This morning I woke up to a thick sky. I thought it was overcast but instead the sky was covered with smoke. I know this sky, I’ve seen it before.
Where the windows were opened, ashes have settled on the window sills and nearby furniture.
A bit worried (sad and scared), as people in nearby areas are starting to evacuate. The University campus has closed. My kids are still in the on-line school and teachers made announcements for the kids in the affected areas to leave. We are safe and I hope the fire will be contained before it spreads further, although they stoped the air aid because the wind is too strong.
As we go through this, I cannot help thinking about the people who are in the immediate vicinity. Please keep them in your prayers.
The theme for this month for Free Verse Revolution is “Reflections”. Reflections could mean anything, from reflections in the mirror, water….to anything that you think it could be related with reflections.
For me, it was …the following poem.
You can read it at Free Verse Revolution if you click here. If you are a poet, I encourage you to submit some of your poetry to this blog, as I think it is a wonderful way of sharing our work.
I love nature. I do not hug trees. However, this morning when I went to my mailbox, which I have not checked in the past 3 days, I got a sudden urge to go hug a tree ….Why are there almost 30 pieces of election materials in my mailbox? Really , do we need to be invaded with these? And, if we do, do they really need to be HUGE?!!!
This one that I measured from Trump & Dixon is just an example. They are all about the same size, regardless the party orientation, or the Propositions they advertise for.
I live in California. Is it just here? Is it just my area? Does your mailbox looks the same?
Visual Verse is an anthology of art, poetry, short fiction and non-fiction. You can find more information about it here Visual Verse : An Anthology of Art and Words . Each month authors are asked to write something, within an hour, inspired by an image. The image for this month was the one above. Below is the poem I wrote, which you can find on page 13 of this month’s anthology.
He shed the stiff, dead skins That he once rightfully wore, And let the universe move through him, Turning the pulses of energy Into life.
Perhaps suffering, For this takes courage, He became a tumult of ideas and emotions Both sincere and worthy, To be watered and nourished.
If you’ll come close to his face, You’ll blink twice and then realize That he is struggling, As the waves swell and recede within his body, Receptive to the ebbs and flows of life.
He is embracing, cherishing, protecting creation, Knowing that when the time will come, Death will not take him entirely, And he will continue to exist, As the universe will turn him Into pulses of energy that will create life.
Visual Verse is an anthology of art, poetry, short fiction and non-fiction. You can find more information about it here Visual Verse . Each month published or unpublished authors are asked to write something, within an hour, inspired by an image. The image for this month was the one above. And here is a poem I wrote about it( it hasn’t been published at their website and I don’t know if it will be chosen to be part of their anthology, but to me, is the experience that counts) :
We come from the place Where the air and the water make home, Where thundering hearts smile at each other And paint Valentines red.
On our perfect orb, We roam through space And lie in the meadows of the Sun and the Moon.
It looks a lot like freedom But here beasts roam free, Their waggling tongues are licking our place of its warmth and its beauty, While their tails blow boundless seas of wild dust, Entombing our sky. Our lungs are filled with smog, We lost sight of our reflection, And dust is catching in our dry, voiceless throats.
Weakened we come to you, weakened but hopeful. Please master, tame them with your hands And quench their thirst. Please master, make our world the way it used to be, And let forests grow, The oceans thrive, And season after season, We would feel again, The nature’s beauty and its perfect harmony.
Crying, The tears of your eyes fall in the ashes, Scattered on the streets. Your thoughts don’t stand tall, But crumble with the buildings, Down on the ground beneath your feet.
You join the other countless voices screaming, And feel inside you fear carving the walls of your skin.
A man looks from a window and then he looks at you, He put his jacket on to keep him warm in his trip to eternity. You want to fly every time you take a step And grab the arms that rise from dust and broken glasses, But you cannot, you cannot help them.
It smells like it’s never going to stop raining with pain, It smells of heartbreak and no tomorrows, It smells of burning candles at the funeral of hope.
Not a word said, You’re crying for the lost, You’re crying because you don’t know what eternity looks like.
All the wrongs of the past time bombard your eyes, What has life become? Is it too late to change it?
You bang your skinned knuckles At the door of the future And vow to go on a scavenger hunt All over the world, To find prayers, good deeds, And promises that stories like this will never repeat.
Note: Today is 9/11 and I remember it. I remember the faces, the terror, and everything that came with it. I will never forget. But that it is not the only thing that I will never forget. Although I only seen them in movies, like Schindler’s list, or read them in books like “Hiding in the Spotlight”, I will never forget the stories of the Jewish people whose spirts were lost during the Holocaust. The same, I will never forget the faces and stories of Syrian kids, and the ones of their parents, that were war refugees in Jordan. I took some interviews, and these were firsthand, heartbreaking stories. I kneel in front of their pain and wish that we will never repeat the mistakes of the past. I am sure that each of us have our experiences. I am sure that each of us have memories that have shattered our hearts. But I think we should do our best to bring light into this world, the way we can. I think each of us contribute, in small or big ways, to spread love and not hatred, to spread acceptance and kindness.
Bemused from the perusal, Of walks through the world’s faiths, You’re seating at the table of your life, With present and the future you, Still searching for enlightenment, Still wishing that it is much more you knew.
Define the undefined, and feel it! Your animated consciousness does that everyday, Then why to find the answer, To soul and its existence, Is still uncharted way?
Behold the contradiction, the chatter of two sides, As far apart as ever, both struggle to be guides. One says that it’s your body the vessel for your soul, The other that these two are indivisible and whole.
The inner music of your thoughts secretly shouts: ”I am immortal”! Convincing, but certainly revised by your sense of the natural world.
Your heart pulsing beneath your chest breathes life, You think, maybe your story didn’t last long enough to know the answer. But then you lock eyes with yourself in the mirror, You see, Your soul, the silent actor, Sealed tightly with the corks of your unfettered nature, Assimilating, crystallizing, metabolizing, The pain and the pleasure, The gain and the loss, The hideous and the lovely, The demonic and the divine! You feel yourself emerging countless times, With purpose and determination, Shoving away in scorn, A vast blind history of explanations, Of our origins and of the destiny of being born!
The chatter quiets and you listen, The waters of your mind are clear and quiet, And in their depths you see the wisdom of the untold aeons of time, The energy and love, Unquestioning, complete, Beautiful and hopeful, Becoming you.