You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘In Memory’ category.

for ruth curtiss

elegant flight
you are beauty in the sky
the breeze of your wings
so gentle on my skin

graceful bird
with the next life to come
nested in your breast
your spirit is soft
and unhurried

let me feel the gentleness of your breeze
to lift the gravity of my heart
see the vista of your inner eye
to broaden my finite vision
and rest my grief

as you leave behind this mechanical world
let me feel the transcendence of your ascent
float my eyes to the sky
and watch your divine flight
so graceful
so right

blessing your journey
as i sit on this lonely shore
within you
unbearably without you
watching on

—————————————————-
I’ve linked a song, Sometimes, by David Gresham, lyrics by Jessica Radcliffe that is very touching and i feel goes well with this poem: Sometimes

i observe two women at the table by the window

one like me and one like you

and i wish she were my mother

and that was me sitting across from you

i would watch and listen to you from across the table

like i see her do

watch you eat your soup

with crinkled lips

see your eyes make contact with me over your bifocals

your necklace dangling

i would take in the familiarity of your face, like mine

share a salad with you like two women would

passed would be the days when we would have been at odds

sharp words from opposite sides of the table

delivering judgment upon each other like passing stale bread across the dinner table

i watch your face look astray when you hear a word askew

marvel at your manners which once repelled me

and for the first time, not experience you as formidable but as someone who was once a vulnerable child

our conversation stops for a while as we sit together

mother and daughter, woman to woman

peers at the table of some restaurant on a Friday afternoon

the lines on your face and your delicate bones would reveal we are cultivating a new relationship, the beginning of you depending on me for a change, you leaning on me for advice

the woman in me resumes our conversation

and then i listen for some of me in you

my mother in me.

like these two women i hungrily spy upon

we would have certainly become friends by now.

"Love is Like" by Belinda Chlouber See more of Belinda's work at: http://www.tenfingers.com/

“Love is Like” by Belinda Chlouber
See more of Belinda’s work at: http://www.tenfingers.com/

Comfort women  (ianfu) were young women, even girls, often tricked or kidnapped by the Japanese military during WWII.  They were brought to what were called “comfort stations” and forced into prostitution to serve the soldiers. Most of these women came from Korea, China, Burma and other Japanese-occupied countries.

i am comfort to them

mad, frenzied soldiers

uniforms lined up out the door

and i will know them one by one

day and night

i break apart in myself until i cannot feel

the tortured hyena mouths tear at my chest

i cut myself into bits to blind myself from the horror

the shame

that this is a comfort to them

tricked away from my village

legs like sticks squatting in the dirt

playing pebble games with my brother

dirty knees and toothy grin so shy when they ask my name

so nice, they were so nice that day

until they brought me here

and ripped away the right to my own body

my fate

my sin for being a girl, a comfort to them

i shut my eye to the brutes, the hits and filthy hands

syringe of medicine for oozing infections

from the dirty doctor who i am forced to comfort too

there is no comfort to offer dead hearts enlisted in misery

and there is no tenderness for my own heart long ago flattened and left for dead

hibiscus flower cut

set on the hot sidewalk to shrivel in the scorching sun

burning, like my insides

so i will recess far inward to keep the truth from rising

endure this comfort station as a palace of hell

i shrivel like a pink blossom plucked from its vine

shrink to know that these blisters will brand my life forever

delicate petals, scarred and left to wither on the hot road

under a mean sun

that will never, ever set

 

This poem won 2nd place in the Great War to End All Wars contest and published in the commemorative edition of The Diploemat.

working girls by Sarah Curtiss - to see more of her art go to http://graceartgroup.com

working girls by Sarah Curtiss – to see more of her art go to http://graceartgroup.com

saturday’s child

your eyes closed before your birthday

the candles and songs are not around sweet cake

but calls up to heaven to reach your locked gaze

your birthday will come again on a tuesday

a mark on a calendar

hands grip around empty air without you here

a date floating in time forever changed

for never again

will there be a tuesday in january

Polly Kearney, 1964 to 2013 Rest in Peace, longtime sister

Polly Kearney, 1964 to 2013
Rest in Peace, longtime sister

like holding her cloth napkin
could make a difference
monet’s splash of color on this cotton square
bleeds memories into my heart…

the nasturtiums in her postage stamp garden
pot roast on sundays, looking up at her sheepishly
after dripping stains on her table cloth, again

like holding this piece of fabric,
held so many times at her table
could melt me away from here
bring me back

to the comfort of life when it was new
to the safety of a grandmother’s garden
playing scrabble with her on tuesdays
watching fog swim past her plate glass window

no mortgage or threat of foreclosure
no clients or projects aching their demands in my head
no marriage to reconcile or find
no health issues or the kinds of hurts that surely come with years

just free falling at that maiden age
drudgery hadn’t set in yet.

like holding this piece of her
could bring me back to her
make this tedium of bills and chores and worries melt away
make life a monet garden

like holding this napkin of feather-tipped colors
could bring me
back to life.

this poem won honorable mention for free-form poetry at the San Mateo County Fair, 2014.

Pollination, courtesy of William Solis

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 796 other followers

Poetry Reading in Pacific Grove

Ode to Maestro Klein, Peninsula Symphony Orchestra

Performance for San Mateo County Supervisors

Poetry Reading by Maurine

Past Posts

Blog Stats

  • 12,315 hits

Blogs I Follow

Gary Direnfeld, MSW, RSW

Can you relate...

Bill's Blog

I love a statement I found attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “I wish to be known all over Europe for my humility.” Throughout my time as a writer and musician, I’ve tried to harbor a similar inclination, a sort of quiet pride in what I’ve done, but I am also well aware that, as far back as 1959, author Norman Mailer espoused, when it came to calling attention to one’s own work, what is a more efficacious attitude. He published Advertisements for Myself—and set the tone for a future we are all a part of now. So here’s Bill’s Blog.

Red Wolf Journal

A literary compass for finding your voice..."You turn toward me, your lips move, wanting to speak."--Stephen Dobyns, "Wolves In The Street"

RedXShoes

My recovery from Heroin Addiction & my journey to build a new life

Cupertino Poet Laureate

Celebrate Creativity

I Am Woman

a reminder that sensuality is a portal to the Divine

ZarasWorld

Look Within Yourself

Dimitris Melicertes

I don't write, I touch without touching.

O-My Fragile Hart-O!

Life with a heart so fragile in His hands.

smcpoetlaureate

The power of poetry and spoken word.

Marie H Curran

Writing, Poetry, Life lessons: Using words to fill the fractured voids within this world

off the margins

off the margins…into the wild terrain of women’s writing

Moon Mothers of Half Moon Bay

Embodiment of the New World Goddess

Lessons In Love

Speaking the words of my heart.

Beyond Words

Prose and Poetry by Robert S. King

Playing Your Hand Right

Showing America how to Live

Transformative Hypnotherapy

When it's time for a change!

Eunoia Review

beautiful thinking

Simple Pleasures

Visual Poetry, Photography and Quotes

ParaYourNormal

A magazine for those who love all things paranormal

luminarieswithoutboundaries

Just another WordPress.com site

Kourtney Heintz's Journal

Believing In The Unbelievables: From Aspiring Writer to Published Author

biljanazovkic

the beauty of words and colors

muags

Just words

Craving The Mat

Yoga.Music.Love

FICTIONAL MACHINES

J. E. LATTIMER

Teacher as Transformer

Education, Leadership, Life, and Transformation

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

Don't just click - buy a book! - - https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

Audrey Kalman - Fiction with a dark edge

stories reveal—and hide—our most essential truths

bussokuseki

fatherhood, zen, and the buddha's footprints in an everyday life

Rants.

Realizations & Revelations.

Snotting black

growing wild in the san francisco hills

Coco J. Ginger Says

Poems and stories of love & heartbreak.

gaymanranting

J.D. Cerna, former columnist for The Washington Blade, copes with Life by Writing

Five Reflections

Books, Stories, Songs, Poetry, Or Reminiscing

Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

** OFFICIAL Site of Artist Ray Ferrer **

Life as a Writer and Artist

writer,novels,poetry,viola,painting

brianbakerwrites

Capturing the Human Experience to Change Human Existance

The Book People Chronicles: A Story Writing Contest

create dynamic stories; raise funds for valuable causes

Carmen the Chicken Killer by Sarah Curtiss

This is the story of my 2-month stay in Costa Rica a few years ago. It wasn’t my first trip. I had visited the year before with my partner, William Solis, who is from Costa Rica. But this particular year I wanted to learn Spanish. My initial plan was to take an immersion course in Mexico. However, William said that if I was going to immerse myself in a Spanish family it might as well be his. They don’t speak any English so I would be forced to speak Spanish and I could get to know them better. I told him that when I returned I would know more about him and his family than he did and so it has proven to be true. William joined me for the last 10 days. This is my journal plus emails I wrote to family and friends and a few comments from my current perspective…six years later. I drew a picture every day using pencil, pen, colored pencil, water colors, and acrylics. I wrote in my journal almost every day. I took photographs.

%d bloggers like this: