It’s the smoke off a cigarette
the trail of a comet tailing
the way the residue of breathing
hangs in cold dawn air
it’s the look of knowing
shared between two lovers
the way a caress skims the skin
leaves a tingle after-flowing
it’s the way gnats swarm in evening air
the way a child heaves after crying
it’s the way a tear travels a cheek
drips into space
only the groove of wet remains
or maybe
it’s the way a dog cries and whines
the lingering tones of need after
the owner is gone
It was his birthstone – and a color
he often wore. But,
all those years together
it was a stone in my hand,
a jagged crystal tower
on my desk.
When we ended — all the jewels
fell to the ground like stars
dropping from the night sky.
Since then
I have stayed away from
the power of purple and gray.
You can’t know these things
as you hand me a heart
stone of purple amethyst,
that fills my palm with cool
smooth weight —
The past never ends, it is
recycled and reshaped
into the Now —
that bouncing between
the three realms of
past, present, future
eventually ends:
Three becomes One.
The Trinity of Time
flows in One stream
knowing
the eternal
is all-encompassing.
This never ending
circular flow —
The heart I lost in blood and flesh
given back to me in polished stone.
Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All), a depiction of the god of love, Eros. By Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, circa 1601–1602 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Love poems never suited
me. Too un-sentimental,
a realist, an artist. I
wrote of concrete moments,
never tried sonnets or
romantic poesy. One
must have unrequited
love for that — a permanently
present, happy love says
little. Lives content not to
speak — but, lost un-held
things demand words. Need
expression of absence. Loss
or broken dreams demand
a voice.
Love poems never called
to me. Too realistic, too jaded
for fairy tales. I need
to crave the unavailable,
must have gut-wrenching
deep-set pain to push
the words forward, out of heated
muscle, flesh, heart – the poet
in me found you for Muse –
this reminds me of Greek
mythology, love-hate
relationships with the Oracles.
You will be
like other myths, will
grow distant,
un-useable. With time
an old god no longer
believed to exist. Your
shimmering marble
covered in moss,
decay crossing cream,
old water stains and
some new graffiti
will color you unimportant.
April 2011
I am writing this a few minutes after midnight on September 11, 2011. The tenth anniversary of an event so tragic and destructive that it is known worldwide simply as “9-11.”
Almost everyone has a 9-11 story to tell – a pivotal moment when their personal life came to an abrupt halt and suddenly collided with universal differences, political-religious ideologies, and intentional terrorism.A simple fall day, colored by the blood of family and friends, now defines a generation and its place in American history.
The events of September 11, 2001 – the meaningless destruction, overwhelming loss, intense sorrow, amazing courage, riveting compassion, and dark anger – play through our minds like a Technicolor movie. That day remains frozen in the slow motion replay of my memories just like all other Americans. But, this is not about 9-11 and my memories of that day. This is about one American soldier.
1986: Laser Light Show at Stone Mountain, Georgia
I was listening to the radio a few days ago when the Lee Greenwood song, “Proud to Be An American,” started playing. My eyes misted in tears as a vivid memory from twenty-five years ago played through my mind. In the Summer of 1986 I was sitting on the grass lawn at Stone Mountain, GA with my then-husband, my two-year-old daughter and my 9-month-old son waiting for the Laser Light Show to begin.
It was our first trip to Stone Mountain Park, following a move to Atlanta the previous year because of a job transfer, and we had a wonderful day visiting the park features and nature trails with the children. We settled down on a blanket on the lawn in front of the mountain and watched a beautiful laser light show (which was a big deal back then!) accompanied by a soundtrack of various songs.
The song, “Proud to Be An American,” began playing, the American Flag appeared on the side of the mountain, and fireworks exploded over our heads. It was a beautiful and inspiring end to the show.
My eyes filled with tears as I looked at my daughter, asleep beside me on the blanket, and then looked into my son’s eyes as he was nursing. I expected the fireworks to scare him, but they didn’t. He kept nursing and staring into my eyes as I sat there with tears rolling down my cheeks. I was overwhelmed by the joy in my life and the patriotic pride I felt as an American. I would never have imagined that, eighteen years later, my son would join the Army and go overseas to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan as a soldier.
On August 31, over seven years after the war in Iraq began, President Obama announced the end of Operation Iraqi Freedom with a withdrawal of combat troops. Obama emphasized that U.S. domestic problems, mainly the flailing economy and widespread unemployment, are more pressing matters to his country. The U.S. will continue to be a presence in Iraq, mainly with civilian contractors but also with a smaller military contingent of approximately 50,000 troops. The remaining troops are scheduled to leave Iraq by the end of 2011.
Read more: Iraq War Timeline, 2010 — Infoplease.com http://www.infoplease.com/spot/iraq-timeline-2010.html#ixzz1XfYUxRyw
Artist: Lee Greenwood
Song: Proud To Be An American
If tomorrow all the things were gone,
I’d worked for all my life.
And I had to start again,
with just my children and my wife.I’d thank my lucky stars,
to be livin here today.
‘ Cause the flag still stands for freedom,
and they can’t take that away.And I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I wont forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
‘ Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.From the lakes of Minnesota,
to the hills of Tennessee.
Across the plains of Texas,
From sea to shining sea.From Detroit down to Houston,
and New York to L.A.
Well there’s pride in every American heart,
and its time we stand and say.That I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I wont forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
‘ Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.And I’m proud to be and American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I wont forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
‘ Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.
Fact Sheet: Iraqi War
- Length of official combat operation, Operation Iraqi Freedom: March 20–May 1, 2003.
- Deployment: More than 300,000 coalition troops deployed to the Gulf region: about 255,000 U.S., 45,000 British, 2,000 Australian, and 200 Polish troops.
- Post-conflict peace-keeping forces: About 130,000 U.S. and 11,000 British troops were stationed in Iraq following official end of hostilities, May 1, 2003.About 49 countries have participated in some form in what was called the “coalition of the willing.” At its strongest, the coalition provided a total of 25% of the troops in Iraq. About 13 countries have withdrawn their personnel as of March 2006. Coalition forces remaining in Iraq in March 2006: Albania, Armenia, Australia, Azerbaijan, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Czech Republic, Denmark, El Salvador, Estonia, Georgia, Italy, Japan, Kazakhstan, South Korea, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Mongolia, Norway, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, and the United Kingdom
- U.S. casualties: Deaths March 20–May 1 (official end of hostilities): combat, 115; noncombat, 23; total, 138. Deaths March 20, 2003–Nov.9, 2006: combat, 2,275; noncombat, 562; total, 2,837. 134 civilian contractors were killed as of June 2006.
- U.S. soldiers wounded in action: 21,572 (Nov. 7, 2006).
- American POWs: 8 (6 captured on March 23, 2003, in Nasiriya; 2 pilots shot down on March 24 near Karbala). All were rescued.
- Coalition casualties: Britain, 119; Italy, 33; Ukraine, 18; Poland, 17; Bulgaria, 13; Spain, 11; Denmark, 6; Slovakia, 3; El Salvador, 3; ; Thailand, 2; Estonia, 2; The Netherlands, 2; Australia, Hungary, Kazakhstan, Romania, and Latvia, 1 each (Oct. 24, 2006)
- U.S. cost of stationing troops in Iraq: in the first years, it was estimated at $4 billion per month, by 2006 it was $6 billion per month1
- Iraqi civilian deaths: over 55,000 (according to Iraq Body Count in Mar. 2006)
1. U.S. government figures
Sources: Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), CNN, BBC, U.S. Dept. of Defense.
Read more: Fact Sheet: Iraqi War — Infoplease.com http://www.infoplease.com/ipa/A0908900.html#ixzz1XfpJ0xL8
Today we remember the victims of the 9-11 assault on our shores. Let us also be mindful that the number of deaths resulting from 9-11 continue to grow with each passing day.
It’s been ten years – it’s time to bring our children home!
I can remember
the way you walk –
a fluid movement
with erotic appeal.
The way your hair
falls a certain way
across your cheeks,
beside your eyes.
A slight lift to the right
whenever you smile –
the honey sweet taste
of your lips, of you
in a passionate kiss.
I can remember
the way your back
feels soft and muscled –
warm – as I roll closer,
snuggle into sleep.
Waking to feel
the length of your legs
entwined with mine,
the width of your chest,
the weight of you
shifting, above and within
me — your chest touching mine,
soft whisper of words
against the nape of my neck.
I can remember
the strength of you
holding me, taking me,
hot against my flesh –
filling me completely
all those long years ago.
~July, 2011 South Carolina
ARTWORK: Reverie by Richard Young. For artist information, other available works, and further details on this piece, please go here.
Ritual
~for Julia, in memoria
On this Lily-white
silent Sunday she
combs one hundred times
the strands of pony-grey,
streaked-aged mane
of ninety-two years,
pulls it back tightly
into an outdated bun.
Liquid-blue-petal eyes
shift, stare sadly down
at purple-viened hands
lain gently across cloth,
placid in a lap
of sagging flesh
and weak-white bone.
Old Southern sighs resignation
as generations gather
around the chair
to celebrate ancient,
another birthday.
Their debt of homage
paid in presence, ordered
by size and height around
the matriarchal chair.
Time-ticks every face older
into a mist of memory
becoming dreams —
as death comes
she remembers the future–
ball gown of tangerine silk
flowing, she dances
times distorted promenade.
The children will turn,
burn old candles,
forget,
and live forward.
~Summer 2011, South Carolina
Two tiny droplets
a morsel of medicine
Crayola-colored sienna.
A color from the box
with the sharpener
in the back — implying
grand accomplishment.
A budding artist, would, of course,
use them down to the nub —
. . . peel – sharpen – draw
Two miniscule pellets
of prescription medicine
Where else did you ever
hear the word sienna?
(We live exclusively in
shades of black and gray.)
Thirty-days, taken at bed time.
A few well-worn hours before
you pick another color, draw
inside the lines again a
new-born day of maybe —
. . . peel – sharpen – draw
I am
a question mark written
on the pages of your life.
You are
a melodic song
I will hum on lonely days.
We are a question,
a melody forever playing ~
water to thirsting strangers,
food glorious to starving men.
I am a child dancing
too close to the fire.
You are a roaring flame
licking the edges of my soul.
February 2011
File folders clothed them,
alphabetically arranged,
in soft manila suits.
Their stories, each record
of submission, publication
duly noted in colored caps.
They wore published clips
buttoned at the back
like jewelry.
A wardrobe of time,
collected life, whispered secrets,
screamed epiphanies. Gone
in a moment of unintentional
unraveling, a thread caught
on life’s edges —
weak seams pulled apart until
the cloth gave way, the threads
broke
turning into a thousand tears.
composed January 2011
When you have said
all the words I need to hear
and told me everything
in warm whispers, except
“I love you.” It won’t be enough.
When you have given me
flowers, apologies, soft
sentiments and fresh hope
in softest whispers, but
haven’t said “I love you.”
It won’t be enough.
When you have told me the
truth about who you were
becoming who you are, and
have lulled my heart with
dream-songs. It should be,
but it won’t be – enough.
When you can tell me
in quiet-tones, face-to-face,
eyes-to-eyes that you love
me, I will know that you
see me clearly for the first
time. But, it won’t be enough.
When you can love me
across the miles of time
without hiding in the silence;
when the pain apart defines you
through the essence of my absence,
and your soul recognizes the loss —
then, and only then, will it be enough.
Marissa Colleen Mullins 