One Hundred Words A Day
Monday, May 31, 2010

  Circle of Life

Whose hands are
Whose eyes
Whose present
Even Death relent.

Whose hope
Whose dream
Whose life extended
Now blended
In mine.

Whose blue veins
crisscross my pale, freckled, back of hands
Whose future ran through the line of happiness and life, and other unclear folds.

Whose eyes
Reflecting back,
Looking out from our snapshot,
Nestled in my husband's chest
That unmistaken severity
Wounded gaze
Sunday, May 30, 2010


Reaching for her face so cold, no trace of imperfection
Black eyes like coal, dark deep in contemplation
With joy
Until my wings were clipped.

Tumbling towards earth
I'm broken in million pieces
That instant 

I had glimpsed at her cold beauty
I melted
in gratitude. 

Wednesday, May 26, 2010


Whatever you did not write, will never be written.
A door shut tight,
Train out of sight,
Memories erased.
Did they even exist?
vaporous air,
was smoke.

The worse death, to leave nothing behind.
But worst
for me, who love you,
now have nothing to trace back roots.

How will I discover, and uncover, pen in hand
An archeologist bending on her shovel, and dustpan.
How do I follow your handwriting like pebbles
to lead me home on forsaken paths
from the dark wood.

Whatever you didn't write, I will.
Open that door,
bring back that train
Now your memories are words.

You exist.
Friday, May 21, 2010


Take this sieve and sift 
Rice from rocks.

It works in life too,
grading good from bad
sifting out 
the right friends from wrong.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010


Ouch!  Two bullets from different directions and more to come,
I stepped inside the human circle and into the minefield,
Still smiling, my upturned lips they thought a crescent axe
My dancing feet kick boxing stand.

No more than arrows that pierced, but their directed words shattered nonetheless as metal on impact
Loudly their barks traveled the distance like canine chorus, imitating each other's sounds
Feeding on fears
Territorial fights
An instinct, devoid of reasons.

Childlike, uninhibited... I break into an Impromptu
Following the rising sounds and stepping in sync with the measures, halting where the melody breathes
The notes are flying bullets that were strung into music
And the horror of their smallness, speed, destruction vanishes.

The circle is noose that hangs their spontaneity
Hang them like wet clothes
In sunless days
Until they smell of mold,
Their freshness yielding to decay
To a state tattered

While I danced away ....
A commitment to write


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Mother, Engineer, writer, manager, and more. I am a bit of everything, a creature of God. I am passionate with life. I fear death and its many forms. I love my mind, cherish my body. I express through WORDS.

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