Give me Relief

I’m tired, so tired of:

Persistent whiners,

Constant complainers,

Naysayers and

Ne’er-do-wells

Who get their jollies

By belittling others

As playground bullies.

 

I’m tired, so tired of:

Lazy non performers,

Excuse finders,

Procrastinators and

Incompetents

Who destroy the efforts

Of hard-working people

Through gross manipulation.

 

I’m tired, so tired of:

Jealous intellects,

Devilish reviewers,

Self-protective chumps,

And feeling-bashers

Who denigrate works

To bolster their own

Feelings of competence.

 

Instead of finding fault,

Look for joy.

Instead of shining,

Seek peace.

Instead of creating havoc,

Settle the inner voice.

 

Instead of destroying dreams,

Offer solace through

Kind words,

Constructive criticism

Designed to improve

Rather than ruin.

 

For everyone thrives

When voices of hope

Fill the earth.

And then I’ll no longer

Be tired.000000

 

Choosing the Sunny Path

On any given day we are bombarded with stories of fear and intimidation, of cruelty and loss. When we read them, sadness fills our soul. That’s the expected reaction because if we didn’t experience the horror, one might question our inner light.

It’s not easy to push those thoughts aside especially when they are replayed over and over on social media. We can choose to learn from what evil others do and behave in some way to counteract the actions that offend us or we swallow it down, sending it deep inside us.

Being an activist is not easy. It takes courage to stand up for one’s beliefs knowing that out there are people who will spit on you, call you offensive names and even threaten your life. We should applaud those we choose to disregard the safety of their lives in order to bring injustices to the forefront, thereby forcing the public to rethink attitudes and beliefs.

The sunny path is not always smooth. There are pitfalls that can suck you in and hold you there, consumed by despair. You can sit there and wallow or pull yourself up and continue down the path.

Soon another obstacle will arise, making you choose, once again, how you will react. Too many roadblocks might cause you to give up. But if you jump over each, if you move one person to act with you, if you change one mind, think of the rewards.

No one will give you a medal, but many will follow in your shoes.

That’s why we choose to walk in the sunshine: to feel goodness and light, joy and power.

 

Born to Shine

Imagine how different the world would be if every child, no matter how rich or poor, heard those words on a regular basis. Think about how special they would feel after their guardian tucked them in at night and spoke those words.

There might be no bullies because, if you feel worthy, you have no need to belittle others. No one would be afraid of trying new things, of being rejected, of being pushed aside.

What a beautiful place the world would be!

As a child I never felt special in any positive way. What if my mom had told me that I was born to shine? Would I have been a different child? Would my attitude toward school have been different? My grades better? When meeting people, would I have been more outgoing because that confidence sat on my shoulders?

I know that I never said those words to my children. I wish I had. I did, however, sign them up for classes and swim lessons and sports hoping that they would discover something that they could enjoy for the rest of their lives. I helped with schoolwork and met with some of their teachers. I volunteered at their schools, as a team mom in little league, as a scorekeeper in baseball and as a soccer coach and referee. I did these things because I wanted to share those experiences with them, but also because I enjoyed it.

Born to Shine. Powerful words. My children grew up to be wonderful adults. They all contribute to society in different ways, yes, but they are helping future generations shine.

If I could go back in time, instead of reading books aloud as I cradled my kids, I would tell them that they were born to shine. As I watched them struggle in sports or academics, I’d say those words and then watch the effect they had.

Even though I don’t recall a single word of praise or encouragement, I told myself that I was born to shine. Perhaps not in those exact words, but the message was the same. Often I thought I was lying to myself, but I persevered nonetheless. When I was feeling inferior to my siblings, I’d think of the things that I could do better than them.

For example, I was the better athlete at a time when girls played few sports. I picked up languages quite quickly and enjoyed learning about different places and cultures. I was an excellent math student, so good that I got a full-ride scholarship.

But I also struggled with self-esteem and self-confidence. What if my dad had told me I was born to shine? Those words would have meant more to me than a bucket of gold. I would have known that he saw something valuable in me. My self-esteem would have risen. I wold have liked myself better.

Born to shine. I wish that every parent would say those words to their kids, no matter how old. Over and over, look them in the eye and say born to shine. Pat them on the back, give them a hug, turn it into a song. Say the words weekly, daily, hour by hour.

Slowly, ever so slowly the world would change.

Born to shine. Power.

Midnight Blues

Midnight blues sing through my veins

Filling my heart with discordant strains

 

Untamed beats chase away smooth rhythms

Binding my emotions in velvet ribbons.

 

Saxophones and trumpets blaze into the night

Screaming in agony: writhing with fright

 

Discordant voices lost in the devilish din

Succumbing to the mesmerizing power of sin

 

Dreams of orchestras lost in unholy pleas

Drag me down, down, onto wobbly knees

 

Rending sounds screech, moan, and tear

apart my soul; laying my heart bare

 

In supplicant voice, a sweet melody

Springs forth; a personal symphony

 

Gentle flutes settle the lopsided score

As piccolos delve straight to the core

 

Softly discontent relaxes its grip

Into the night, those pesky blues slip.

 

 

 

 

 

Learning to be Optimistic

Before I met my husband no one would have ever considered me to be an optimist. My heart was stuck in my miserable past, and although I tried to let it go, memories drug me down.

My dreams were minuscule and short term. Turn in that paper, make my bed, don’t say anything that would get me in trouble. Every morning began with a litany of pitfalls to avoid. You would have thought I’d learn, but no, I’d fall into the same trap over and over.

Before my family moved to California, my brother and I discovered that the community colleges were affordable That was when my dreams of getting a degree began to formulate. I had no idea what I would study. I saw it as a way out. An opportunity to break free of the bonds that tied me to people seldom showed love or compassion.

Every class I took for the next three years was chosen to get me into college. I had no idea how I’d pay tuition as I had never worked. When an opportunity arose to make some money, I seized it with both hands. Night after night I sat at the scorekeeper’s table at the local bowling alley and kept score for league competitions. The bowlers paid well, but when they saw that I was studying while keeping score, they paid me more. Then when asked if I was intending to go to college, they gave me more. Over the course f two years I save up enough for a year’s tuition and books.

I needed my counselor’s recommendation to be sent to colleges. She told me that I lacked the skills to succeed. That I would fail out after one semester. Considering that I already had low self-esteem, she sent me deeper into the basement. I cried for days.

One morning I woke up with a new feeling: determinination. I would enroll in college. I would take courses that would count when I transferred to a four-year-university. I would prove that she was wrong.

It was hard to maintain that optimism as my family situation had not changed and I still had no friends. I was a geeky kid, one of those weirdos who don’t fit in any group. I wasn’t pretty as my father had repeated told me. I was smart, but not as smart as my brother as my mother reminded me. I wore hand-me-down clothes, shoes that were too big and had a hairdo that was ancient.

The State of California gifted me a full-ride scholarship to any in-state college. I was happy, but not buoyant. In my mind the fear still lurked that the counselor was right, that I didn’t have the academic skills to succeed.

My parents wouldn’t let me go away to college the first year, so I enrolled at a community college. I had never been a good student of English. I loved to read, but it seemed that I was unable to perceive what others did from the literature. In fact, it was as if I had read completely different books. I could write papers that got good grades, but didn’t understand how to analyze written word.

After getting two miserable grades in my first college English class, I began to believe that the counselor was right. I dropped the class. However, my Spanish professor told me I was too advanced for any classes at the college! My spirits lifted a tiny bit.

I got a job at a clothing store. Big mistake. What shopper would listen to a lower-class employee clearing wearing used clothes? No one. I was fired after a week. Spirits fell.

Then the local KFC hired me even though I knew nothing about cooking. Working the counter was intimidating. I was so shy that speaking to strangers was challenging. I felt inferior every day. The customers dressed better, spoke clearer and knew what they wanted. I lacked all of those skills.

As time passed, however, I learned the job. I was excellent at making coleslaw and excellent at strawberry pie. I kept things clean and was polite and respectful. My confidence took a step up the ladder.

I transferred to USC in the fall. My parents moved to southern California in order to keep me close. Another KFC hired me at the first interview. Another step up the ladder.

When I arrived in my dorm I was filled with excitement as this was my first time away from home. When my roommate arrived with her personal maid and boxes and boxes of brand-new clothing, I realized I was out of my element. I was the white-trash girl trying to blend in with the ultra-rich. Down to the bottom I slid.

My life was one big board game: up two steps, down ten, slide two to the right, down, then up. Meanwhile emotionally I was frozen in time. I passed all my classes, earning excellent grades, but never totally lost the fear of failure. I was a loner. Sitting by myself in the cafeteria. Spending night after night alone.

Imagine watching groups of laughing friends on campus wishing you could join in. Picture yourself in class when discussion or group projects are assigned and no one wants you in the group. That was me.

After college I was forced to move back home as I had nowhere else to go. I was back to being inferior to my siblings. Back to being ridiculed by my parents. Back to being treated like an imbecile. What good feelings I had had disappeared.

It took months to find a job, but when I did, the first thing I did was buy a car. I needed my dad’s signature. The car I wanted he wouldn’t let me have because I was stupid. Instead I ended up with a Ford Pinto, an awkwardly shaped car. But I got to choose the color so I went with the one my dad hated: bumble bee colors. Hah. An act of rebellion.

Over time things opened up for me, but I still lacked confidence. One positive was that I made a friend at work. Another was that I did have a few dates.

I switched to a government job making enough money to get my own apartment. For the first time I was in charge of my life. I ate what I wanted. Drove around wherever I wanted. Watched what I wanted on television. Listened to my music and sang as loudly as I wanted without fear of being teased. Life was good and so my self-esteem soared.

I became a positive person because I was over being negative. It took work to make the change. I had to constantly remind myself, reset goals, reward myself when I felt good.

It was during this period that I me the man who would become my husband. He exuded confidence. Not in an over-the-top way, but in an I-know-who-I-am way. The attraction was immediate. I wanted to be like him and thought if I hung out with him at work his buoyant spirit would rub off.

It took time, but he taught me to love myself, reminded me that I was lovable, and kept me away from negative, overpowering people. He beloved in himself and then believed in me. Through him I learned that I could do many things.

Recently I was reading about a different kind of therapy for depressed individuals. Instead of dwelling on the past, which cannot be changed, look to the future and try to see yourself there. What would you want to be doing? Thinking? Feeling?

Patients were encouraged to write about future selves. Guess what happened? Over time attitudes changed and they began to see brighter days ahead.

If only I could have worked with someone like this. It would not have taken twenty-five years for me to be able to see the good in myself.

I try not to see the negative in people and want to believe that there is good in everyone. However, when I do encounter someone who drags me down, instead of blaming myself, I move away. Rapidly.

This is what positivity gives you: an ability to walk in your own shoes away from negative people. Let them be miserable in their own world: keep them out of mine.

Life is easier, too, when those you have chosen to be with echo the feelings you want to cherish in yourself. Life is too precious not to be positive. I will hold that thought dear to my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

My Plea for Help

In the humdrum sameness

of my everyday life,

as teacher, mother,

sister, and wife

words have fled

causing undo strife,

piercing my heart like

an unsharpened knife

Oh, please, someone

come and rescue me.

Open my eyes that

I soon may see.

Fill my soul with

words: set me free

that I may write

what’s meant to be.

Why have the words

all flown away?

What did I do

to them betray

my inmost thoughts,

my flight from fray.

Come back to me,

without delay

Like a wee small child

I scream and shout.

throw all my pens

and toss about

long empty pages

lines, words without

hoping that soon

I’ll merit clout.

Tell me, please,

how to live again

with words and rhymes

flowing free like rain.

Send down a storm

to complete my brain.

I need you now.

That much is plain.

Where Once a Bear

Where once a bear swam across a lake

His shifty path lies ensconced in weeds

No fish left to hunt or lairs to make

No biting flies or wavering reeds

 

With heart in pain, in sadness he cries

Where once a bear swam across a lake

His dreams of home adrift in the skies

Too sad to sleep, he remains awake

 

To laugh, emotion too hard to take

Orange flames consuming his heart beat

Where once a bear swam across a lake

Nothing left to provide welcome treat

 

Emptiness embroils his haunted soul

Wriggles in like a poisonous snake

In poetic growls he pays the toll

Where once a bear swam across a lake

 

 

 

 

Looking Back

I never touched her.

Not really.

I held her hand

and stroked her blue-veined fingers.

I patted her shoulder

and pulled the gown up around her neck.

But I never touched her.

Not really.

I massaged her arms

and tucked the blankets under her legs.

When she cried in pain

and called for someone, anyone to help,

I never touched her.

Not really.

When tears poured down her cheeks

and tremors shook her skeletal frame,

When she struggled to breathe

and begged for water to moisten her lips,

I never touched her.

Not really.

I never looked into her eyes

or kissed her wrinkled cheek.

I should have held her tightly

and chased away her hallucinations.

I never touched her.

Not really.

When she truly needed a friend

and called for someone, anyone to be near,

When she breathed her last breath

and crossed over to God’s side,

I never touched her.

Not really.

Awakening

When my eyes closed,
Your image remained
For hours and hours
Afterward

You walked my dreams
Blessed me with love
For hours and hours
Through the night

Your arms held me
Your kisses bathed me
For hours and hours
With tenderness

When I awoke
You were at my side
For minutes and minutes
In unity

In awe I stared
Into your eyes
For seconds and seconds
Holding you

We drift through time
In loving moments
For years and years
To eternity

Night Disturbances

Last night, a virtual parade

Promenaded through my tired brain

Stealing sleep like a pirate raid

Leaving me decidedly wane

 

Sense dulled by the midnight noise

Eyes red-rimmed like a circus fool

Death’s door beckons like children’s toys

Worried about next day at school

 

Fury propelled me from my bed

Like water gushing from a pipe

A flow of words inside my head

Weapons armed for a deadly swipe

 

Dragons swooped through darkened air

Flights of fancy in staccato beat

Threatening me with deep despair

Weakened, I accept true defeat

 

Carry me to thy private lair

Gently lay me on table bare

Rub silken ashes in my hair

Caress away every care

 

Worry me not with ebbing tide

Speak of romance deep and wide

Touch my soul burning red inside

Tonight I’ll be your special bride