A Call for Certainty


“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
“What’s in a name?”
A name possesses a soul of its own
A soul does not leave the body until it garners enough love
For eternity to judge its worth

My heart hankers for peace if that is what it is called
Because sometimes it seems what we have entitled it
does not truly claim or maintain it,
“Peace is not a season but a way of life.”

“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
Am I to blame for such uncertainty?
A longing for something so elusive,
So exclusive
That not even my brain can perceive
Or receive
“What is in a name, I asked my muse.”
“All my life, my heart has longed for a thing I could not name.”

Will my desire be the refrain?

Nature’s Rage


 

 

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Once again
Nature‘s rage surges oceans
and waves cart-wheel along the shores.

Nature’s indignation
Tired of our ways
shakes the terrain
while the weather vane
warns and advises
that Sandy
(a name innately innocuous)
has been upgraded to a hurricane,
potential able to plunk down tons of rain
All bets are off at Atlantic City.
Mandate decrees
Towns evacuate
Giant oak trees may tumble
No one is ever ready for such rumble

Nature is disposition is unpredictable
and we need to heed its warning
and learn how to respect
I hope the perfect storm
Is not as damaging as the proverbial
Weather seems to expect.

 

 


What is it?

I must have been focused on something else when I took this photograph. I cannot remember what I wanted to photograph. I  do not know why I ended up with this image. Since we are a few days away from Halloween I thought I’d post the photo. If you think you know what the image in photo might be, please let me know. I have reread some of Edgar Allan Poe‘s stories. It might be him with a top hat. I have always loved his short stories. My favorite is the Cask of Amontillado and the Pit and the Pendulum.  What are your favorites? Please send me your responses before October 31, 2012. I have included some excerpts from some of Poe’s poems which I love as well.

 

Annabelle Lee

http://youtu.be/avu6ST9dp3Y

 

Edgar Allan Poe – The Raven – Basil Rathbone by poetictouch

WordPress Blogger’s Quotable Quotes


These are the quotes I want to share with you. There are so many bloggers out there that have such talent and write to lift the spirit. There are many more who are so creative in presenting their photography and other artistic forms of expression. Thanks for sharing your deep thoughts, life’s philosophy and personal experiences. I look forward to reading WordPress bloggers everyday. Happy Blogging

 

From: http://thosesmallmoments.wordpress.com/2012/10/23/listening-to-the-rain/
“The rain’s like this song that we never took the time to listen. A song that frees your mind. A song that makes you feel light and happy but lonely and scared at the same time. A song that touches your soul in a way that you’ll never get to explain (and probably won’t admit). A song that makes you feel at peace with yourself. A song that is made of various rhythms which are harmonized into one long melody. A song that reminds you of immortality and of endless possibilities.”

 
From: http://shoreacres.wordpress.com/2012/10/23/a-reason-to-try/
“This combination of vision and discovery, of seeing and seeking, seems to lead naturally to the essay. It is a different kind of writing, focused on drawing connections, plumbing unsuspected depths, turning the kaleidoscope of words around and around until discovered bits of life, tiny, jewel-like fragments of reality, drop into new and unexpected patterns.”

 

If you want to get a review on a book, you need to check out this blog. 

http://bundleofbooks.org/category/bookshelf/isabel-allende/

“From the moment I opened this book, I was under a spell. And remained so  until the very last page. Isabel Allende’s words are bewitching and I am thankful that I was on holiday when I started, so I could have hours of uninterrupted, beach-reading bliss!”

I love this blog. I do not sew and do not knit, crochet or anything else that involves needles but I grew up watching my mother and my aunt sewing. My daughter takes after them. It is definitely a talent and gift I do not own. My mother-in-law is an artist with needles as well. So to those of you who love to sew this is a great place to get some ideas. The photos show some of my mother-in-law’s talent.

 

 

 

http://agujasblog.com/about/

“Agujas. Needles. I grew up watching my grandmother create beautiful afghans with a single crochet hook and a twist of her hand. I would sit at her side and crochet one long chain after another with her colorful balls of yarn. Years later, I learned to knit, to tejer, but with two agujas and I became entranced by the soothing “click click” rhythm of the needles.”

 

Very true!

From: http://400daystil40.wordpress.com/

Today I was thinking about the fact that we, as people, keep many things locked up in our lives.  We keep physical things locked up and we keep emotional feelings locked up.”

 

What I Want to Forget


I have always feared the idea of developing Alzheimer’s. I cannot imagine not being able to recognize a loved one. I dread thinking of myself being incapable to handle a fork or knife because I have forgotten how to use them. I find this disease one of the saddest and most lonely. But sometimes there are things that I want to forget. There are things that I love to erase from my mind completely. These feeling emerge when I contaminate my brain with too many horrific headlines. The following poem is about the things I want to forget. What are some things that you want to forget or erase from collective memory?Please submit your comments.

 

What I Want to Forget

 

I want to forget the images of under nourished and abused children.

I want to forget the cruelty inflicted upon human beings in war-torn nations.

I want to forget some of the stories I heard as a child about the Holocaust.

I want to forget that so many people in this country go to bed hungry.

I want to forget how so many suffer with incurable diseases because there is no funding to find cures.

I want to forget the sounds of the respirator hooked up to my sister when she was in diabetic coma.

I want to forget about the social wars we wage every day with out end like the war on drugs and violence.

I guess I just want to forget the bad stuff. I want to forget the stuff that questions our humanity.

I suppose I am a dreamer. Or maybe I am in a dream hoping for a better world when I awake.

I do believe that we can help to erase some of these negative things if we join our efforts.

Our humanity is not a figment of our imaginations. Let’s not conform to say that we will never forget some of these atrocities.

I believe that what we can learn to say is that we will not allow any of these things to continue to happen on our watch.

 

 

Journey


I just learned through the media that the missing child I alluded to in last post (poem) was found dead. I cannot imagine the pain the family must be going through. I can only express my deepest condolences in another poem. I do not know that this poem will even reach the girl’s family but my heart aches. Every time I read or hear about another child missing my heart skips a beat. I remember the one time my daughter roamed away from us at the mall. It was the longest and most agonizing 15 minutes of my life. My throat became so dry I could barely speak. My husband became so pale it was as if someone had drained the blood from his body. She had been sitting in the book store the entire time not realizing that we were worried sick looking for her. When we saw her walking back towards us along side the Mall’s security guard I thought I would collapse from the sigh of relief. So I know that desperate feeling one gets when you know your child is missing. All it takes is a minute and your life can change forever.

I do not know all the details of this horrendous crime. The investigation is still fresh. But if indeed someone took this child’s life to steal her bicycle then my heart breaks even more. What a senseless, cruel, inhuman, barbaric act. Only heartless, brainless fools are capable of such a thing. What is happening to some of our youth? How does a bicycle become more valuable than a human life? What can we do to stop the craziness? How do we protect our children?

Here is my poem dedicated to the parents of the victim of this recent tragedy. God be with this family to help them cope with the pain.

A garden full of sweet smelling flowers has begun to grow

getting ready to greet you and invite you to the show

Your parents are aware

and know you must be there

among the angels

but of course they will miss you very much

and long to touch

your face as when they’d tiptoe into your room at night,

to kiss you on the forehead and say goodnight.

Now you are out of sight

to them and to your friends

but none will forget your plight

and we all will continue to flight

to stop what was your fatal destiny

from happening again

We promise to not forget

We promise to remember

the splendor of your short life

on this earth

And when we look up

to see the sky at night

you will be the most beautiful star

shining bright upon us.

 

 

 

 

Another child missing


Pictures scattered on the bed

lay there helpless and shocked

almost knowing

not one of them is current

and that they cannot help the search

for another child missing.

 

One picture whispers, “pray”

the rest in unison respond,

“we have.”

 

Positive thoughts go out to the families of children abducted from close to home. 

 

 

 

How Nature Witnesses


 

Ornately carved in a tree trunk
The initials W & M find permanent refuge
For years people have walked by in wonder about their fate

In remembrance of their love
Small birds hover over the adjacent limbs

Of a great Flamboyan
And sing their love song once a day

A small stone bench sits underneath
Waiting patiently for them to return
While Autumn leaves gather round
In attention of the crunching sound
made as they approached.

Many falls have come and gone; almost 40 to be exact.
And what do you know W & M finally did come back.
They watched another couple sitting as they had sat so many times before.
on the small stone bench underneath the tree,
where their initials had been engraved forever more.

 

 

 

Lovely Blogger Award Nomination (continued)


Seven things about me:

1. Never expect to win any type of award.

2. My bucket list needs to narrowed down.

3. I compose songs in the shower.

4. Love to listen to Gospel music.

5. I would love to live for one year in each of the following countries: France, Italy and China.

6. I collect all kinds of notebooks and journals.

7. I want to learn to play the harp.

Lovely Blogger Award

 

 

 

I have nominated the following bloggers. Their blogs have offered inspiration and food for thought: 

http://bodylit.com/

http://bundleofbooks.org/

 http://tersiaburger.com.

http://literatureandculture.wordpress.com/

Once again, thanks for the nomination.

 

 

 

 

Masterpiece


Hidden in her tiny mind

a masterpiece is waiting

A crowd yells, “encore!”

 

 

 

Nothing Like An Old Love Song


“In life there are loves that cannot be forgotten.”

This is the first line of an old love song (almost considered

a solemn hymn for lovers) by a very popular Puerto Rican singer and bandleader named

Tito Rodriguez. The lyrics are in Spanish but

even if you did not know what he was saying you

felt the emotion coming through. My parents

danced to this song in our kitchen, of all places.

I found it so silly when I first saw them gazing into each other’s eyes and

singing along with the Puerto Rican crooner of all time. He was our

version of Frank Sinatra.

LP 33

He is known by many fans as “El Inolvidable” (The Unforgettable)

He died a few years after my dad did. My mother played his music all day that day.

I grew to love the songs and memorized many of the ballads. Today by chance one of

There is nothing like an old love song

those songs was playing on a local Spanish language radio station.

The images that flashed back into by brain and heart

brought a smile to my face and tears to my eyes. I imagined them dancing

in paradise now and close by was that old record player where they played the vinyl LPs.

And there is no doubt in my mind that Tito is serenading them.

There is nothing like an old love song to warm the heart.

Tito: thanks for the memories.

Please tell me about some love songs that bring back these kinds of memories

Lovely Blog Award Nomination


 

I am happy to report that Poemattic.WordPress.com has received a nomination for the Lovely Blog Award. I was nominated by http://tersiaburger.com. I want to take this opportunity to thank her. I also ask my followers to send good energy her way for her daughter is battling serious illness. I believe in the power generated by well wishers, call it prayer or whatever else. It helps so much.

I have read many blogs and I will have some nominations to announce myself. Thanks to all my followers and readers for your support. I will soon be posting seven things about me to conform to the requirements for the Lovely Blog Award. I truly enjoy reading your comments. Happy Blogging!

 

Busy Does As Busy Is


“It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is what are we busy about?” – Henry D. Thoreau

What are we busy about? Are we busy counting all the leaves on that beloved tree in our backyard? What are we busy about? Are we busy stacking pennies for the proverbial rainy day? What are we busy about? I have been busy thinking about time. It bothers me that people say there’s not enough time in the day to carry out whatever it is that must be accomplished. Technology and the inventor’s ingenuity have given us so many tools for us to save time doing stuff. Think about it. Yet we never seem to have time for much. So what is it that keeps us busy?  Our work occupies much of our time. We work to fulfill our goals for the future. We are willing to work overtime to make more money so that we can accumulate wealth to spend our time in the future worry free. We have to make time for our daily chores such as laundry, cooking, cleaning, and getting ourselves organized. But when you have people who do that stuff for you, then why do we still say we are too busy. Some people are just busy in their minds. They think they are busy but they are not. They are only busy worrying about being too busy. So then, what are we busy about? Most of us are always in a rush to get somewhere because we do not have time. Some people said to me, “I am glad you have the time to write.” They make me feel guilty about it as if though I have this arsenal of time that I am not sharing with them. Is it that we lack organization or do not know how to manage our time? Again what are we so busy about?

Here is an interesting thought by  Eric Hoffer:

“The feeling of being hurried is not usually the result of living a full life and having no time. It is on the contrary born of a vague fear that we are wasting our life.When we do not do the one thing we ought to do, we have no time for anything else – we are the busiest people in the world.”

I do not know if the time I spend thinking about time and being busy is good use of my time. I dread not being busy and being bored. I feel that time is so precious to be misused and that keeping busy must be a good thing. I guess I am most fearful of when people are too busy for me. Perhaps I am selfish but I do not want my children to be so busy that they cannot take time out for old mom. I do not think that I have ever been too busy for them and if I have then I will take this opportunity to apologize.

Socrates said, “beware the barrenness of a busy life.” I want busy to mean productive. I do not want to be “busy dying” and I do not want to die not being busy enough. Do I make sense?

In the event that I have confused you. I want to leave you with some quotes from my favorite poets and authors that I collected during my free time this very busy week.

“The busy have no time for tears.” 
                                Lord Byron

“Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings.”

                                                   -Jane Austen

“An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn’t know why they choose him and he’s usually too busy to wonder why. 

                                                              -William Faulkner

What are you busy about? Post your response.