A Found Poem –


The following poem is composed of my lines and lines from other poems I found on WordPress. I have included the attributions at the end.

Soft promises made

By hidden thoughts

Only I could see

 

I know you love the ocean

And the magic of its waves

You see at the distance  

a rowboat sway in peace

And nature whispers in the dark –

How much the earth loves you back

 

A super moon appears

To light the way

And if

If you want to keep a secret

And keep it well

Then I will tell

The world

Miracles are real.

Attributions:

Persistence


Persistence is a lonely road

I have taken many times

my feet are torn and weary

my heart beats slowly

with fears out of control

 

Persistence claims its toll

at every stop I make

There is no such thing as a break.

But one thing I know to be true

in spite of difficulty or opposition

It will be ultimately my decision

to move forward

and not look back.

 

Because when I think I lack

the determination and patience

to continue on that lonely road

I think of all those before me

who never ever gave up.

I hear their voices

and I lift myself up again.

Persistence is my friend.

 

 

The Window


“She opened her curtains, and looked out towards the bit of road that lay in view, with fields beyond outside the entrance-gates. On the road there was a man with a bundle on his back and a woman carrying her baby; in the field she could see figures moving – perhaps the shepherd with his dog. Far off in the bending sky was the pearly light; and she felt the largeness of the world and the manifold wakings of men to labor and endurance. She was a part of that involuntary, palpitating life, and could neither look out on it from her luxurious shelter as a mere spectator, nor hide her eyes in selfish complaining.”                               -George Elliot

 

The Window

     My mother had just moved into a new senior housing apartment in NYC. It is what she could afford at the time. Being a very independent woman she decided she wanted to live on her own.

The small efficiency was located across the street from a hospital. She told me one day that when she looked out the window she’d see when they removed corpses wrapped inside body bags. The bodies would be put into funeral hearses through the back entrance of the hospital.

This was almost a daily happening. I asked her not to look out the window if it upset her and her response was, “Am I supposed live in the dark and with the curtains drawn all the time?” I felt so bad for her. She had waited a long time for this apartment. It was walking distance to department stores, her doctors and the local McDonald’s which she liked.

A few months passed and she finally gave in and asked me to help her look for another place to live. She had become depressed. We convinced her to come and live with us for a while until we could find her a better location.

One day, her blood pressure went up sky-high and she became very disoriented. This was the first time this had happened. She asked me about the window. I thought she was referring to the window in the apartment close to the hospital. I kept reassuring her that she was nowhere near that window. Little did I realize she was asking me about another window.

This window had brought her joy. It was the window that had a view of the street where we lived from my birth until I started kindergarten. That window’s views were of neighborhood children playing. It was through that window that called out to us. That window received a gentle knock from my dad when he got home from work every evening. It was the look out window in the summer. Our friends and neighbors would stop by to chat and bring my mom fresh-baked bread or other goodies. Our neighbors were so friendly and family oriented:  we were always sharing food. This was the window that had the beautiful curtains she had made herself. We all took pictures in front of that window. It was the window that opened up to memories.

I realized my mom was simply remembering a time when she was truly happy. She recovered from that scary episode with her high blood pressure. It never happened again.

I went back to visit my old neighborhood about a year ago. It has changed quite a bit but the window is still the same. I do not think it has ever been renovated.

It’s funny what reminds us of these moments in our lives. I happened to come across the quote by George Elliot and suddenly all these thoughts streamed through my memory. My mother is no longer with us. I hope she has a good view from her window. I hope she sees us and that she knows how much we miss her.

My sister and me

                       My sister and I in front of the window my mother loved.

 

2018 0r @)!* – What I look forward to…


 

 

On the eve of a new year

I make a list of things

I look forward to in my life.

No resolutions, not any more;

they never really worked any time before.

I list only things that I know will bring me Joy

and hope that my family too might enjoy.

This year I look forward to the birth

of another grand child

bringing the total to four

and looking forward to maybe one more.

I look forward to  watching the trees

fill up with leaves

and cherry blossoms galore

and sit under our great big oak

to think about the people I adore.

I look forward to summer nights

with skies full of bright stars

and super moons

that stream their light

through the doors I left ajar

I look forward to

new love songs

that make me feel young again

I look forward to long talks

with my dearest and best friend.

I look forward to the book

that someone is just now thinking about writing

in hopes that world is inspired

and we all start loving each other

and forget about what started all the fighting

These things I look forward to

may seem dull and corny to a few

but I hope that many of you

know that all I really want to do

is to spread love and that you feel

the Peace you may agree is overdue.

Happy New Year to my fellow bloggers

and the folks who follow this blog.

May every day this new year

only happiness accrue.

 

The Words I Love #2


These are some of the words I truly love:

There’s gorgeous, grandiose, and green

then there’s soothe, silly, and savvy

and of course, omnipotent, and magnanimous

along with mini and mania,

but best of all are verbs

like kiss, kissing, and kissed.

These words I will forever miss.

Since this first poem I have added some more words I love.

 

There’s lenience, tolerance, and mercy

attention, expectation, phenomenon

unity, diversity, and harmony

humility, reverence and respect

but the best are verbs and acts of kindness

like love, loving, inspiring, and unifying

giving, caring, and keep

I deeply hope you got my gist

Let us stand up and help love persist.

Reasons for Writing a Poem


Melba Christie at Poemattic

10 Reasons for Writing a Poem

1. To tell someone how much you care

2. To describe something beautiful

3. To keep a memory alive

4. To instill courage

5. To help someone forget something dreadful

6. To tell it like it is

7. To help yourself figure it all out

8. To inspire

9. To keep your sanity

10. Just because…. 

 by Melba Christie

Photo by Melba Christie

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The Role of a Poet


Thinking of a few beloved poets: Emily Dickinson, Gwendolyn Brooks, Yeats, Poe, Christina Rossetti I continue to focus on the Role of the Poet and how I play that role.

Melba Christie at Poemattic

I often ask myself what is the role or job of the poet? Each time the response depends on what is happening in the world and in my personal life. I ask other poets the same question. Sometimes I wish I could ask my favorite poets, especially those who became well-known after they passed. I could imagine their reaction when they learn in their after life that people finally get and appreciate the poems they wrote.

As I pondered the question I went back to my collection of poetry books and looked for some insights.  Inspired by poet’s biographies and other readings, I wrote a poem that hopefully answers the question. I mean if you have ever asked yourself what is the role of the poet.

The Role of the Poet

I believe the world needs a poet more today

It needed one yesterday as well

because a poet is…

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