You are fortunate to have these experiences supporting you to be your vulnerable and real self. Thanks for the reminders about transparency and vulnerability -- letting down the guard.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains — where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,the Maker of heaven and earth…
אֶשָּׂא עֵינַי, אֶל-הֶהָרִים מֵאַיִן, יָבֹא עֶזְרִי.
עֶזְרִי, מֵעִם יְהוָה — עֹשֵׂה, שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ. Psalm 121
How could you who’ve not been beaten
Know the beating of hands
From someone you love,
On a back that knew their tender touch.
Words from the mouth she’d kissed
Like slingshots shot her stones,
Filling her with poison,
Her hands would always quiver.
How could she be expected to forgive The beast whose hail fell upon her ‘Till…
I like to believe
prayers of elders.
A convenient belief
for a 67-year-old
who jokes when she prays.
I can imagine God saying, “Ah…”
“Finally, someone jokes with Me!”
I hope God hears it the way walkers
pause when they spot tiny flowers
on the roadside, yellow, purple, buds, blooms.
I bow, sometimes on the edge of a bed,
protecting knees that used to bother me.
“I know you’ll understand,”
I hope you do.
The elders paint, help kids, grandkids, play piano,
cook roasts, write memoirs —hearts engaged. …
“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” Leo F. Buscaglia (My Love-class teacher)
You are invited into my experience on the dance floor of the Masonic Lodge in Culver City, California, U.S.A., Earth pre-pandemic, pre-return to non-distanced dance gatherings. Perhaps a hundred are gathered in this “Five Rhythms” dance class where they will do free-form movement to five different rhythms of music corresponding to different rhythms of life: Flowing, Staccato…
I'm touched by your comment, and thankful for your kind words. The poem started off philosophical ,wanting to say all disappointment is not seeing things from the other's point of view, their context, but then, after various cycles, it became this.
“Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean” תְּחַטְּאֵנִי בְאֵזוֹב וְאֶטְהָר Tehillim (Psalms), 51:9
Let’s mourn for disappointment
at one solemn funeral.
Yes, I wasn’t loved as I might have been
for my quirky, rocking, happy self.
I’ll mourn with daisies, my spirit unseen, unheard.
My words tucked in, disregarded as dandelions gone to seed,
Feeling the hem of velvet dress between my fingers
silky like insides of iris, silent, in the back seat.
I’ll mourn with purple sage.
Is it too late to wonder what I may be… if my parents sat with me peeling branches under the…
O the glory of passion flowers suckled by the breast of the vine!
Spring has brought white puffs on the lemon tree and white, fawn of a bulb who dared to show her tender cheeks after weeks of green leaves.
I sniff the tangerine flowers — new to my eyes, bringing to bear a spray of new fruit of tangerine in May or what may.
The deep red pomegranate blossoms evoke an ancient past. I'll suck the seeds until the sweetest last.
Though troubles threaten in the news, in life cares, I trust the scent of orange blossom to blow…
Goal: Ignite your heart, soul, and laughter with humorous, spiritual, psychologically healing stories informed by service as a clinical social worker 30 years.