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The Lighthouse
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Shining brightly, steadily, indefinitely…
I am your heart.
I am your head.
I am your body.
I am your guide.
Shining brightly, steadily, indefinitely…
I am in the air.
I am in the birds.
I am in the trees.
I am in the dreams.
Shining brightly, steadily, indefinitely…
I see you.
You feel me.
We are one.
I shine on…
Bright so that you can make your way back from the storm.
Steady so that you can step onto solid ground.
Indefinitely so that you can never lose your way.
Shining brightly, steadily, indefinitely…I am here.
Reflection
I wrote this poem about one of the little boys who was killed by a mass shooter while at school. I was watching a popular talk show and saw his parents talking about him and his love of lighthouses. Compelled, I began to write this poem for his parents. The lighthouse is a metaphor for their little boy’s spirit, which is still with them. Maybe it sounds weird, but I really felt like he was there guiding me. May the poem’s words comfort those who are missing loved ones.
The Metamorphosis
She walked down the path
Nothing looked familiar
Yet vaguely felt the same.
She looked at the rows.
The trees, the grass.
She scanned her memory. Nothing.
She headed toward the rocks.
At the end of the path.
They must look the same.
She arrived.
Feeling a great disconnection
Blankly staring at the butte.
A tap on her shoulder.
She turned startled.
Amazed.
A beautiful, green-eyed girl.
Stood curiously, grinning.
She spoke, “What are you lookin’ for?”
Not wanting to reply.
She searched for an answer,
She hesitated, “I’m not sure.”
“Oh.” The green-eyed girl shrugged.
“Then come play!”
“Please?! Come on!”
They were holding hands. Suddenly.
The green-eyed girl pulled her down the path.
Running. Laughing.
The green-eyed girl let go.
Yelled. “SPIN! SPIN! SPIN!”
“STOP FAST TO WIN!”
Overwhelming dizziness.
Fought to stabilize. To balance.
She heard their laughter.
She stood strong.
Opened eyes.
Standing in place.
No green-eyed girl.
Panic.
She closed her eyes.
Took a deep breath.
“Look!”
The green-eyed girl held a white dandy lion.
Flower to her mouth, blowing the seeds.
Giggles.
“Dad calls these weeds.”
“He says they grow anywhere there’s dirt.”
Hysterical laughter.
Blowing, blowing, blowing.
Amused.
She stared at the sky.
Wondered.
Where was the green-eyed girl?
Fear.
Screams.
“Where are you?!”
Fright.
“Why have you left?
“Stop hiding!”
Silence.
She listened.
Then faintly, heard, “I’m here.”
Opened eyes.
The trees, the grass—different.
Orchard—not the same.
Looking back.
The green-eyed girl swam in murky ditch water.
No longer there.
Leaving.
One foot hits the gravel.
“Now I know, green-eyed girl.”
Tears.
Eruption.
Contentment.
Reflection
This poem is emotional. I wrote it after a visit to my childhood home. Now an adult, I’d been living in CA for years. Previously, the orchard had been covered with winter snow; this time, summer greenery of all forms visible for miles. This special place to The Girl resembles an unfamiliar terrain, which terrifies her. The orchard, my sanctuary away from my abusive sisters, gave me a sense of peace. It literally protected me because they would not follow me into the fields but instead stopped at the lawn… I explore dueling emotions amid rising fears. I’d like readers to relate to it on a visceral level between the fright of change and the path to acceptance. Thus, remaining safe, at peace, and still able to smile.
D. R. E. A. M. S.
Tuesday, April 4, 2006
Drained
Rained
Ended
Aborted
Manipulated
Sailed
Dumb
Reasons
Etching
Affectionate
Monkey
Sensing
Dancing
Rays
Ever
Awaken
Minds
Sewn
Dribble
Ripple
Effortlessly
Affectively
Memory
Solace
Deeper
Riper
Easier
Assembler
Messenger
Server
Reflection
I wrote this poem based on a challenge assignment from a writing group I belonged to over a decade ago. The idea, which some of you may have already figured out, was to use the word DREAMS as an acronym and to find different words for each letter, minus the ‘s”. Looking back, I see a tone of pessimism. Ironic considering how we use the word to mean something that matters to us. Considering that I was trying to break into the acting business at the time and feeling discouraged, the tone makes perfect sense to me.
The Rogue
Revised June 9th, 2021 4:37 PM
She opened her mouth and roared.
All heads turned and the attention was hers.
Except for one.
One of her babies was not following her.
She was losing control.
She didn’t like it.
Couldn’t believe it.
She roared again.
Her baby didn’t care – it wandered away.
Farther. Farther still …
The baby found her incompetent. Controlling.
Not as knowledgeable as it once thought.
Besides, the baby knew it could take care of itself.
Make it on their own.
She roared again.
Louder this time.
Waited as she paced.
Minutes passed.
Then she heard it.
Her baby roared back—loud, not far.
She perked her ears.
Took a seat.
Watched.
Her baby bounced toward her, clumsily.
Roared.
Took a seat in front of her.
Roared.
Regretful peered up at her.
She lifted her arms.
Her baby mimicked.
Reflection
This poem is about wanting independence but not yet prepared or mature enough to succeed at it. Basically, adolescence! Using animal-like descriptions depicts how humans and animals can resemble each other.
The Journey
September 25, 2013
In the rippling ocean on a catamaran sailboat full of strangers, I sit next to a man I know.
Night emerges, dripping like molasses as the blazing circular golden-fire sinks into the horizon caressing the water, moment-by-moment-by-moment, until darkness descends.
The man and I aren’t speaking.
We are in the abyss of our private thoughts.
There’s a silent war going on between us.
He wants me to explore, dig, expose.
I want me to explore, dig, expose.
Instead, I cage my words.
Distraction buys me time.
He waits patiently.
I gaze past the chaos of swaying bodies to the vastness of the sea…along the shore sparkles reflect serenity. The wharf is welcoming us home. My thoughts drift back to his compassionate voice.
“It’s your choice.”
“It’s up to you.”
“What do you want?”
His words flow in and out of my brain like a cyclone tidal wave.
Then the magic unleashes…
The cage unlocks…
The toxins ooze…
My voice is free…
I smile inside, then at him.
He smiles back quizzically.
His expression makes me laugh.
“Do you know what you are leaving on this boat?”
I nod with a crinkled face.
Amused, we share a smile.
He lets me be.
Silently navigating, I say goodbye one-by-one to a few secret fears.
Moments later, nameless bodies shuffle single-file, disembarking the boat.
We wait our turn.
He moves aside, motioning me to step off the boat.
Deliberate.
Defiant.
Delicate.
I step one foot, then the other, departing the vessel.
The journey continues.
He plunges beside.
Reflection
I wrote this after a retreat in Santa Barbara with my former coach who gave me the ‘homework’ to write a poem about that day. I felt blocked and unmotivated to write a poem about the given subject. Nonetheless, I sat myself down and began to write the old-fashioned way—in my journal. Unexpectedly, the words flowed and soon I’d penned the story of our experience on the boat that day.
Looking back on it now, nearly eight years later, I’m taken to the past version of myself and how lost and confused I was with my place in the world. Hence, I hired a coach to help me with motivation and direction. The event allowed me to move forward, but I didn’t feel that I’d accomplish my goal to leave the past behind me. That would take many more years later and countless hours of actual therapy.
Who Is My Dad, to Me?
A man who is the most important factor to a child’s life.
A man dedicated to those children, whom he helped bring into this world.
A man who hopes life will last so that he may see his children grow…
A man with a heart full of love and loyalty, and oh, so much more.
A man with little evil and a man with too few dreams.
A man of loneliness, fulfilled with his dilemmas, to take over the boredom.
A man who works extremely hard because he wants to please others who wouldn’t know what to do without it.
A man who is everything to me and to all who come into his contact.
A man who I love and cherish for without that man–where would I be?
A man who is completed with all…a man who is special to me.
A man who is the source of my life.
A man who I call, Dad.
Reflection
I wrote this poem for a father’s day when I was a teenager. In 2015, he passed on my birthday, with me by his side. I miss him every day.
The Goodbye & *Goodbye
*June 28th, 1983 – the original “Goodbye” below 6/23 revision
Revised June 23, 2022 – “The Goodbye”
You raised me alone since four.
Twice the parent, you forever bore.
Provided essential needs.
Cared for me.
Schooled me on life—critical and trivial.
But.
I am to go.
Far away.
I respect you.
I love you.
More than said.
Remember.
In mind.
In heart.
In soul.
In DNA.
Hope you recognize.
See the reasons why.
Daddy—it’s time.
Goodbye.
*June 28th, 1983 – “Goodbye”
You raised me alone since I was young.
You’ve been twice the parent to me.
You taught me all about life and the important things that I need.
You’ve given me your love and cared for me.
Though time has passed and I have changed in so many ways.
I’ve learned a lot from you, and you made me what I am.
I hope you’ll understand.
Can you see my reasoning why?
‘Cause now I have to say goodbye.
I’ve respected you and loved you more than I have said.
None of that is different, and it shall never be.
But, I too, have a life ahead of me, and I know where I am to go.
It takes me so far away, too far away from you.
Just remember, you’ll always be with me, in my mind, in my heart, and in my soul.
Though time has passed, and I have changed in so many ways,
I’ve learned a lot from you, and you made me what I am.
I hope you’ll understand.
Can you see my reasoning why?
‘Cause now I have to say goodbye.
I hope you’ll understand.
Can you see my reasoning why?
Now I have to say goodbye.
‘Cause Daddy, I’m not the same little girl at five.
Reflection
I wrote this poem on June 28th, 1983 after a conversation that I had with my father about moving to Los Angeles, CA after my high school graduation (two years away). He was against it 100% for reasons I know—which now make perfect sense. When I wrote the poem at 15 years old, I intended to defy him and move without his consent. Instead, I went to college, got my 4-year degree, and then made the move in 1990. I’m still not sure if that was the best route for me. Sometimes, I ponder the “What ifs?”
P.S. In the last stanza of the original version, I use the age of five because my mother passed away when I was four. Referencing that age is significant because of that fact.
- Interested in poetry, and it can help us process traumatic moments?
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My Artist Prayer
March 9, 1998
Inspired by the book, The Artist Way.
As I embark on my creative journey,
Lead me in your direction
Lead me to see the opportunities
Allow me to recognize their faces
Allow me to know they’re always near
Teach me all that you know
Thach me your gift of creation
Teach me all of its beauty
Provide Trust in Faith
Surrounding me with those
Moving on the same path as I
Provide those older, greener, younger, wiser.
With these words, I shall pray.
I shall say it loud.
I shall say it quiet.
I shall say it in a whisper.
I shall say it in a scream.
I shall say it.
In times of need
In times of peace
I shall say it.
With this prayer, I shall find
Faith, Trust, Guidance:
Faith for peace
Trust for safety
Guidance for the journey.
This is all that I need to know.
All I need to know—to grow.
All I need to know—to go.
All I need to know—to grow and to go.
Only where you shall know.
As I embark on my creative journey,
Hear my prayer.