Archive for the ‘People and Places’ Category

I cry but no one hears
I bleed and my load grows
I die while no one cares
Haiti, I too, am yours

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Yellow dressed child of four
impatience written on her face…
She stomps her foot to refute
the answer given her.
Her brother shakes his head
in utter consternation, as he
informs his sister of her mistake.
She crosses her arms, brows drawn
and lips pouting as she thinks.
Big brother draws her closer
and bestows a loving hug.
She breaks into a radiant smile.
Her fits now forgotten
she resumes her play…
Such is the wonder
of being four years old.

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A poem you asked me then to write
in words describing who you are
In a few lines capture just right
your true nature, viewed from afar

Youth full of life, charismatic
shy or gregarious, at times both
But never melodramatic
maturing at such rapid growth

Pastel colors, hued in lightness
your favorites, for now at least
Imbued, instilled in deemed rightness
a hope, a will, yet unreleased

So who are you, really, truly?
A wistful task I now believe
To be noted and quite duly
you are, yourself, my dear Olive

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Masked faces of strange beings
all mere shadows of souls
grappling others for sustenance

Cockroaches scurrying along
black tar riddled monuments
worn down reminders of the past

No more beaches. Nothing but sand
dark and grey not pearly white
streaked with rotting remains

Everyday, acrid smoke permeates
on roads corroded by acid rain
filling the air with stench

No trace of what once was
not of dignity or humanity
not a shadow, none at all

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I am a poet with lofty dreams
just an outcast without a name
I frown at the ways and schemes
of base society’s type of fame

I am a poet with lofty dreams
blessed to write, in verses’ toil
dressed in nothing but the whims
of applauds that shadows spoil

I am a poet with lofty dreams
rich in the experience of pain
I cater not to vanity’s screams
of hollowed hopes, all in vain

I am a poet with lofty dreams
that dwell on life’s many faces
My poetry is a sword that gleams
sharpened true by pitfalls’ graces

I am a poet with lofty dreams
who aims to rise from unknown mire
If gifted true I am, as so it seems
my dreams in time, I will acquire

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Eyes that look deeply
into the depths of one’s soul
Laughter that is uplifting
pressing diamonds out of coal

Hugs and sweet kisses
that sure strengthens the weary
Cries and soft whimpers
forbid other things so dreary

Pure limitless energy
just zooming off to adventure
Grins and silly giggles
a tired parent’s proven cure

Children are it’s true
our very own earth angels
Forever in our hearts
living and breathing miracles!

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Gathered round by a common need
each one of us wanting to belong
Seeking wisdom, laughter to share
as the years pass, made us strong

Tears flow, with the good times
Tears come, in the days of sad
We struggle with our differences
unmasking those of evil clad

Our faces change, as years come
Lines may show of weathered fate
Still our hearts, together are
linked by a force: love so great

Miles of land may separate us
Our last meeting, may be ages ago
Time and space, does not matter.
We are friends. Our souls know.

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Myths and legends
wrapped into one
Poetry and prose
all gloriously done

Gods and goddesses,
clothes billowing white
Temples and statues
a truly grand sight

Fame and fortune
behind a friendly face
Love and life
beyond time and space

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Aileen in her red hat and yellow hair
straddling men and horses for her fair share
looking for riches that may come her way
as she juggles three jobs from day to day

Sue Ellen who strips down at Crazy Rock
divorced, still sports a heart sans key and lock
hoping to one day dress again in white
and dreams of a future that shines so bright

While by the bay in a far away place
Luani breaks tradition’s tight embrace
She will not be swayed, she uses her mind
learning from the past time has left behind

Different tales, yet not one of surprise
By product of a society’s rise
and morality’s fall, come to a head?
An argument that won’t be put to bed.

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and she waters the plants
like she always does.
She touches their leaves
with wrinkled hands of brown
browned by the sun and summers
she had lost count long ago.
Her hair with silver streaks
proudly worn with no adornment
adorning a soul of strength
born out of weathered fate.
In quiet contentment I watch
my gardener friend as she plants
planting more than blooms to share
she infuses my life with new color.

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