I HATE FAILURE!


Failure to achieve something in life can be devastating sometimes. I was thinking about failure. There are some things that we cannot help of course. Sometimes failure is inevitable. We have little control over nature; often it seems like it needs to fail us or disappoint us. We may not understand how someone can deceive and fail us when we most need support and compassion. As human beings we fail each other all the time. We fail our children many times. We fail to love each other unconditionally. We fail to forgive. We fail to open our hearts. We fail to think before we speak and hurt someone deeply. We fail to keep the peace.

The following is a poem I wrote about failure. I wrote it soon after my sister passed away from heart failure.

I Hate Failure!

The baby steps we made

toward peace

are now giant footprints

leading to mass destruction.

I Hate Failure!

 

CHILDREN

DIE

FROM

HUNGER,

STILL!

 

WHY?

 

We do not do more to help.

 

I Hate Failure!

 

We do not do enough,

 

to do enough,

 

to snuff out

 

HATE,

   BIGOTRY,

 

and all the BAD stuff there is to snuff.

 

Yet we know it’s up to us.

I Hate Failure!

 

The moon

forgot

to dance the rumba last night.

 

Someone forgot

to make her chuckle

one last time.

 

The stars failed to show up

when she made her last wish.

I          Hate          Failure!

 

She never knew

how precious she was

to all of us.

 

 I Hate Failure!

I Hate Failure!

I Hate Failure!

The Bugle Call


The Bugle Call

 

It is a melancholy,

yet a comforting sound,

a sobering Call

that announces the fall

of a gentle warrior:

a brave soul,

perhaps too young,

to know how finite,

the summons will be.

 

I hear that song again

repeating an inquisitive lyric

“War, what is good for?”

My response is always the same.

“Who knows?”

 

I wonder about him

all the time

that Unknown soldier

and the one I knew well too

who chose to be remembered

the next to last day in May,

waiting to be lifted

alone,

thinking,

hoping,

his last wish comes true.

In Memory of my nephew Ivan.

 

 

 

 

Frida K


Frida Kahlo

by Melba Christie

 

She “combated sadness ferociously”

with her paint brush

her most faithful companion

life reveals itself

in portraits,

mirrors reflect the surreal

and reality confronts her in the raw

but does not share the pain and anguish

deep inside she tries to draw

 

She is the courageous onlooker

But is not as courageous as she thinks

as far as she is concerned

it all stinks.

 

She fought in an eternal war

between light and darkness

fidelity and infidelity

truth and untruth

justice  and injustice

Frida’s paintings haunt us

and make us more aware

 

We now watch the  mirror that truly sees our soul

and reflects the still life on the table ( perhaps not as still)

as we continue to search for the stillness we so need

Did Frida realize that she planted a seed?

She showed us life

and how surreal it really is.

 

Remembering Norma Jean 50 Years later


 

Today is the 50th anniversary of the death of Marilyn Monroe. After all these years her life and death fascinates some folks including myself. I was only __ at the time; I (rather not give my age away) was very young. I really didn’t understand what the fuss was all about at the time. But as years passed I remember hearing about all the investigations and implications about her death at the age of 39.

I remember watching most of her movies in the company of my father who adored her as did many men and women from all over the world. My mother loved her too. She would always say Marilyn was “una belleza natural” and how she and Clark Gable made a nice couple.

My older sister still collects her memorabilia. So the fascination runs in the family. As I grew older I was intrigued to read more about the so called theories about how she died. But then again many Americans wanted to unravel the mystery surrounding her death. She was like the girl next door. I do not think that anyone wanted to believe that America’s sweetheart would ever think about suicide. This is a subject not too many people like to talk about or even think about. I became aware of what suicide was very early in life and so Marilyn became to represent the question everyone wants answered when someone like her decides to end it all.

I remember Joe DiMaggio’s homage to her as he made sure that a dozen roses were delivered to her tomb three times a week for many years to come. I was a teenager when I first realized that Joe DiMaggio manifested his love for her that way. It was heart-warming and so romantic to me. Then years later Elton John writes a song about the famed actress and these lyrics resound in my head and remind me not only about Norma Jean but about the loved one I lost to the same kind of lonely pain that resulted in suicide.

“And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never knowing who to cling to
When the rain set in
And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a kid
Your candle burned out long before
Your legend ever did”

I cannot believe that 50 years have passed. I remember the Life magazine my dad brought home with her beautiful face on the cover that read Memories of Marilyn. Although it is a cliché to say, but it does seem like this was only yesterday. Her legend is still alive and I want to dedicate my post to her today and to all those who have had such deep emotional pain in their lives that they would take their lives. As a society we have to face the facts about suicide in this country.

Photos by Melba Christie