We Are Who We Love And No One Can Change That


We are who we love and no one can change that.

We are a part of their souls;

We met somewhere in time;

And the memory remained.

 

We are who we love and no one can change that.

Our hearts knew each other before

we became earthly.

The awareness was purposeful.

The love was simply too great.

It could be said,

It was fate.

We are who we love and no one can change that.

Be glad who you are.

Love had all to do with it.

We are who we love and no one can change that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hail to the Queen of Soul!


I was in fourth grade when my dad took me to the Apollo Theater in NYC. Little did I know then that I was listening to whom would be known as the Queen of Soul. As a teenager I sang many of her soulful songs. Of course,  R-E-S-P-E-C-T will never resonate the same. She taught a whole generation of young women about self worth and about standing up.

I played her CD of goose bump raising Gospel songs today. For the first time in a long time I felt a little more inspired although sad by the news of her passing. She was Amazing Grace. No one can or will ever sing America the Beautiful like her.

I hope we remember the importance of her legacy and also engrave in our minds and hearts that we need to love and R-E-S-P-E-C-T each other. May she rest in peace.

Poetry is life; life is poetry!


This has been my mantra for a long time.

I have written on the subject many times and always introduced poetry in my class by writing this statement on the chalkboard and waiting for reactions. Here is a new poem I wrote last night.

Poetry is life:

And,

Life is poetry!

It is in your quiet tiptoe

across the room

to surprise your lover.

It’s in the laughter of a child

when she finds out jello wiggles.

It’s in the chocolate chip cookie

that melts in your mouth.

 

Poetry is life you know

It’s everywhere you go.

It’s being in the know

and sitting back comfy like to watch life’s show.

 

Poetry is life my friend,

Both a little hard to comprehend

Full of hyperbole till the end.

 

Look around you,

poetry is right here

sitting with you on the couch

as you try to figure out

the meaning of it all.

 

Life is poetry my friend,

It’s in the ladybug’s climb

up a sunflower’s tall stem

confident she’ll make to the end

to see the crisp lavender bend in the sky.

Poetry is the answer to the why.

 

Poetry is life:

Oh yes,

And life is poetry.

It is everything you’ll want to know

It’s everywhere you go.

It’s you,

It’s me

and I pray

it will be around for eternity.

 

 

 

my new found poem – A Love Missed


Dear Readers:

Occasionally I come across a line or two that melt my heart. I often collect words, phrases and lines and use them in my poems. I found this lines and they served as my muse to write this poem. The attributions are below. Thanks to my fellow bloggers: Ricardo Sexton, John Coyote, Julio Jimenez and Charmed Chaos.

 

I need a wild heart

So do I

 

All I do lately is …

Draw your picture in my mind

The mind that teacher tried to change

When I told her I loved you

I need a wild heart today

Do you hear…

my whispers on the wind?

I pray that I will see you again someday.

 

I have not changed one bit

 Je n’ai pas changé. 

But I suppose you know

I am still the brown eyed girl

You sang to over the phone

 

We should have kept in touch

I did not have to find out

You passed so young

I need a calm heart now

Until we meet again

 

Attributions:

Charmed Chaos

Ricardo Sexton

John Coyote

Julio Jimenez

Confusion


“Lack of understanding; uncertainty,”

is the dictionary definition.

I can only express my rendition

with a mosaic of curved lines

which I myself cannot understand.

Cause I envision

Peace.

But really all there is, is division.

Cause I dream

of a new idealism,

full of optimism,

perhaps a neologism

like neo-spirtualism,

everyone understanding

that prolonged confusion

cannot continue

cannot continue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Shrinking Feeling


 

A shrinking feeling overwhelms me;

the giant issues that surround

the world

suffocate and diminish my spirit slowly.

Will we survive?

Will this craziness pass?

Will we ever find the door

that leads to the garden of love

and peace?

 

Let us be strong again;

Let us believe again;

We must survive

the lunacy,

the autocratic greed,

the narcissistic need to lead

blindly, arrogantly, foolishly,

and selfishly.

We must believe that we are truly one.

 

 

 

 

 

Someone Knows Who I Am


Someone knows who I am!

And would you have guessed

She’s a poet.

She described me

with hyperbole

and used metaphors

to describe my soul as I show it.

She counted all the tears I’ve shed;

listed my fears with alliteration.

One can only help but feel

some sort of fascination.

 

Someone knows who I am;

Someone knows I am,

who I am;

Me, myself and I

now do see

the me

or I

I want to be.

 

 

 

Inspired by Stanley Kunitz


 

(c) Melba Christie 2018

Every spring I try to plant a beautiful garden like the ones I have seen in magazines. No sooner I plant Begonias, Calandula, Petunias and Pansies, our resident cottontail rabbit and  occasional visiting deer snap up the fresh or new blooms.

The rabbit loves the clover that grows wild and free in our backyard. Clover is a weed but I cannot bring myself to stripping it because it has very dainty white flowers and because I too love the green leaves.

Therefore, my garden is composed of large ceramic pots. I have resigned to the fact that I may never have a garden except for the improvised one on our deck.

So what does Stanley Kunitz have to do with my want to be garden? Nothing really. Except that Mark Doty once described how Mr. Kunitz would walk through his garden “paying strict attention to every inch of it.”

I too thought about Mr. Kunitz’s  visits to his garden.  My grandmother never left her house for years except to step out into her small garden. Hers was a real garden.  She talked to the flowers and plants; she claimed they would grow more and bloom more robustly.

Thus, I wrote a poem about her love of nature and especially her garden.

 

Grandma only felt safe in her garden

the lavender plant soothed her soul

and helped her cope with her phobia.

 

On a few occasions, I heard her sing

to the tiger lilies. They leaned and seemed to listen.

She stood very still as if she were watching out

for prey like the cottontail did on the grassy lawn

there were no prey to speak of

no one would ever harm her

but she listened carefully to nature’s sounds and warnings

every morning among the daffodils

She is gone now

and so is Stanley K.

I wonder if they stand together

in heaven’s divine garden

praying for us here on earth.

 

 

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?

Haiku Week – The Poems of Issa


Mosquito at my ear

does it think

I’m deaf?

 

Issa was a beloved poet. Compared to Robert Burns, he writes poems crickets, flies and other creatures. He was born in 1763 in a small mountain village in central Japan.

Climb Mount Fuji,

O’snail,

but slowly, slowly.

 

What a strange thing!

to be alive

beneath cherry blossoms.