Who Split the Moon in Half?


an iron spirit

splits like an ancient

moon and yet

a miracle is declared

by believers

who know the whole

is what we are and

should be

 

we fall in love

in its bright beams

we softly sigh

when it appears

majestically behind the highest mountain

Who split the moon once?

Does anyone really know?

In the meantime

my delight

is its fullness

shining on the river tonight

when I need company

 

 

so desperately.

Look out Viewers
Look out Viewers

 

 

DSC_1868                       Photos by Melba Christie – All Rights Reserved

Memories of a Passing


English: John F. Kennedy, photograph in the Ov...
English: John F. Kennedy, photograph in the Oval Office. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Lyndon B. Johnson taking the oath of office on...
Lyndon B. Johnson taking the oath of office on Air Force One following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Dallas, Texas, November 22, 1963 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Everyone who was old enough to remember will be able to say exactly where they were and how they reacted to the news of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

I remember that afternoon vividly. I was in the sixth grade and our teacher, Miss McCann would teach us math after recess. She was very stern but we loved her dearly. I remember her distinctive gait and posture. She was very proud of her Irish heritage and thanks to her I know a few Irish songs and blessings by heart. That tragic afternoon, she walked into the classroom at a very slow pace and she tried to hide her face. Her blue eyes were blood-shot and her hair was disheveled. Everyone looked at each other wondering was was going on. She usually walked in the room swiftly asking us if we were doing something productive. There was always a mischievous smile on her face.

Everyone was unusually quiet. There was dead silence in the room. She looked confused and bewildered. She did not say a word for a few minutes. Normally five of us would have been sent to the chalkboard to solve a math problem during the first five minutes of class.

All of a sudden she began to weep frantically. I for one cannot see anyone in tears. I get misty eyed almost immediately. She sat in her chair and just stared at us. She snapped out of her stupor when a boy in the class had the nerve to ask her what was wrong. With a huge lump in her throat and watery eyes she finally told us. “Our President is dead boys and girls, she whimpered. Some of us cried and others remained very quiet and in shock. It was not as if we had not experienced death before in our lives. We had lost a classmate earlier in the school year. He had died from Leukemia. So collectively we had suffered loss. She finally calmed down after a while and the principal came in to ask us how were coping. His eyes were a little red also.

I remember getting home and turning on the television right away. All the programming on the major networks was in reference to the president’s assassination. There were no cable channels or CNN but the reality of this national tragedy was all anyone could think and talk about. It went on for days.

It’s amazing how a tragic event makes us see things differently. You are more appreciative of the simple things. My mother hugged me extra tightly that evening. I saw my dad in tears. He had cried in my presence once before when I was very ill with a high fever and the flu. The doctor would make house calls and he must have said something to upset my dad and I heard him crying. It was not until years later that I knew why he had broken down. Apparently the doctor wanted to admit to me to the hospital because I had such a high fever. The fever subsided and I never did go to the hospital.

I watched many of the tributes today on the television and heard and read accounts of how people were affected by the untimely and tragic death of our beloved president. I remembered my teacher and my dad most especially. We were all family then. It was a time to mourn and reflect and fifty years later I suppose it still is.

Fall’s Last Call


Fall's Call

Mighty winds whisper out loud for everyone to hear

“it time for all of you to leave, my dears”

the earth prepares for the great gathering

and formed is a colorful mosaic

the crimson’s restlessly await their destination

Will it be bunched up in a brown paper bag?

Or will someone blow them back under their tree of origin?

Will it rain and the weight press down and make them stick to each other ?

Or will an early snow fall freeze them until the spring thaw?

One last ivy leaf was painted on a wall

to save Johnsy’s life one windy fall

Fall’s last call can be very sad

but the beauty of its bright colors

delight the site and make us glad.

Melba Christie

A Single Road


Photo by Melba Christie

A Single Road

A single road,

perhaps one not taken

or the one less traveled.

But who really knows

the exact number of souls

have made it their path.

A single road is inviting;

Wonder and adventure awaits.

A single road is tempting;

It may lead to a pearly gate.

A single road has called to me

not the one long and winding necessarily,

and it asked me to take a chance and see.

A single road

perhaps the one less traveled

is the best for me.

But a single road not taken

I will never know my destiny.

Melba Christie (c) 2013