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Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Friday

Your Mother Is Always With You


Your Mother Is Always With You

My Grandson and Me
Your mother is always with you...
She's the whisper of the leaves
as you walk down the street.

She's the smell of bleach in
your freshly laundered socks.

She's the cool hand on your
brow when you're not well.

Your mother lives inside
your laughter. She's crystallized
in every tear drop...

She's the place you came from,
your first home.. She's the map you
follow with every step that you take.

She's your first love and your first heart
break....and nothing on earth can separate you.

Not time, Not space...
Not even death....
will ever separate you
from your mother....

You carry her inside of you....

- Sherry Martin

Sunday

The One Who Knows


I first saw him
while driving
up the highway near the old railroad tracks,
walking fast
alongside the ditch
with purpose,
obviously
a goal in mind,
wearing a cardboard box on his head
covered with aluminum foil.

I made a U-turn
and pulled into the parking lot
of a roadside stand
selling organic vegetables
and homemade jellies.
I grabbed my camera
and surreptitiously snapped away
at his quickly retreating figure,
then headed in to buy peaches.

Putting them into the car,
I could feel him
standing behind me
before he tapped me on the shoulder.

"You owe me some money" he said,
"for taking my picture".

Surprised, shaken, tight chested,
I turned, mouth open
ready to say I didn't know
what he was talking about.

"I know what you did... they told me.
They told me, your camera clicking away...
you owe me money," he said.

My mouth dry,
bravado covering my discomfort,
"And how much do you think I owe you?"

"Twenty dollars!"

I gave him peaches, instead.

Years later,
he no longer fervently walked
with aluminum foil on his head.
He lived upstairs
in the apartment above me.

Different priorities controlled him.
Demons needed destroying.
He fought the battles
to save the world.

Every day.
Every night.
He swung his machete through the air.
He climbed
onto his kitchen counter
and leaped to the floor,
CRASH!
Thump... thump... thump.
my chandelier swinging from the ceiling

Then preached the words from
the Good Book,
memorized in measured rhythm
with his machete.

When I saw him yesterday
and asked if he got the note
from management,
he didn't seem to
know what I was talking about
at first.

When I told him
that the patio balconies
were going to be repaired,
he nodded with assurance,
"They are trying to steal our souls!"

Tilted Balance Table


Daddy laid the level on

the table and explained

how the kitchen floor

was tilted.


It made me think

about how the

earth was tilted.


Then I wondered if

the tilt of the earth

balanced the table.

Poem by Elizabeth Munroz

Friday

From Mirror

Photo Art
by Elizabeth Munroz



Evade your eye.
Try to see as others do
what is desired or refused.
What went wrong.
Or right, then wrong.
Objectively, what hangs.
Pull yourself together.
Years are neither kind
nor cruel. You drag on.
The girl is gone.
Consider that it might be time to call in
a professional. Blood is fearless, runs
to meet a touch, indiscriminate, remembering
the first time it fell in love with the world, unaware
that now you are alone.

Karen Solie

From "Mirror"

Wednesday

James Deane for President


He's my Daddy

He comes home from work
wearing his grey striped
overalls covered with
Vanadium dust.

I think he is the
President
of the United States
I'm close.
He is the President
of his Union

"Carry me. Carry me."
I whine and beg.

He's so tall,
when he lifts me up,
I can feel the sky!
Well, not the sky, really,
but the ceiling is
almost the sky.

I can touch the place
where he fell through
one day, when he worked
fixing something in the attic
as I sat in my high chair
just a moment before.

They tell me I wasn’t there,
That it happened to my brother.
Perhaps I was there,
Waiting to be born.

Elizabeth Munroz

Longing


A mother's love is unrequited

when the years have gone by

and the nest is empty.


It's not true

that life goes on

without them.


Life, goes with them.

That's why they call it

an empty nest.

~~
Elizabeth Munroz

Dedicated to my mother, and my kids, grand kids and great grand kids.

Friday

Beauty in Sadness?

Sadness is like an empty church
cold, but suggestive of the untouchable.
A tinge of hope lingers in the soul
with a wish for comfort
a desire beyond desire
for that place called home.

It's where the eyes ache
with unrealized tears,
the throat feels too small
to cry out or moan
to assuage the loneliness.

Yes, sadness is a place
confined and trapped
a place inviting escape.
Listen, outside the birds
are silent in the darkness.

It's too much to grasp.
to stretch a hand out in need.
In lassitude, the sadness
holds tight the promise
of freedom.

In beauty vines entwine
but strangle the fence.
Sadness demands fidelity,
demands attention.
Taste the tears and sigh.

by Elizabeth Munroz

Dream of Mom and Dad

Dream of Mom and Dad
Feel so sad
Grief
Heavy grief

I get a message
from beyond
"see Brother Frank"
"talk to Brother Frank"

He can tell you
what you need to know.
The message is strong
it's fervent, impressing me.

I  don't want to
see Brother Frank.
I want Mom
I want Dad
I dont need preachers

Then the text
messages begin.
Messages from Mom?
Could they be from Dad?

All of them religious
one after another
messages from the dead?
or a hoax?

~~~~~~~~~~~
Photo is of my parents taken in the 1980's at Canyon Country California
They are no longer with us.
This month Mom would have celebrated her 92nd birthday.

Saturday

Butterflies Over the Golden Mustard Fields


For ten years
we had a beautiful green garden.
For twenty years
the sun always shone on our thatched roofs.
My mother came out and called me home.
I came to the front yard
near the kitchen
to wash my feet
and warm my hands over the rosy hearth,
waiting for our evening meal
as the curtain of night
fell slowly on our village.

I will never grow up
no matter how long I live.
Just yesterday, I saw a band
of golden butterflies fluttering above our garden.
The mustard greens were bursting with bright yellow flowers.

Mother and sister, you are always with me.
The gentle afternoon breeze is your breathing.
I am not dreaming of some distant future.
I just touch the wind and hear your sweet song.
It seems like only yesterday that you told me,
"If one day, you find everything destroyed,
then look for me in the depths of your heart."

I am back. Someone is singing.
My hand touches the old gate,
and I ask, "What can I do to help?"
The wind replies,
"Smile. Life is a miracle.
Be a flower.
Happiness is not built of bricks and stones."

I understand. We don't want to cause each other pain.
I search for you day and night.
The trees grope for one another in the stormy night.
The lightning flash reassures them
they are close to one another.

My brother, be a flower standing along the wall.
Be a part of this wondrous being.
I am with you. Please stay.
Our homeland is always within us.
Just as when we were children,
we can still sing together.

This morning, I wake up and discover
that I've been using the sutras as my pillow.
I hear the excited buzzing of the diligent bees
preparing to rebuild the universe.
Dear ones, the work of rebuilding
may take thousands of lifetimes,
but it has also already been completed
just that long ago.
The wheel is turning,
carrying us along.
Hold my hand, brother, and you will see clearly
that we have been together
for thousands of lifetimes.

My mother's hair is fresh and long.
It touches her heels.
The dress my sister hangs out to dry
is still sailing in the wind
over our green yard.

It was an autumn morning
with a light breeze.
I am really standing in our backyard--
the guava trees, the fragrance of ripe mangoes,
the red maple leaves scurrying about
like little children at our feet.

A song drifts from across the river.
Bales of silky, golden hay
traverse the bamboo bridge.
Such fragrance!

As the moon rises above
the bamboo thicket,
we play together
near the front gate.
I am not dreaming.
This is a real day, a beautiful one.
Do we want to return to the past
and play hide-and-seek?
We are here today,
and we will be here tomorrow.
This is true.
Come, you are thirsty.
We can walk together
to the spring of fresh water.

Someone says that God has consented
for mankind to stand up and help Him.
We have walked hand in hand
since time immemorial.
If you have suffered, it is only
because you have forgotten
you are a leaf, a flower.

The chrysanthemum is smiling at you.
Don't dip your hands into cement and sand.
The stars never build prisons for themselves.

Let us sing with the flower and the morning birds.
Let us be fully present.
I know you are here because I can look into your eyes.
Your hands are as beautiful as chrysanthemums.
Do not let them be transformed
into gears, hooks, and ropes.

Why speak of the need to love one another?
Just be yourself.
You don't need to become anything else.

Let me add one testimony of my own.
Please listen as if I were
a bubbling spring.

And bring mother. I want to see her.
I shall sing for you, my dear sister,
and your hair will grow as long as mother's.

By Thich Nhat Hanh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First photo taken by my sister, Suzan Deane-Simpson
Second photo taken my myself, Elizabeth Munroz

Wednesday

Swimming in the Air





When fishes swim 


in waters green


behind the cube of glass,


and wake me 


in the middle of dreams


with bubbles, 


speaking gibberish,


I lie there, staring


at tail fins 


sweeping my ceiling 


free of stardust cobwebs.


Then close my eyes 


to puckered up Kissing Fish


cleaning my eyelids of algae.


I worry when my babies 


swim in the air.


Won’t they drown?




~~~~~~~~


Elizabeth Munroz 1974

Saturday

Light from Darkness




When the sky is infused

with deep heaviness

it is like my life

when struggling

with despondency.



It's hard to see

the beauty in it

until that one

sliver of light

peeps through.

'Tis what my mother called

the "silver lining".



A full sunshine day

would not lift me

as much as noticing

that one little

ray of joy
in the midst

of my darkness.



Thursday

Verna's Lines

Spring cleaning has taken over my life. While going through old file boxes, I came across the following written to me by Verna, which I find as touching today as when I first read it.

When someone believes in you
It is easier
to believe in yourself.

To know that someone
will remember your star,
when everyone else has forgotten
it was ever shining at all,
keeps you looking to the sky.

It is good and strong
to be happy for yourself
and all that you do.

It's just that when someone like you
has faith in someone like me,
the happiness is easier to find.

Look to the light for it never burns out.

1990 B.J. Verna

Saturday

Thought


Our thought processes
encourage wonder,
give opportunity
for consideration
of what will be,
or what once was,
to infinite possibilities
of fantasy and reality.

We are all capable
of thinking
no matter our intellect.

It is measurable
in all living creatures.

We are not alone 
in cognition.

Who is to say
it is not possible
in all species
until it can verified?

Thinking is the inevitable
background experience
no matter what we do.

"I think therefore I am".

Yet, It is the one thing
to be eradicated
in meditation
within certain sects
of spiritual practice.

Think of it.


~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note: Digital art and Buddha photo by Elizabeth Munroz

Tuesday

Listen

Indian chants
Arabic belly dance music 

Exotic... 
red n gold
carpet...
cross cultural
noise
in my brain

life can be fun!

I know there's a dance for that!



Sunday

Curve in the Road


When life throws you a curve
and you cannot fathom why...
Why is this happening?
What can possibly be the purpose?

Remember...
it is what we all have to face
in one way or another.

No matter how threatening it feels,
inner strength you didn't know you had,
will come forth and surprise you.

The valiant soul you are
will surpass you and uphold you
when you are feeling overcome.

So hang on....
all things pass.

And, when your heart is thrilled with new results, celebrate.
Celebrate with all your heart.

Savor the gifts that life offers.
Cherish the things you hadn't noticed before;
the air you breathe,
the water slapping at the shore,
the soft cloud in the sky,
the little kids playing in the park,
purring of a kitten.
the sound of a quietly strummed guitar,
laughter,
crying,
and yes, the neighbors dog

There’s something in it all you missed before.
Now you have the chance.

Take it moment to moment.

You know now the foolishness
the folly, the petty ways you'll leave behind.

You have struggled to come out of your cocoon.
You have worked hard,
You have released yourself
from the things that kept you locked up.
You have traveled beyond that curve...

Now free yourself,
and fly into that new zest for life you rightfully earned.

Have some peace of mind...
Remember you have triumphed.
You are stronger than before.

You have gained appreciation
for those things of which you were unaware
and cherish the challenges that brought you to this new place.

Elizabeth Munroz
Aug 29 2006

Wednesday

E Pluribus Unim

a tree has many branches

a river has many bends

a sleeper tosses and turns

a wheel has many spokes

most refuse to believe

we all have more than one path

What Choice?

I wish
I could have told you
certain things.
Too many factors
blocked
our connection.


There are no regrets.
Simply...
it is how
it unfolded.

We are challenged
from all directions.
Each having
it's own cause
and effect;
it becomes
a matter of choice
which way we'll go,
where we are lead,
who we follow...
or not.

We take our path
with intention
fiercely burning
or not.

We stand aside
we watch
observing molecules
dewdrops on tulips
letting life happen
or not

I wish
I could have told you
what you needed to know
that you would survive
and become
someone else

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Digital art by Elizabeth Munroz

Tuesday

Forgetting to Remember

I forget where I put my glasses
I forget why I took them off.
I forget I have them on top of my head.
I forget they are right over my eyes!

I forget where I put my keys
when I'm holding them in my hand,
or stuck in the front door all night long
I lock myself out of my house or car.

To protect myself from forgetting,
I bought five sets of keys
Now there are only two.
I forget what happened to the rest.

I forget where I put important papers:
checkbooks, medical bills, tax receipts.
I forget how to balance my checkbook,
how to do math.
I used to work as a bookkeeper for a big corporation.
How is that?

I put books in the car to return to the library,
forget they are there...
for months
and pay fines I cannot afford.

I forget appointments with the doctor,
my friends, my lover.
So tired of explaining myself when I forget.
I tell little lies instead.
Traffic was bad, an emergency came up,
sorry I couldn't call to let you know.

I forget to look at my hand
For the reminders I have written on my skin.

From moment to moment I forget what day it is.
I look at my calendar first thing in the morning,
last thing at night, throughout the day
to put into my brain what day it is, what I have scheduled.
But, later I forget.

I don't realize until hours after the time passed me by,
Suddenly, something on the radio or TV reminds me
it’s Tuesday, not Friday. It’s 5 p.m. not three.
I run to look at my calendar,
the missed appointment is now going to cost me $50.
Another day I look at my calendar,
see my appointment is for 2 o'clock p.m.
Promptly forgetting, and instead show up at 11 a.m.
This really happened.
At least, I was ahead of time,

I forget where I put the phone just after using it,
only to discover that it is right beside me,
and I wonder how it got there.
I thought I looked there a moment ago.
It wasn't there. I’d swear.
Or was it?

I forget phone numbers.
Why can't I remember them?
I have to look them up in my little black book,
wherever that is!
I tell myself to always put it back in my purse.
Not there.
I look inside my purse over and over again,
not recognizing what is in front of me.

I thought I knew where I was going
from one room to the other.
I forget why, and return to where I was
in order to remember,
and start again, forgetting again.

I forget that I drew money out of my checking account,
a lot of money.
Then, I am shocked for bounced checks fines.

I forget I am cleaning a closet,
and go to do the dishes.
I forget  I am doing the dishes
and go to the desk to write myself a note.
I forget I am looking for a pen
and start cleaning out the drawer.
Then remember the  mess sitting by the closet
and begin there again.
Then, the pan that is sitting on the stove smokes
Setting off the smoke alarm.
When did I turn on the stove?

Elizabeth Munroz - February 07, 2001

~~~~~~~~

Note: That was then. This is now. I realize it was not as bad as I believed.

Sunday

Harvest Festival

They weave in and out.

Those ancient dancers

A joyous trance to perform.

In their fine feathers they strut

One after another taking their places

In reverent fashion

Lining up, moving sinuously

To the timing of the lute.

Each one following the other

Orderly now, each one in step,

Synchronized perfection,

Just as the wheat is blown

A single stem at a time

As the grain weaves itself

like an ocean across the seed heads.

Golden and warm in the sunlight

Bending and giving space to one another

Like the ebb and flow of waves

All falling together.

Not one out of place

All timing in perfect sequence.

As the wind dies away

Each dancer raises her head

Looking about in satisfaction.

The work is complete as the sun

Kisses the grain farewell.


Inspired by the music of John Doan, “Tra Amici” from Departures
Elizabeth Munroz

Friday

Great Power

Sand Grains
free movement
Dunes redistributing sediment

Beaches eroding
ocean waves
washing shorelines
Surf rolling, pounding.
Coastline shrinking
White water curling,
through seaside rocks.

Moss, all green, alive
holding tenaciously
swirled and twirled

Low tide
sucks away the shore.
High tide flooding.

Moon stands upon the ripples,
tip toe light on moving prisms,
raising and lowering tides.

Water
It's just water.
The great power
moving and changing
the geography of the world