Coming to America

I re-blogged this poem in honor of my mother. I can’t imagine what she would say about all that is happening right now. I hope she is not too worried.

Melba Christie at Poemattic

PHOTOS FOR KEEPS 465

Coming to America

She was only 18 years old

Her heart raced in her chest

like galloping stallions on the finca

they left on the island of emerald-green.

Soon their ship would pass by Lady Liberty;

All decks were packed with passengers

Some would salute proudly,

others knelt thankfully

as if at church,

but she simply held her breath

like when you get ready to

blow-up a balloon at a birthday party.

Her dreams danced in her head

like her favorite dancers Fred Astaire

and Ginger Rodgers.

She envisioned herself looking out

her bay window framed with lace curtains

as her two young girls jumped rope.

She imagined her Cape Cod home

surrounded by a three-foot white picket fence,

daffodils and daisies leaning comfortably against it.

That was her American Dream.

Yellow and red flowers growing along a white picket fence in traditional garden Stock Photo - 13865383

She knew there was hard work ahead

No one said it would be easy

her heart reminded her everyday

View original post 115 more words

Found Poem # 3 – Truth

As promised I will continue to write Found Poems. Please note the attributions.

 

DSC_0092

 

She reaches up to wash the sky with pale blue

so it will be ready when you need it

Exploring the world within

Is only possible when you are true

the poet said to thyself be true

 

In the corners of my mind,

I watch the clouds move in

Hoping for the cleansing rain they might bring

We need truth to prevail

Clean and fresh to drench our souls

With aromas real and natural

Not the alternatives, no , no

 

We have to learn quiet again

All of us in unison

Still and determined

To reach up and paint a sun filled sky

And not forget to ask, “Why?”

 

Attributes

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/70181445/posts/4420

https://patcegan.wordpress.com/2017/01/28/growing-courage/

https://patcegan.wordpress.com/2017/01/28/our-unknown/

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/53424024/posts/20163

https://jeffschwaner.com/2016/11/26/conversations-i/

 

 

 

@)!$ 0r 2014

@)!$ 0r 2014

No matter what happens
No matter what your resolutions may be
A new year is a new journey
A new year is what you help it to be
2014 or @)!$
Make it the best

Melba Christie at Poemattic wishes you a Happy New Year! Thanks to my readers for your continued support.

Writing prompt Challenge for Today’s Author

This is in response to a Writing Prompt challenge at http://todaysauthor.wordpress.com/

 

The Bus Driver

 

The bus driver looked familiar, but she couldn’t figure out how she knew him. Anna dropped six quarters into the coin slot and as she walked to take the first available seat, she remembered. It was Mr. Davis, her former piano teacher. Her hands started shaking. She caught him looking back at her through the large rear view mirror. Anna slid in her seat and took out a book from her tote to cover her face away from his stare. Could he possibly have recognized her after so many years? After all she was only eight when it happened.

Anna could not understand how he managed to be out of prison so soon. She was 28 years old now and his sentence was supposed to be for thirty-five years, after his conviction for molesting another girl he tutored privately. He was a fantastic teacher and she never could understand how he could have done such a horrible thing. He was always a gentleman with her. But that other little girl told her parents what he had done. Her dad almost killed Mr. Davis when he found out.

Anna anxiously waited for her stop. In her head she planned how she would get off the bus. She was closer to the front but she did not want to face him again. But she hated to leave through the back of the bus; it was a short walk but she always stumbled and was afraid of falling. Anna wore a brace; one of her legs was shorter and it made her so self-conscience.

The bus stopped before she could pull the cord. Did Mr. Davis know this was her stop? She trembled at the thought. She had lived in the neighborhood all her life. Anna finally reached the rear door as the bus driver pulled the lever and lowered the bus to let her off. She stepped down slowly trying not to look back.

As Anna walked towards the cross walk the bus was still stopped at the corner. She walked as fast as she could and suddenly she heard a strong raspy voice call out to her. It was Mr. Davis. He said, “Anna, I just want you to know I did not do it. My case was reviewed and I was found innocent and let out. I just wanted you to know.” He smiled at her and waved. She never rode the bus again after that day. Anna did not know what to believe although deep down she wanted to believe he was innocent. Mr. Davis had always been so kind to her and he was such a good teacher. Anna sat at her piano that evening and played Ludwig van Beethoven’s No. 4, G Major, Op. 58. It was the piece she had mastered and was a favorite of Mr. Davis.

Happy Birthday Poemattic!

I cannot believe that almost a whole year has passed since I wrote my  first post for Poemattic. One hundred and eighty-one posts later, I feel like I have shared so much with my faithful 101  followers thus far. I have learned so much from other WordPress bloggers . It is like I have taken a year-long course. I want to thank all my followers. Every time I receive a new comment or see that little orange star on my dashboard my spirit is lifted.

I have tried to get some of you to take part in a few challenges. I hope that I am able to create more ways to get you to interact. The purpose of Poemattic was to create a space for you to share original or very favorite poems. I am hoping to be considered for Freshly Pressed Award.

I will start posting original recording of my poems. I love reciting and during National Poetry Month this year I will launch a page with audio-recordings of my poems.

Please continue to visit Poemattic. I love the company and feel Like I am a member of a very special community.

O