Today, we’re writing a “HEART” poem.
Be it, the Heart of the Matter, or artichoke hearts. The heart as a vital organ, or a heart felt expression of something. I hope you ❤ this prompt. You’re not necessarily writing a “love” poem, but if that’s what’s in your heart, by all means, go for it. I ❤ Poetry!
MARIE’S HEART:
THE HEART OF AN OLYMPIAN
Dreams held within resist all hindrances,
As though an iron breastplate shelters it.
Equating fear and doubt as hidden sins,
It will not recognize them, nor admit
Susceptibility may lie inside.
It soundly strikes a metronome-like beat
That pulses toward the goal that it has eyed,
Where grueling pain and utter joy may meet.
But when a running water hose crimps tight,
The urgent fix outweighs the aim at hand.
The crimp must be relaxed … And this despite
Whatever lofty plan was in demand.
Olympic hearts are human, in the end.
They’ve earned soft hands to hold them as they mend.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
WALT’S HEART:
THE HEART OF POETICS
“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance”
~An Essay on Criticism (Sound and Sense) Alexander Pope
The heart expresses all that its eyes can see;
it is a voice that’s clear and speaks to all who wish to hear.
So, do not close your mind to what is possible. It can be
that a heart so blind will make love disappear.
But pens that stroke in broad and heartfelt hues,
will yield a master work in the words you choose.
© Walter J. Wojtanik
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
I love the heart of our two fearless leaders, Walt and Marie! Great way to lead us off the blocks with wonderful poems. ❤️😁👌
Aww! How sweet are you!
Your poem touched me because I felt so sorry for SImone Biles this week… I hope this will fade in her memories…
Me too. And others.
I agree Benjamin…. and i love the prompt… reminds me of high school when chorus sang the song You gotta have heart…
Dedicated to our wonderful poets Walt and Marie.
TWO POETS
Two poets at heart.
True, and irrefragable.
Their exemplary words
are manifested beauteously.
The art from their lips
drool the ecstasy of imagination.
Benjamin Thomas
And again, how sweet are you! Thank you, Benjamin.
“drool the ecstasy of imagination” … wow! Talk about, “show, don’t tell.” Great!
Smile and I agree…
You caught the essence of these two excellent poets and people,
Thanks Sara!
Marie, so wish Simone could read this & know we understand! Gorgeous & so true
Thank you, Pat. And seeing how her teammates have stepped up to the plate is inspiring as well. Oh, the heart of the Olympian!
I agree
HEART AND MIND
The heart and mind are inseparable.
Magnificent in functionality,
marvelous in inconspicuousness.
They are manifested in word and deed,
gracious or toxic when spewed,
and endowed with possibilities.
Like an open field ripe for the taking,
when anticipating its seed,
having great potential for kinetic growth.
Springing forth toxins, flowers, delicious fruits,
canopies of mystical trees—
the heart and mind, are inseparable indeed.
Benjamin Thomas
What a lovely, imaginative, thought-provoking piece.
Thought-provoking indeed.
Sometimes your poems go beyond the words I possess, this is one of them… lovely doesn’t even begin to explain it…
Like an open field ripe for the taking,
when anticipating its seed,
having great potential for kinetic growth.
Unique description, Benjamin!
Thanks so much Sara. 😊
SENTINELS
Guarding
pairs of organs
in human orchestras,
our hearts stand watch and thump their beats
alone.
WOW. WOW. The brilliance of this, and outstanding use of form. WOW …
Love it William!
Wow just wow
Outstanding description, William!
Marie, I think your sonnet is a masterpiece
Humbling. Thank you so much, sir.
THE TRUE SOIL
The dirt bleeds,
the manifold life force that feeds the earth.
From rags to riches,
it switches form—to bless the needs of the many.
It has untold power,
to imbibe heavenly showers, nourish the plump and skinny.
It is the great foundation,
of man, beast, and creeping things alike.
The heart of man,
is the golden bridge and the true soil of the earth.
Benjamin Thomas
Love this, Benjamin. And yet again, you pump out excellence so quickly and profusely, it boggles my mind!
Indeed so. om both counts.
Om typing badly again.
Om giggling. 😉
powerful
Another treasure!
Thanks 😊
WINNING TEAM
They say
you gotta have
heart, miles and miles of it,
but sometimes a heart needs a brain’s
quick wit.
Yes, please!
Lovely, and true!
Walt, Your piece hits with such subtle power, especially, for me, in the myriad implications and connotations of :”hues.” Wonderful.
Great description. That’s our Walt all over..
Heart of Summer
birdsong in a breeze
resonates in sill skies
long days of light
borne
the glimmer of ribbons
of concrete and asphalt
wanderlust
I’m taken to many places
small towns open their doors
this is the story told
of one and many places
co-ed soccer in a park
at the edge of town
where I sit
collecting my dreams
cabins on a lake
groves of trees
speak to waters
a communion of sorts
heartfelt visions
another day I am born
Bingo, especially that last line, in my opinion.
I agree completely with you… that last line ties it all together…
Oh my. Mike this is beautiful and full. For me, especially:
“long days of light
borne
the glimmer of ribbons
of concrete and asphalt
wanderlust”
Wow …
Waxing poetic here, Mike!
Love this, Mike. Killer ending.
No Doubt, A Hexaverse
Go slowly, be kind,
for everyone you
meet is fighting a
hard battle, struggling
between heart and mind.
There are two ways
in this world that
we can know things,
heart, and heart-mind.
Each moment,
we get to
start out fresh.
Hoping,
Trusting.
Self.
Yes. A great deal to contemplate and embrace, here.
Skillfully done too, in my opinion.
Smile
Love it Daniel. Including the use of heart-mind. 👌
I love the idea of being able to start out fresh. Wonderful poem, Daniel.
I know about heart
I’ve had my heart overhauled
Thank God it still beats
Thanking God with you, friend.
I am glad also…
Nice.
Something I wrote a decade ago that relates even more today than ever in our history:
Heart of America
It lay there in a heap
Blood oozing from the cracks
In the many layers of filth
That covered its greatness
The many layers of filth
Heaped on by its enemies
Layer after filthy layer
Smothering its glory
I put my ear to the pile
And listened intently for life
Any sign of life at all
Any sound that emanates
Any movement, warmth, or cry
I listened intently for signs
Plugged my other ear
And listened
And listened
And then…..
There it was
Faint and seemingly dying
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
It was still alive under that heap
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
Fighting for its own survival
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
Readied for a great revival
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
Ba-bump……… Ba-bump……..
So I jumped to my feet
And went into action
Pulling layer after layer of filth
From the heap we all had built
The heap of lies and deceit
Thoughtlessness and selfish ambitions
The garbage of unrighteous endeavors
Bags of evil human inhumanness
All piled on through twisted laws
Bought and paid for by Satan himself
The heap grew smaller as I dug
I paused to listen once again
Once again I heard the beat
Louder this time, and a bit faster
Ba-bump… Ba-bump… Ba-bump…
Ba-bump… Ba-bump… Ba-bump…
I think it sensed my efforts
Ba-bump… Ba-bump… Ba-bump…
Ba-bump… Ba-bump… Ba-bump…
It knew my intent was honest
Ba-bump… Ba-bump… Ba-bump…
Ba-bump… Ba-bump… Ba-bump…
But the heap of filth was massive
My strength was waning under the strain
I began to doubt my resolve
Could I clean up this mess alone?
Maybe
Maybe not
But I would rather die trying
Than live knowing I did nothing
So I dug, pulled, pushed, and threw
Layer after layer of filth from the heap
Sweat dripped from my brow
Blood oozed from my swollen hands
Then somewhere in my endeavor
I lost all sense of time and feelings
Fell into a state of euphoric madness
In a frenzied rage, I passed out
Awakened by the noise of
Frantic laborers all around me
Digging, pulling, pushing, and throwing
Layer after layer of filth from the heap
Sweat dripping from their brows
Blood oozing from their swollen hands
Joining me in my once hopeless endeavor
I jumped again to my feet
And joined them in their action
Once again hitting a rapid rhythm
No longer alone
No longer wondering if
What I had started would fail
It would not
We would succeed
The heap would be removed
And she would live again
She would be great again
Once again she would be
As she had for so many years
The example of liberty
The light of the world
The land of the free
And the home of the brave
BA-BUMP.. BA-BUMP..BA-BUMP..
BA-BUMP.. BA-BUMP..BA-BUMP..
BA-BUMP.. BA-BUMP..BA-BUMP..
BA-BUMP.. BA-BUMP..BA-BUMP..
The Heart of America beats on
For I am the Heart of America
Earl Parsons
Copyright © Earl Parsons 2011
Inspirational and well penned!
true…
Inspired indeed! 👍 Well done Earl.
AND THE BEAT GOES ON
I used to think
Anyone five and under
Would have my heart
Forever
I couldn’t get enough
Of their bright, alert minds
Absorbing all life showed them
Taking everything on faith
Loving everyone they saw
Catching every rainbow
In their small hands
Dancing in the rain or mud
Didn’t matter
It just had to be wet
Or squishy
They touched it
They loved it
They tasted it all
With an eager glee
A tangible joy
An endless delight
They stole my heart
Early and lasting
Teaching them, reaching them
Was everything
And yet
As I visit memory care now
Seeing my husband
As his mind wanders
Away from our time
And our current reality
Together
I have a renewed heart
For this stage of life, too
Watching all the residents
Sitting out in the sun
Listening to the birds
Enjoying the flowers
Maybe each other
Happy to go into dinner
As a caregiver takes their arm
They have lived another day
And their life
Has brought them here
Their heartbeat still goes on
Like all of ours must
Appreciating life
Wherever we are
However, we are
Whoever we are
Until our last beat
Just one beat away
When our love can go anywhere
At any time, it wants
Because in the end
That love is what lasts
Forever
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
Oh, Janet … so touching, this. And prayers continue for you and your love.
Deep sigh here
Sadly beautiful and I get this… for there is a simple beauty in those days….
So moving a piece.
This is so beautiful, Janet. My husband is not quite at that stage yet, but it’s difficult to watch.
No Doubt 2
Nothing strange about it,
not luck at all,
even though she,
at the start,
took my name,
it wasn’t until after
I stole her heart.
Awwww! ❤
Yeahhhhh
How sweet….
Harvest of the Heart
The miles and miles
are like rows and rows
and the people I meet,
planters planting seeds:
hospitality, knowledge
kindness, humor, love,
adventure, fun, smiles
into my traveler’s heart
and I’m anticipating
a brilliant harvest.
Connie, I love this! What a creative and (dare I say) heartwarming take!
This may be my favorite poem by you … this is why I love to travel and see things and meet people for only moments… but what a gift…to my life…
‘ my travelers heart’ love it!
Yep
Yes!
Ruby Falls Redbud
With heavy heart
I went for a walk,
not taking note
of what was around
me. Then, as I rounded
a corner, there stood
a wondrous weeping
tree of deep red
heart-shaped leaves.
Had to know what
that tree was called.
Discovered it is
a Ruby Falls Redbud.
I want one.
(see photo on site)
Aaahhhhhh,,,,
Thanks, William!
Love this, and I am not sure of the reason other than it blooms about Easter every year… in the mountains it is known as the Judas Tree for his hearts bleeds or maybe the Savior bleeds at his betrayal…
Thanks for this information, Mary. I diid not know about Easter.
Beautiful.
Thanks, Benjamin!
You have a strong heart…
Some mornings
I want to get up
And be frail
Just for one week maybe…
I would stay in bed and
Eat cookies,
And read and pretend
I didn’t have to face that week.
Nah, I couldn’t last a week.
Maybe I could do it for a weekend.
I would sit and watch television
And dream about living elsewhere…
That would get tiresome.
I think I will try it for a day…
And I would let my dishes pile up
And my clothes go unwashed,
And I would sit on my porch
And drink cups of tea…
I can’t sit still that long.
How about for the morning…
I would drink my coffee,
And play card games,
Pretend I have nothing to do.
Ugh, I have dishes to wash and other things to do.
How about I stop pretending
And face the day before me…
People tell me,
“You have a strong heart.”
I know they are right.
Sometimes I wish
I didn’t have a strong heart,
Because I am tired some days
Of facing the battles…
I face each day.
I have the heart to do them…
Some days I don’t have the strength.
Those days make my strong heart hurt.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 2, 2021
Lovely narrative, and moving.
thank you
Beautiful, Mary!
thank you
When I heard my heart Beat…
As the blood in my body
Bled away… I heard my heart beat
First softly
Tap…tap… tap…
Every minute
Of
Every hour
Of
Every Day…
Tap…tap…tap…
Each breath
Robbed my body,
And my heart beat
Louder
Knock… knock… knock
And louder
Bang—Bang—Bang
And louder
BOOMBOOMBOOM
And my skin became
Colorless, and
My lips blue,
And walking three steps
Was as difficult
As climbing a mountain.
But my heart kept
Shrieking
Scream, Scream, Scream
Until it
Was silenced
One night
As the dead visited me…
And I chose to live,
And my heart
Began
To
Thump, thump, thump…
Until blood given
To me by strangers
Flowed in my veins
And my heart relaxed
Into its steady beat…
I did not hear.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 2, 2021
The best poem according to me that I wrote about heart is an older poem…I realized that almost all civilizations began their music with drums… and our heart is a drum… this is to be read fast… and I like to read it out loud…I hope you like it… by the way when I visited foster children and families those were called face to face meetings…
Face to Face
With our worlds behind us,
We stand face to face.
With the beat of drums of our distant lands
We are different from where we came.
I am who I am; you are who you are.
My heart beating, your heart beating-
The same rhythm of time,
From Time’s beginning to Time’s ending.
I can hear in my heart
The sound of the Bodhran
Haunting as it echoes its own beats of my heart.
I know the history of the world behind me,
Of good people and of bad.
Their blood flows through me.
I cannot deny though I have tried.
They are those that have led me to here,
Standing as I am who I am,
But you know not this.
Just as I know not who those are who stand behind you.
They brought you to this place,
Standing as you are who you are
With the drum echoing the beats of your heart.
The name of your heart’s drum
Is unnamed to me,
But I can hear it beating ,
Just as you hear mine,
Standing as I am who I am,
As you are who you are,
Looking face to face,
Eyes into eyes,
My heart beating, your heart beating.
I do not know the echoes of your heart;
You do not know the echoes of my heart.
It is something that cannot ever be known-
It is hidden between the beats of the drum.
For a rest note,
We stand,
Waiting,
For the choice to be made,
Either to leave or
To embrace,
One pause,
With my heart beating, your heart beating,
Beating out the rhythm of the drums, while
I am who I am, and
You are who you are.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
1998
Kansas Heartland
Here compass plants line roads
behind blue chicory borders gray
with gravel dust in this dry August
low-waters gone dry and rocky
balers whining up and down rows
raked high and dried overnight
loaded trucks laboring with seven
bales spiked on flatbeds moving
to line distant fields for winter feeding
twisting pot-holed roads
two-tracks first hacked out
by plow and pick pounded
by horses’ hooves, spinning
wagon wheels snaking down
their arteries veins turning and returning
very lifeblood leading beyond fields
to elevators’ towering siloes
Co-op gas stations roadside markets
Road dust coating the backs of farmers
riding tractors into town raising
collective voices against marauding
maws of megalopolises waiting
to gobble up family farms berries
ripe for the picking merging land
into their mega-farms with hordes
of over crowded cattle and hogs
bleeding waste into watersheds
polluting family wells poisoning
the very air above the arboretum
until cowed by unexpected valor
in defense of their farms fueled
by the pride of generations the
predators pack up and leave
fields trembling and coated
with the stench of lingering fear
mothers and fathers grandparents
left wondering about ‘when’ and
‘next time’ for corporate greed
to threaten what they hold as gift
each new day wrapped in cardinal song
spun from piles of morning cantaloupe
seeds tossed for their gleaning
every night the song of mockingbird
a balm to hearts burdened by mud
coating fields after the creek flashed
in a sudden thunderstorm sealing
over a thousand rows of soybeans
even as other hearts overflow with
the sweet largesse of new calves
doting dewy hills come sunrise
each tottering newborn a promise
held tightly as bales wrapped
in red white and blue flag-sheeting
paeans pointing to hard work
just another way to say how each
of farm honors those brave ancestors
of land run and wagon train
their hope our hope centered here
in Kansas: heart of America.
Walt & Marie– keep reading and re-reading your offferings for this week! Get more of value each time!!
lovely just lovely and I get that
This is heart-wrenching, Pat.
Indeed so
The Secret Chambers of My Heart…
There within my heart
Is a chamber no one can find
Unless I let them into it.
It is where I keep
The deep feelings
That I fear to share
For if they are
Tossed aside…
I am not sure
That I have the strength…
To be flung into the four winds…
I am asking myself
This question…
Within in me
Is the need
To open
That chamber door.
It is hidden in plain sight,
But unseen…
More than once,
I let someone in,
And
Each one crashed the chamber
With their deceit.
Because of them
I keep it secret.
I do not know the secret chamber
Of your heart…for it is for you to know
And you to open that door.
It is the way with humans…
We seek what we fear…
We trust what we shouldn’t
And then
When we are sought
Do we trust
What others have bruised?
Yet,
Here I hold the key
To that secret chamber
Of my heart…
Rubbing that key
Between my fingers
Feeling the engraved
Hope in its structure,
Knowing
That within me
Is the ability
To trust in that key.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 2, 2021
“Accident ruled every corner of the universe except the chambers of the human heart.”
“None of those other things makes a difference. Love is the strongest thing in the world, you know. Nothing can touch it. Nothing comes close. If we love each other we’re safe from it all. Love is the biggest thing there is.”
“The heart of any other, because it had a will, would remain forever mysterious.”
These three quotes come from Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson
IT is a beautiful tale of love, and loss, and these quotes are the inspiration of this poem….
I made a slight correction to this poem later today….
The Secret Chambers of My Heart…
There within my heart
Is a chamber no one can find
Unless I let them into it.
It is where I keep
The deep feelings
That I fear to share
For if they are
Tossed aside…
I am not sure
That I have the strength…
To be flung into the four winds…
I am asking myself
This question…
Within me
Is the need
To open
That chamber door,
Do I?
It is hidden in plain sight,
But unseen…
More than once,
I let someone in,
And
Each one crashed the chamber
With their deceit.
Because of them
I keep it secret.
I do not know the secret chamber
Of your heart…for it is for you to know
And you to open that door.
It is the way with humans…
We seek what we fear…
We trust what we shouldn’t
And then
When we are sought
Do we trust
What others have bruised?
Yet,
Here I hold the key
To that secret chamber
Of my heart…
Rubbing that key
Between my fingers
Feeling the engraved
Hope in its structure,
Knowing
That within me
Is the ability
To trust in that key.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 2, 2021
FAITHFUL AND TRUE
The heart of a champion
knows the perilous road of trials
pain and tribulation.
It is the revelation of heart
that is tested and tried
to cross the finish line.
You can count on the heart
of a champion, every single time—
for its name is faithful and true.
Benjamin Thomas
True and you said it well…
Thank you. 🙏🏽
THE HEART OF THE UNIVERSE
She’s got heart,
seductively brilliant, so inviting.
Like the rush of warm, eager water
caressing over the skin—exciting.
Her sweet calm ray tangos on petals,
in glee, visits a hungry garden—enticing.
She is the true heart,
of a dark universe, her bursts of light—are still fighting.
Hopeless ride her mystic, golden waves
into today, with no sense of tomorrow—no hiding.
Benjamin Thomas
be still my heart this is so lovely
😊
Ah!
👌
No Doubt 3
Every breath, heartbeat
and word that I express
is a prayer.
Everyday I simply do my best,
show up, aim to be present,
try to open my heart.
When I am successful,
I also open my ears,
so please continue.
Grateful for everyone,
I opt for civility,
find it to be
a shortcut to happiness.
When I can see
the perfection in others,
perhaps they’ll recognize it too.
Now, even my alone time is
for everyone’s well being.
Prayer without ceasing in poetry… lovely just lovely…
Yes
Plain women have a heart…
Before I was ten people
Would stop my mother and say,
“Your daughter is beautiful.”
But all of that changed…
The one that harmed me
Took my beauty…
Leaving
My eyes always sad…
A boy sort of ordinary…
Not anyone I would pay attention
Said, “Why do I have to sit
By the ugliest girl in class?”
It scorched my burnt heart.
I heard it plenty of times…
They didn’t care if I heard.
Plain girls don’t have a heart
They thought… but we do.
The disappointment in my mother’s eyes
Made me retreat to my room,
Where I wrote stories, and poems,
And danced and sang.
The brunt of jokes by others hurt,
But not as bad as when my mother
Was asked…does cousin…
Have a boyfriend,
We have a friend…
I was sitting there.
Ma would say nothing
Until later, and she would fuss…
I would tell her it was fine…
But I had a heart
And had felt the sting
Of the wasp.
One day I read a story…
From New Guinea,
A woman plain and unchosen
Worked hard, was admired of her abilities…
A rich man sought by many mothers
To marry their pretty young daughters.
Instead, he noticed the plain woman
Who was worth much…
And he gave her father seventeen cows…
He was asked why so many
When one cow
Would have paid the bride price…
He smiled, “But now she knows
She is worth seventeen cows to me.”
I knew without him saying such,
That woman stood taller,
And held her head proud
For that man saw her worth,
And it is not in beauty
That will fade,
But in the value of who she was…
I may be a plain woman…
But I know my value…
And my heart knows it also.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 3, 2021
People can be so hurtful. You are an extraordinary woman.
thank you… it comes thru hard knocks… you can be bitter, continue to be hurt or heal yourself and treat people better… I chose the last choice.
Good one!
Such a memorable piece.
thank you
Marie, you really caught the true spirit of the Olympics, and the people who compete.
Walt, a heartening poem to be sure.
OUR HEART BEATS THE SAME
Our skin,
may be different,
but our heart beats the same.
Our outward appearance
may vary,
but we all bleed the same.
Our race,
may be diverse,
but our tears fall the same.
Our tongue,
may be distinct,
but we shall all die the same.
Benjamin Thomas
this is a truth spoken simply with power….
Ty
Powerful piece, partly through the use of repetition, in my opinion.
Thanks William.
SET SAIL
The heart beats.
115,000 times a day.
Without fail.
So does the heart cheat?
When it takes another way?
Sets sail the opposite direction?
It knows its time well,
unbeknownst its master—
at a pre-determined date, and not, a disaster.
Benjamin Thomas
this one I must ponder… but I love the wanderings of your brain
Thanks.
Hmmmm…. much food for thought here.
REMEMBERING THE DAY
There was a time,
when her heart stopped.
The emergency personnel,
like gladiators—got a pulse.
But after 40 minutes…
Without precious life-oxygen.
Her brain was dead,
being fatefully starved of air.
A machine, breathed
for her instead, for a time.
Her heart would beat
again, for a time.
Mechanically.
They tried to replace
my mother’s heartbeat.
With machines.
But her time
had already come.
And gone.
Now my heart beats,
and aches.
Remembering the day—
her heart stopped.
Benjamin Thomas
I feel your pain in this… and those machines are just too mechanical…. I had children on them… that I worked with… I would whisper… let go and leave.
👍
Hits like a sledge, this does.
Oh, Benjamin … heartbreaking …
OUR LIFE-BLOOD
Racism should not exist.
For we were all created in the image
and likeness of God himself.
We are the same—color.
Red.
Underneath the brittle shell of our skin.
Our heart pumps the awesome color,
of our life-blood—
again, and again, and again.
Benjamin Thomas
true…..
The mioddle stanza could stand all on its own, I think. Wonderful.
Ty
YES. I see it exactly the same way, Bill.
Wonderful, Benjamin!
STEADY HANDS
A tortured soul has scars.
When opened, they still bleed,
like old scabs rubbed the wrong way.
Lacerations and deep cuts,
require stitches of a different kind—
Especially when they’re in your mind, and heart.
A broken soul has profound wounds,
that require steady, surgical hands
of one who is not of this life.
Benjamin Thomas
amen
Excellent insight, effectively expressed.
Heart and Soul…
Heart and soul a little ditty,
It was never a part of any of my piano lessons,
But I learned it from others…
Listening to jazz this morning,
I was thinking about the mellowness
Of that song, and how the notes…
Speak of how your heart and soul
Are so connected…
When you throw your heart into it
And your soul shimmers
With joy…
There is light all around, and
The impossible seems possible.
I could be standing on the earth,
But
I am dancing with stars
Shooting across the sky.
Maybe a rainy day,
But to me the sun
Is blindingly bright.
For me jazz touches
Those notes,
I do not know how to play,
Let’s me caress
The texture of my heart beating,
While feeling the impression
Of my soul singing.
Heart and soul…
The beat of who I am
The weaving
Of all the threads that are me
Into this tapestry
Made of wool, silk, rayon,
Cotton, and linen…
All a part of me…
This heart and soul
Is mine to give.
No one else can make
That choice.
Heart and soul
Play on, play on, play on.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 4, 2021
Smiling here.
thank you
“For me, jazz touches these notes.” Right there with ya! Enjoyed this poem, Mary.
The heart of the matter…
He won’t amount to much…
Look who his father is.
They didn’t know my father…
Whose heart was determined
Not to be like his father…
A man he feared more than loved.
My father saw how his paternal parent
Treated men whose skin was dark
With disdain, seeing them as trash,
And himself as privileged
Because the skin he wore
Was called white,
A non-color actually
Used in painting
To lighten other colors…
It should have brought
Enlightenment,
But instead brought
The dark color of hate.
He would not be like his father.
The men of dark skin
Took pity on a young man
Trying to find his way,
And took him hunting
With them at night
Where he learned to play the blues
On a harmonica,
A musical instrument
He hid from his father
For only sissies made music.
My father who never took the dignity
Of anyone for he knew what it was like
To be robbed of his dignity.
He would not be a father who berated his children,
But encouraged them to fly like birds
From their nest.
He would never cheat on his wife
Because that promise he made
He intended to keep.
He was not his father….
It was his heart, his character
That mattered…
Not the words tossed at him
For being Frank’s son
Making him white trash
Kicked away on a dirty floor.
What he was called
Was never who he was.
I may have a paternal grandfather
Who was a murderer of a man of color,
But I am the daughter
Of the man who knew
Each one of us mattered.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
August 4, 2021
I’ve returned to this several times. Such a moving testimony.
A combination of sorrowful reality, and hope. Well done, Mary. Well done, Da.
LANGUAGE OF THE HEART
Tears are silent,
yet they speak—
volumes.
They scream,
and purely seek—
to be heard.
They exist,
as emotion,
in another state.
They consist
of joy, as pain—
or as volcanic hate.
We all speak,
the deep—universal
language of heart.
Benjamin Thomas
so very true and why do we not listen to that language…
👍
Amen.
Game
Oh she had it in spades
so much heart she couldn’t say no
when everyone asked for her
help her love her very self
didn’t see through their pretense
of friendship and too late learned
how false their words clubs beating
out their songs of pain despair
her struggling to please always
shower the world with perfection
somehow combine the cards into
a winning suit: game the Game
called Fitting In and Being Wanted
just for herself but they eluded her
even the very diamond on her finger
refurbished its chip hidden by the set
yet she drew from discards sorted out
a kind of stubborn strength seined
from unlikely combinations black on red
cascading kings and queens and aces high
gambling in dim light and dark rooms
across the green baize tricking the tricksters
always getting better at spotting cards
up sleeves and slid into pockets
so that across the years and endless nights
of solitaire she learned to risk just
the right amount to win the bet
finessing the hand she’
“even the very diamond on her finger
refurbished its chip hidden by the set”
So much said here, Pat. Often with your writing, I can take small snippets and see the wealth in them.