The Death of a Poet


 

Today we mourn the passing of Keith Roach. Rest in Peace!

“We bid farewell to Keith Roach – poet, slammaster, mentor and teacher – who presided over our poetry slams and open mics for years. Keith inspired a generation of poets, and played a significant role in the advancement of slam poetry, as an art form and a movement. He will be greatly missed.”

Nuyorican Poets Cafe

Who mourns the death

of a poet?

Another poet does.

Although the poems remain

and the rhymes

access time

and resonate in the brain

The void left is great

A teacher, a mentor to many

The great noesis (1)

Powerful verbs and thoughts

to inspire the young poet

the slamming of  ideas into

the heart and soul

Cannot

and will not be forgotten.

Who mourns the death

of a poet?

(1)  noesis, a rare noun that turns up in the field of philosophy and refers to the action of perceiving or thinking

 

Compassion


We need more compassion!

Feeling for another

is not difficult;

if you know what it feels like

when someone has

co-sufffered with you.

 

We need more compassion!

Squeeze it out

from you heart and soul;

don’t worry,

you won’t run out.

More will be stored for you.

The process is innate;

fundamental,

essential,

in order to live life

fulfilled with purpose.

 

We all need more compassion!

Believe it or not,

having it and giving it

even has effects on the prefrontal cortex.

It’s scientific you see,

bringing about glee.

According to the dictionary

(open delight or pleasure; exultant joy; exultation)

is something we are ALL capable of.

 

We need more compassion!

Every faith knows it;

it is in our DNA ;

all we have to do is show it.

 

We need more compassion!

Become a stakeholder;

an investor, and or

a proprietor.

 

Compassion’s payoff:

multiple assets,

great dividends,

All add up to PEACE.

We all know we need that too.

 

The Older I Get


The older I get

The more I think about

my journey

on that one way road

I count the seeds I should have sown

and all the dreams

I abandoned on the crossroads

Sometimes my brain just wants to explode

There are so many mysteries

yet to decode

and memories begin to erode.

I think about time all the time.

Days fly by

minutes and hour seem shorter

And after all is said and done

All I want to do is make good

of the time

write a poem everyday

and on occasion make it rhyme.

 

 

 

The Landscapes of My Mind


Sometimes I go to my favorite place;

silently and all alone.

no fancy name given

no signs to direct me there

no houses, no people

simply a natural space

in which to roam.

 

If ever you should need to go there

I will gladly show you the way

but there is one thing I must say

all you really need is to close your eyes

take three deep breaths

and wish yourself away.

 

* I often have dreams where I am just walking through beautiful and peaceful landscapes. The painting is one that depicts my latest dream.

 

 

 

“You Only Live Once Kiddo”


My brother passed away 21 years ago to the day and just two days before his passing we had a very long telephone conversation. I did not know it then but he was saying goodbye. We talked about everything. The one thing that still resonates is what he said a few minutes before we finished our long talk, “You only live once kiddo.”

I am reminded every day that life is too short and that we must live the present, the now,  mindful of what matters the most to us. We must make time to look at the view and relish the beauty right smack in front of you. Learn to shut-off the electronics for a while and use the time devoted to keeping up with your Facebook posts to actually talk with you family members. We post the most attractive messages to share with friends but how often do we say those sentiments face to face. Out loud?

I painted the following and called it happiness. Take a deep breath, and be happy. Don’t wait until tomorrow because “you only live once kiddo” and life is too darn short. Peace!

 

What Shapes Us


“The same law that shapes the earth-star shapes the snow-star. As surely as the petals of a flower are fixed, each of these countless snow-stars comes whirling to earth…these glorious spangles, the sweeping of heaven’s floor.”                       
                                                                                                 – Thoreau
What Shapes Us
This law I believe applies to all things live.
Can we all be glorious spangles?
Perhaps not. Perhaps yes.
I hope yes!
Are we capable of seeing the connection?
Can we try harder?
Can we open our eyes a little wider?
I hope yes.
The same law shaped our hearts.
When tragedy hits, we feel the hurt of others.
What shapes us is not a mystery;
It is divine.
It is intentional.
You, me,
all of us
shaped in the same way.
Can you dig it?

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.

 

 

 

 

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