Tag Archives: strength

LEAD WITH THE HEART

Lead with the heart

and the mind will follow

a path of peace and hope,

strong enough to carry

dreams and generosity

for all those you meet.

No matter how difficult

the journey it will not be taken

alone, silently, fearfully.

The heart knows best what matters.

The heart knows the best path.

The heart unites us joyfully.

The heart beats life determinedly.

The heart overcomes strife.

Lead with the heart and do your part

to create a world worth living.

Some paths are famous and large.

Some paths are unrecognized and small.

Every path matters to those

who walk it and make it their own.

Every path converges as we move

into the great unknown.

Leave a comment

Filed under POETRY

THE AGE OF PRETEND

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

We find it charming, not alarming,

when children pretend.

The young boy child,

towel tied beneath his chin

and spread across small shoulders

waves an imaginary sword high

and suddenly feels bolder;

his power felt from head to toe,

ready to defeat any foe.

The young girl child,

Her American Girl doll in tow,

and dressed for the next chapter

she reads in her book which will show

how she can claim her place

in a world within her safe space.

It is a world of their own.

Children too often feel alone.

Childhood play is a godsend

when the acceptance of fear

is boldly met by playing pretend.

It does not stop at adulthood

when we need  for ourselves to fend

and parents’ efforts subside

as children claim adult pride.

Adults, too, need a reprieve

from threats vaguely perceived.

The woman alone in her bed

seeking a strong chest 

upon which to lay her head,

clutches her pillow instead

to lessen her dread.

She seeks a strong arm

to lessen her alarm.

The man alone on his couch,

in front of the TV, leaps from a crouch 

and shouts with untamed glee

when the quarterback throws free

and the opponent is defeated,

the pass completed.

The victory becomes his own.

At every age we pretend

to overcome what we fear,

what we do not feel strong enough to overcome,

what we imagine might cause unknown harm,

what we cannot imagine we can handle alone.

We are never, really, fully grown.

We fear we shall always be denied

the connected love our hearts need most.

We pretend the pride which allows us to hide.

What if, we stopped pretending?

What if we reached out for community?

What if we sought requited love in unity?

We live in an age of pretend.

When and where will it end?

Photo by Polesie Toys on Pexels.com

Leave a comment

Filed under POETRY

WEEDS

Photo by Marta Nogueira on Pexels.com

I love every root and branch

and bud and leaf and flower

holding tight potential

of their power

to change the earth

to a thing of beauty.

I even love the weeds,

especially the weeds

who grow between the cracks

in spaces where it seems

all nourishment and bounty lacks.

Weeds like me who do not match

the temper of the garden crowded

with well-trained and tended

seedlings following the garden pattern.

Such weeds seek light despite

the darkness hidden from view

which holds them tight

as they struggle and wage war

against the forces of cement

paving the way for others meant

to get ahead and reach their goal.

Weed’s only goal is to survive.

And yet weeds seem to thrive

when droughts abound

and heavy rains drown

roots tenderly planted

by those in charge

killing gardens which once delighted

and now appear blighted.

Weeds persist as they resist

the easy way, no easy prey

for those who grow bouquets

not for their own intrinsic value,

but to pick and tie with ribbon

that they may tie down the recipient

to whom they are given,

happy not to have to

deal with weeds.

Weeds are stronger than they.

Weeds survive the darkest days.

A world without weeds

would be a sorry place, indeed.

Leave a comment

Filed under POETRY

GRIEF

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com

Everyone grieves in their own way, so they say.

But, steadfast Grief remains the same.

Lips once tilted in joy, Grief holds tight with the strain

of holding back anger and keeping screams at bay.

Grief tightens the brow and hardens the eye

to hold back the tears which threaten to slide

tearing apart all that we hold deep inside.

Cheeks held too tight crease 

and create runnels where tears may glide.

Grief clutches jaws held fearfully tight.

Once tears escape, will our held-back sobs fight

with a pulse so strong they can never be stopped?

Like a street thug, Grief pounds us into submission

and never takes time to ask our permission.

It pushes us down with pummels fierce and powerful.

Grief uses its bruising punches to keep us sorrowful.

We lie on hard pavements praying for the end to our suffering.

We feel we are losing our grip on reality.

We clutch at old truths, begging help to appear and lessen our sorrow.

Even Grief grows tired over time and lessens its blows.

Help comes when we unclench jaws and scream,  

and shout, and let our tears and fears outwardly flow.

Soften the eyes. Relax the brow. Let the tears flow. 

Tears wash away sorrow that new faith can be planted

in every tomorrow, with new ways to love

and new paths to follow.

Signs of grief always remain in new lines

that furrow about our lips, across the edge of our eyes,

and on necks which will, henceforth, our heads tip

slightly down, with greater humility, a bit.

Over time bruises heal, muscles grow stronger.

We learn we can handle the tough thugs who sit

on the sidelines, hidden in shadow.

We learn love again, embracing those who came to help.

We learn faith again, embracing those who prayed by our side.

We learn hope again, embracing those who helped us to our feet.

We stand again on loving, faith-filled, hopeful feet;

and, find a new path where joy and laughter can leads us.

We see our new selves in the eyes of those we pass.

We are stronger and last longer than Grief ever could.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

ROSE

Rose growing in Louise Annarino’s garden

I should have been named Rose,

for I am full of thorns. 

Those who draw too near,

or dare to touch too readily

may bleed, and dance uneasily.

I turn to the sun in passion’s grace.

I welcome any rains that come.

I am unafraid of blowing winds.

I dodge the hail dumped by storms.

I scent the garden in sweet surrender.

I allow the strong of heart to pluck my blooms.

I await thoughtful gardeners who seek my embrace.

I should have been named Rose.

2 Comments

Filed under POETRY

HAKUNA MATATA

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com

Last night I had a wonderful dream.

Hakuna matata was the theme.

Swahili words danced on the breeze.

No trouble. No worries. Take it easy.

Children gathered brushes growing near the river, tools

and colors of paint, as a woman sat on a low stool.

A camera scrolled across the scene from far above

a landscape filled with laughter and love.

One by one each child applied texture and painted lines

across every inch of the woman, now becoming a lion.

Proud and strong she rose up and laughingly stated

“Hakuna matata”. All chatter around her solemnly abated.

Then, voices united as one, the children shouted with glee

“Hakuna matata. No trouble. No worries. Take your ease!”

After that, sleep came easily.

Leave a comment

Filed under POETRY

Flowers not Bullets

Even the flowers wear armor.

They hide their sweetest nectar

deep inside the keep

of their castle,

Behind high walls

surrounded by moats

of thorns and ramparts

of bristles and thistles.

Tender they appear.

But tough they are.

Bending in fierce winds

they survive.

Pass the flowers not bullets.

Flowers are stronger.

They hurt no one.

Their scent perfumes a planet.

Their tender gift of beauty

stirs love and forgiveness.

Even flowers wear armor

to protect themselves.

Leave a comment

Filed under POETRY

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS

What brings the night to bear

such weighted worry and care

that sleep eludes the grip

of dreams yearning to appear

and yawning gasps for air ?

Breath settles too deep

in lungs already fast asleep

while brain sizzles and burns

in a body which tosses and turns.

And thus, I leave my bed to write

of nothing even close to delight,

knowing I shall face down dawn

weary, drooped and drawn.

The words continue awake and long

for a place I can feel strong.

Leave a comment

Filed under POETRY