There,
at the bottom of being,
where the water that makes
this planet a world
is the color of spacetime
the octopus —
Tag: <span>poem</span>
I have noticed some new names and faces on my blog, and I am flattered. The connection and communication with follow boggers are wonderful. I do wonder did you connect with me after you had just read one of my silly sarcastic posts, or did you decide to read my future rants and vents after I just had blown off some steam -again?
In parts of our city, the power went out
intentionally outages after a strong storm,
to prevent further damages, to make sure
we all will be comfortable during the summer.
Everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed and strange,
Minds made muddied and mute.
We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.
And yet none of it is new;
We knew it as home,
As horror,
As heritage.
Even our children
Cannot be children,
Cannot be.
Just be who I am,
no judgment by others
without too many worries
living my life.
Trusting my instinct
concentrating
feeling its needs
eavesdropping
whispering
to myself.
Go into this week
with the attitude that
your peace,
your health of mind,
and your heart
mean more than
getting everything else done.
A voice from the dark called out,
“The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.”
How can five small pills be so powerful?
The fear I felt before I took my first low dose of a chemotherapy drug was real. I felt very nervous, had read up on it, had researched it mercilessly. The internet, as always, helped me to picture all kinds of horror scenarios in my head. The printed list of potential side effects that came with the medication didn’t help much either: Possible death. I chuckled when I read it out loud. My husband didn’t think it was humorous at all.