise
they tint the fields with ember light
winds rise
Frost comes
slow leaf spirals
hue
Red maples blush at dusk
they tint the fields with ember light
hue
when fickle fate upsets our plan
we then do a consciousness scan
playing our hand as the cards fall
poised in vibrance in a bliss squall
propelled by divine magnetism
which illumines body-mind prism
so we simply watch life unfold
as familiar stories retold
spirits the same in new forms donned
forging a temporary bond
where once ego’s cry is decried
all energies are unified
ending seeming separation
merged as one in God’s creation
so as our presence we thus hone
in time we come into our own
The waves cascade upon the starry shore
and wash across the grains of sand they find
to share its motion, a timeless captor
to give freedom to my spirit confined
soon it will soar in realms of passing dreams
that glide on the visions trapped in my mind
wondrous worlds where nothing is as it seems
colored kaleidoscopes there to remind
of landscape pictures where I'm a refuge
memories that flee, some are bad some are good
to sit on this shore where my thoughts flow free
and feel life's rhythm as it's understood
to not be a hostage to years I bear
escape life's chains, I'll never again wear
Shadows, how they fall
In distances, from the walls
And the citadels, that they had built for all of us.
And from our ancestors to our ash
None of this will to will, will last
As we again do cast, shadows to the north of I, and shadows to the south, of some lost and lonely self,
Lost in straw; and imagining,
At what made shadows and what will Gods, and what the demons that will wait to pounce upon the fools, at the gate.
And loss to lost, and the record of our loss will fall to shadows
Distant and receding
To shores undreamt and conceding
To the dreamers of the dream, (in) dreaming.
And now by the light of some other dawn, come the shadows standing tall,
Like watcher's watching all of us,
From some n'other wall that towers over and above some other huddled, muddled mass
All lost in straw, with fevered dreams and muttered prayers;
Lost to time and lost to cares
Then forgot, and gotten caught in shadows grasp.
And shadow grasps at straw;
And shadow grasps,
Without no bones to gnaw upon
No bones to pray what for
Nor make much more
Than what it was we had to made before, remembering
The divide in us.
Water slick as glass,
Golden light casting a dance,
Where my thoughts wander,
Watching birds fly to their home,
Ruby cold holds my regret.
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