Category Archives: photos

70 Days – Out of Touch?


Out of touch?

Feelings are not important, right?

Death is only felt by the 177, 000 dead!

 

Out of touch?

Did you eat the conventional three meals today?

Do you know how many did not?

They are thousands of children, American children. Our children.

They are the homeless.

They are even those who have a home.

They are the unemployed.

They are of all colors, all creeds, all political parties.

 

Out of touch?

Many of us are.

This is what is so sad.

 

Out of touch?

We need to come to one realization.

That is, it is not just to say, “It is what it is.”

What it should be is,

What we should ask ourselves is:

What are you going do about it?

Out of touch?

Not me, not I, never again.

 

A picture says it all


This poem is my cry for hope and forgiveness. I watched the news report tonight and it spattered the photograph of a father and his infant child drowned trying to cross the border. I do not know his name. I do not know how old he was. I do not and cannot understand what went through his mind when he decides to take such a risk with his young daughter. It must have been sheer desperation. My heart broke. I thought about my youngest grandchild and how she would have wrapped her arms around her father to feel safe in a situation like that. But it is really unimaginable. How cruel life can be. How sad life can be. I hope her mother finds solace. I hope their deaths will not have been in vain.

 

A picture says it all

I could not look at it though

instead I saw

shattered dreams

a tragedy so cruel

for a young father

hoping to reach

the promise the land of the free

the land of the brave

with his young child

holding him,

confident his strength

would protect her like always.

so innocent,

but nature and fate

maybe some filtered hate

drove the river wild

and out of control.

The picture no one wants to look at

says more than a thousand words.

It  broke my heart in a million pieces.

 

 

 

A Poem A Day


As we soon close the National Month of Poetry, I hope that we can continue to use poetry as a way to make someone happy, heal emotional pain, invoke a love for others, breed tolerance, and give voice to our hearts.

Thanks to all those bloggers who have re-blogged some of my poems and posts and have commented on my posts. Thanks for your continued support. We all have a wonderful opportunity to inspire and provide insight. I follow some pretty great blogs on WordPress. They make my day when I am down and motivate me in many ways. So thank you.

 

Here is my Poem A Day for today

 

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice

 

Audio of the Poem

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/play/77065

Fire and Ice : A Contradiction

This poem reminds me of my seventh grade English teacher. She would make us memorize poems which according to her would enrich our souls. Robert Frost became one of my favorite poets from that point on.

Robert Frost was important to American poetry during the first half of the twentieth century because he maintained traditional meter, structure, and themes during a time when modernism was the dominant poetic mode. He was a popular poet, but he never sacrificed his art for that popularity.

 

 

 

 

 

HAIKU #150


One less card this year

not late or belated

simply forgotten

 

It seems that greeting for special holidays, birthdays, even Mother’s Day  posted on social media should suffice these days. No phone calls either sometimes. A quick text with a cute emoji or some ridiculous Gif will substitute a sentiment.

Oh well, I suppose it is what it is. Luckily I have kept all the very special greeting cards, some hand made, in a box. It will probably end up being a time capsule someday. Just saying! Hallmark must be going broke. What do you think?

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.

 

Happy National Book Lover’s Day!


I am so happy that someone promoted having a day dedicated to book lovers. I have loved books since I was a very young child. My father collected books and stacked them all over the place. My mother kept asking him to put his puts on shelves or bookcases. He finally pleased her and built a few bookcases. He loved old books and books out of print. I have a few which are not by great writers but for me they are my treasures just because they belonged to him.

I have books about many things. I collect poetry books. I have anthologies I used in college I cannot bring myself to give away. I have a collection of cookbooks which is funny because I make my own concoctions in the kitchen and could never give anyone a recipe I created. But they talk to me at the bookstore and I end up buying titles that are more appealing than the actual content. I own art books. many of them are how to books: how to draw, paint, watercolor, and cartoon. However I have art books that focus on one artist.

I own many dictionaries: English, Spanish, French and Italian. I have grammar books and books on writing.In other words I have a lot of books.

I even collect quotes about reading and books. Here are a few:

“There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world. Love of books is the best of all.” – Jacqueline Kennedy

“Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.”                                               – Mason Cooley

“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”

                                                                        – Mark Twain

“The library is inhabited by spirits that come out of the pages at night.”

                                                                  – Isabelle Allende

Happy Book Lover’s Day!

                           As you can see I have my books well guarded.

 

2017


“Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering ‘it will be happier’…” Tennyson was right. Hope always smiles. It cheers us on when we are down and helps us to get through many disappointments.  After all hope is all we can hope for because it is a gift from the divine.  The New Year provides us with a clean slate to start a new chapter in our lives. A new year is full of expectations, resolutions, goals, and dreams to be fulfilled.  But if we falter and or somehow forget our resolutions, give up on our dreams or deny ourselves that great expectation then we can always hope that hope smiles again the following year.

2016 is a year to be remembered for sure.  It was one of many tragic events and one where we all focused on the presidential election. Many greats in the fields of science and the arts passed away leaving a certain void in the world. But life moves on. We can only hope that more great minds are still developing and finding ways to save the planet, cure diseases, and help us to truly understand the purpose of our stay on this earth.

2017 can only be as good as we make it. Maybe we can work together to make it so. Happy New Year.

Thanks to all my followers for your continued support.

Grand

On Creativity


“The creative mind plays with the objects it loves”

                                                 – Carl Jung

 

Tools of the trade

I recently visited the exhibit of Frida Kahlo at the New York Botanical Gardens. I took this picture of the desk where she painted. I imagined her sitting there looking around at her beautiful garden. I have many of her biographies and books that illustrate her work. The complexity and depth of her soul is in her work. I have different storage places for my paints, pens, pencils and brushes. These are among some of the objects I love. I see them as extensions of my mind and  a creative source. All I need to do is walk by a vase full of paint brushes (the older the better) and I cannot resist the urge to create something. Sometimes I fall in love with what I have done and other times I put it away to look at again at a later time. It is my way of looking at things from a different perspective.

I took the picture but I also examined each piece very carefully. Each object had a spirit. Each has a purpose. Creativeness has a purpose. It was an amazing experience, almost surreal.

Eyes


“Then love knew it was called love.
And when I lifted my eyes to your name,
suddenly your heart showed me my way” -Pablo Neruda

Josephina's eyes

I am convinced that looking into a person’s eyes can lead you to interpretation of someone’s sadness, joy, confusion, depression, and even sanity. Lately, I have trying to capture the essence emotions when I photograph someone. My beautiful baby granddaughter has captivating eyes. I love to watch her look into her mother’s eyes. Her curiosity is astounding for a five month old infant. She examines her surroundings and then will look at you at if to ask what is this or where am I.

Of course, I am not original in my fascination with eyes and what they can reveal. Many photographers try to capture the essence of their subjects’ eyes. I will follow suit by taking photographs of people’s eyes in the next few weeks. If you have a photograph that you would like to share please post it on your blog with a tag or #Eyes are Poems.

The following is a poem I wrote many years ago as I watched my students taking a standarizied test which they had to pass as a graduation requirement.

EYES

Some bright and alert

Some showing delight

Most saddened

too tired to fight

Some inquisitive

Some barely interested

Some totally frustrated

Many questons

fewer answers

loaded questions

ambiguity intensive

questions no one asked them before

And I was expected to ask them even more

Their eyes said it all

their torment clear

I watch and learn

they taught me more

about how

tests cause true fear.

Melba Christie 2001

“The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter – often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter – in the eye.” Charlotte Brontë

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