Touch Of Faith


They’ve always said the answers will come for all I’ve pled
They’ve always said that all I’ve hungered for will be fed
That all I have to do is reach out and believe
But I laughed them off feeling greatly misled

They’ve always said I’d never be alone, faith would be my homestead
They’ve always said I would feel alive after years of feeling dead
So I opened my heart and touched a sleeve
Now I believe the things they’ve always said

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight :  Week 98

At Last

It was a fantastic spring day,sunny with the occasional perfect whit cotton candy cloud the break the perfect blue sky. My sister and I had spent an afternoon of strolling around downtown and not quite window shopping as we caught up on news and gossip that somehow missed our various communications.  We had just taken outside seat a café when we saw him, coming out of a side door of the same cafe.

Yes, that him.

He was donning sunglasses as he came out, Looking as haughty as ever. Looking as good as ever.

My heart dropped a beat. Several beats in fact. My sister saw my face, turned  to look and let out a curse. Yeah, it was like that. We had a thing once.  No, that’s not correct. I had a thing. No, that’s not correct either.

We were both going for our doctorate and wound up in a lot of the same circles together with mutual friends until we became friends ourselves.  Good friends. And then I made the cardinal sin. I fell for him. And it was bad. Really bad. And he knew it. I never said a thing to him, but I know he knew.  He never said a thing to me but I knew long before I fell that I would never be someone he would love like that, yet deep inside I had hoped. Still, because I am a glutton for Punishment 101, I lied and said we’re just friends we continued to hang out. We hung out so much at one point some people thought we were a couple.  He was always gentle, but damn quick to say we were just friends.

Naturally it had to blow up and blow up it did. The argument was ugly and my heart was torn asunder like nothing I had ever imagined could hurt so bad. My only solace was that the semester was over and I didn’t have to see him for the summer.  Then fall arrived and fate cruel continued placing us in the same circles. It was agony. I gave up all social contact with everyone then and poured it all into my school work, finishing my studies, my thesis everything.

That was over a year ago. That was over a year ago and this doctor eventually healed herself. Enough to not want to cry at the thought of his name.  Enough to be able to talk about him with my sister and even laugh. With he and I no longer  travelling so many of the same circles any more, I even healed enough to be able to idly chat with him on the occasions our paths do crossed.

A woman came out behind him donning her own sunglasses. I recognized his fiancé immediately as we had at an even a month or so agao. He turned, saw me smiled and waved. And I’ll be damned if a shaft of sunlight didn’t find him at that instant, with a soft breeze blowing through his hair. And for a moment I was back in time, back to when things were good, when he and I were together, but not.  It felt so good for a moment and then reality rushed back into place. My heart broke again for the briefest moment. It was the oddest bittersweet feeling, like feeling homesick for a place that doesn’t exist.  And much to my sister’s surprise I laughed as I waved back actually happy for him.

I really was in a good spot at last.


My hand at trying Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday. The prompt was based on an image, but the quote that came with the image struck me more and I went with that.

#FWF – Free Write Friday – Image Prompt


“I need to stop looking away and unpack my own reaction.”

My fellow blogger and friend, GirlGriot used that gem to describe her gut reaction to something. You can read all about it here.

I was telling a few friends a story of a crazy event that occurred over a year ago. I’ve told this story to several different friends over time, in the same way so I was not thinking about it as i told this group. At least I wasn’t thinking about it until a friend called me out on a racist comment that flew out of my mouth. I took a mental step back for a moment, but she was right. What I had said, even jokingly, was racist. I know it was a not-so-charming stereotype learned from my mother, among other places where such stereotypes are fostered, while I growing up. Still, I had not realized how deep that nasty little bug had dug in it came flying out.

As I said, I’ve told this story before to others in the same manner. I can’t decide if no one else ever noticed it before, or if they had, chose not to say anything. Neither option sits well with me, but the latter especially galls me. Once called on it, I owned up to it, because it was what it was. I know my friends know me better than that. What scares me is that it has been there all this time and I even I had not noticed to check myself.

I’m left wondering what other nasty little deep-rooted gems are waiting to come out and bite me. I’m praying that if it’s something I don’t notice, that it does not take over a year before I’m called out on it.

In The Company of Heroes

When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears
When you’d scream I’d fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me all of me

Evanescence – My Immortal / Fallen

In the company of heroes is how I often feel
Your lives forced into a world tipsy and surreal
A struggle from the moment your first breath premiers
Clotho’s newest thread in life’s ongoing tapestry
I ignore the naysayers of your tough chances to be
I’m among the first to get to know your excellence my dears
As I engage in the daily wait of a hope and a prayer:
For quick release from the terrors that constrict your air
Trying to balance a life already in arrears
When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears

What the world needs now is to see you fight against death
See you working towards the next small but tantalizing breath
That every morning you live to see is a cause for cheers
All the world’s a stage and you are its most promising star
And my job is behind the wings to get you that far
For the world is a tunnel vision until your sight clears
You’re just too young to know all that you go through
That I’m there holding your tiny hand smiling at you
Or if in your vexing sleep, a nightmare appears;
When you’d scream I’d fight away all of your fears

Even in the quietest moments sometimes your bodies shake
The wretched fevers your young bodies try to break
Or in the wee twilight hours how your pleas reach my ears
I’m grateful for your screams, their justice I seek
The thousand of cries are promises of a life not weak
I like to think that some small value of my Zen adheres
Though it’s a wisdom felt with absolute prudence
Thus uttered only in moments of complete silence
Though gone from me, you’ll remember in life’s jeers
I held your hand through all of these years

I hide among the simple, among the small select
Just doing a job, my soul chooses to elect
Having a temperance for each and every special baby
But the generosity of my spirit is always short-lived
When unto the new guardians of you I must give
One way or another you’re taken away from types like me
My neonatal babies that fight just to survive each day
Your headlong courage always holding such sway
As you live you won’t remember any of this I now see
But you still have all of me


Just a few days ago I was listening to Evanescence’s My Immortal from their Fallen CD and the refrain reminded me of an older friend of mine who worked in a neonatal care unit.  She would occasionally speak of some of the babies that crossed her path.  Holding their tiny, trembling hands. The ones that screamed until exhaustion took them only to wake and scream again. They didn’t all reach it, but the goal was always to help them survive to the point they can survive on their own. Every now and again she would be lucky enough to see  them grow throughout their childhood years and on rare occasion to adulthood. Even though very few would ever know of her existence in their lives in those very early days.

My favored glosa form, designed to used the words of another, was the perfect vehicle for today’s prompt. This write is for her and all the countless others like her simply doing their job.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar: Literary Allusion

Little Victories

For a month now my apartment has been hostage to renovations. Holes in my bathroom wall and ceiling, the entire wall in my kitchen a fond memory.  If I stand in either room and look up or down, I’m staring into a neighbor’s apartment. For the past two weeks I have had to use the bathroom of the neighbor across the hall because I have not had running water in mine. This is especially problematic at 3am when I need to do a middle of the night to use the facilities. Thrice last week I’ve lost an hour or more of sleep as I could not fall back into slumber after such.

Because dust is everywhere as they somewhat systematically replace the 100 year old pipes in each apartment on my side of the building.  Not having a sink or a stove, I have spent a ridiculous amount of money on take out during this. Buffets have become my good friend to nicely fill my belly without emptying my wallet.

Tonight I arrived home to discover they’ve reached my apartment to for more work. I already had a headache and after two weeks of this I was not in the mood to even ask yet again about the water, just to be disappointed again. But soft! What sound through yonder rooms break? Did I hear water drippeth? Yes!

The bathroom and kitchen are still filthy and looking like a Hollywood set for war zone aftermath. There’s so much work left to be done, the rooms are not getting more than a nominal cleaning until all is finished. They were nice enough to get ammonia and wipe things down. Yes, I cleaned again behind them,  I am a Virgo after all, but at long last, I have a functioning toilet and bathroom sink!

It’s a small victory, but believe you me, I’ll take it – gotta go!


Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

30/30 – 1 | Hello

No longer in a mood for intellectual stimuli, she closes the heavy bound manual choosing to peruse a fluff espionage thriller type novel instead as she sits at a cafe and enjoys what is left of the wonderful weather. Autumn has hit in full Technicolor glory and such lovely days where a light cardigan was the only protection needed against the slight breeze were numbered. El sol glares bright enough to require her pulling down the sunglasses that were holding back the tumble of curls from her face to cover her eyes as she is part reading – part people watching while she slowly sips her jasmine infused tea. Pushing an errant curl behind her ear, she gazes out, spying a man walking up the street in the near distance.

No, walking is not the right word, he strutted.

Not a cocky Tony Moreno, a la Saturday Night Fever, strut. This was a cool measured purposeful stride. Looking mostly straight ahead, he had a destination, but with his thumb hooked in his belt front loop, he oozed self-confidence as he moved. Despite the casualness of his stride, she somehow knew he missed nothing of what was going on around him. As he came near the cafe he broke stride for only the briefest moment as he suddenly smiled.

She casually looks over her shoulder to see what fortunate woman was the lucky recipient of such wonderful smile, because why the hell would anyone want to deal with the likes of her.

She blinks, Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?

She already knew the answer before the question was asked, him; her ex-husband.

The man, her very young self had invested everything short of her soul to have. The public prince who was anything but behind closed doors. And a vivacious, outgoing, somewhat vain young woman was slowly changed into a dispirited, introverted recluse. She had turned into the living embodiment of the worthless, lackluster person he called her, proving his point. It took seven years of the abuse to get to that magic breaking point where she walked out the door one morning and never came back. On July 7th at 7am as it coincidentally, turned out. The Lucky Seventh as she eventually called the year. It was another two years of damn good friends and therapy before the divorce was final and another four years since then to now. In the interim she had already gone through the thrilling rise and tragic fall of a rebound relationship, another short courtship that ended amicably, had finally finished her masters, was now working on her doctorate and for the first time in a very long time was truly happy with herself. Still, every now and then, the hateful diatribe he once pounded into her would rear its ugly head and pop into her consciousness, like now.

The only other people sitting at the cafe were a couple currently oblivious to anything else in the world, but each other. The guy was almost within yards of her now, looking dead at her nodding a slight greeting; the smile was definitely for her. She knew if she didn’t respond, the smile would leave his face, he would keep going and that would be the end it; just two people acknowledging each in passing as it were, nothing more. For some reason she wanted more.

Why the hell would anyone want to deal with the likes of her? Why the hell not?

She takes the shades from her eyes, breaths and returns the smile.



Thanks to that darn instigator of personal writing challenges (yes you GirlGriot). I am now compelled to attempt the 30/30 Challenge. I will write 30 (hopefully), short stories in 30 days. Welcome to Day 1.

For all its potential…

We are all wounded.
We are all fucked-up.
We are all scarred.

Some of us are a hell of a lot more jacked than others. And not all of our scars are on the outside.

Some of us are equipped to deal with it.
Some of us are not.
Some of us don’t even want to try.

We try to tend to our wounds, control our persons in our own ways…

Some drink; some get sober.
Some starve; some binge.
Some find Jesus; some lose Him.
Some chose to sleep alone; other choose to sleep with anyone/everyone rather than be alone.
Some are adrenalin junkies, crowd seekers; some become hermits.
Some draw, paint, write, create.

And some of us wake up to a tear drenched pillow yet again, but don’t remember crying…

Some of us do any combination and/or all of the above in our lives.

These are our realities…
How we dull the pain…
Silence the noise …
The ways in which we attempt to overtake that which threatens to overtake us…

For all its potential, this world can be such an ugly place sometimes.

It’s up to us to find / carve out our own individual niches of beauty within it, to survive the best we can during our time here because the alternative sucks and neither side has a reset.


Found this written on a paper tucked in a book while I was cleaning. I hadn’t read the book in years, so I’m not sure when I actually wrote it, but it was definitely my handwriting.

I scare me sometimes.

For While She Weeps


For while she weeps,
Sorrow keeps as
pain sweeps her heart.
Torn apart as
it thwarts the chance
to romance the
soul’s dance that’s stilled.
Passions killed by
tears spilled in ache.
Spirit breaks. It’s
a snake that crawls,
As it sprawls there
then squalls and rails
driving nails, it
assails heart’s halls.
But it falls hard
Soon all hurts slow.
Pain will go, and
she’ll know – she’s free.


This is a Than Bauk form.

The Than-Bauk is a three line “climbing rhyme” poem of Burmese origin. Conventionally a witty saying or epigram, it’s even shorter than a haiku, but a lot more structured. Each Than-Bauk is three lines of four syllables each with the rhyme on the fourth, third and second syllables of each line respectively.

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. O.

Than-Bauks can be chained together to form a longer poem where the last syllable of the third line starts the rhyme of the next…

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. b.
O. O. b. O.
O. b. O. c.
O. O. c. O.
O. c. O. etc.

or you can “staircase” them…

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. b.

O. O. O. b.
O. O. b. O.
O. b. O. c. 

O. O. O. c.
O. O. c. O.
O. c. O. etc.


dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 59

In the Shadows of the Night

In the shadows of the night
With a bright moon above
I lay here longing
For a chance at love

Each morning sun I rise
Hoping I find the one for me
Each night I go to bed
With my heart still empty

I’ve since long proven I can make it on my own
Now I’m just so tired of being all alone

In the shadows of the night
My heart I’m willing to share
But it don’t mean just any fool
Is going to be welcomed there

I once rushed too soon to someone
Who brought me nothing but pain
That was one hurt, one too many times
I don’t need to go there again

A man of faith, a man of heart, a man of his words and deeds
A king custom made for this queen, Lord you know what I need

In the shadows of the night
I offer my plea; my prayer
You built this vessel of love
But my cupboards are bare

Am I paying for some sin?
Did I transgress somewhere?
Is this how I repent?
Will no one ever be there?

Your daughter’s pleading, prostrate with hands clasped tight
Oh please release me Lord, from this harsh plight
How my heart is aching, in the shadows of the night


It’s been a grr week…

Slice of Life Story Challenge

The Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge


dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight Mic

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 55

I’d like to teach the world to sing… the B-52’s?

It started out as a typical weekday morning on the subway coming to work. Me, I’m sitting looking all pretty, yet professional, listening to my iPod as I wait for my station to come up. I have various playlist to match my various music moods. The list for this morning was “Move” as in over 200 songs that make me want to get up and boogie. Since I am on a subway in the middle of rush hour, I manage to restrain the urge to dance down to simple head nods and toe taps as I ride to work.

For those unfamiliar with mass transit subways let me give you a short synopsis of the phenomenon of riding in a subway car during rush hour. Think of nearly 200 people, that you don’t know and thus barely acknowledge, in a crowded space. You mostly ignore the existence all the others around you. Some do it by reading, others by snoozing, others still by listening to music and/or any combination thereof. Other than the collective moans and groans that arise when a train is delayed for whatever reason, unless you are with friends to speak with, there is very little interaction between people on a train. Eye contact on a subway is limited to ensuring you’re not walking into someone, or as a quick form of apology if you accidentally make physical contact with someone. Because even if you take the same train at the same time every day for years, there are maybe only a handful of people you will see on a regular basis enough to recognize them on sight. Even then, the most you may do to acknowledge them is a head nod before closing in on the microcosm of your own personal space again. Now, times that one subway car by the average ten cars that comprises each train. Next, times that by the hundred or so trains, which run during the core span, that is the morning rush hour (roughly 5am to 9am). There are other nuances involved, but welcome to my Monday through Friday. Now you’ll have a better understanding of why the following is of note.

I should note that at this point the train is two-thirds empty, as the majority of passengers have exited at the many stations that come before mine. It’s so empty, I can easily count exactly how many people are in the car. Expert commuters know exactly where to stand on the platform and on the train itself for optimal movement, when entering and exiting a train and I am no exception. As the station where I disembark approaches, I rise. I am not thinking much of it as I half walk, half dance my way to the door that I will need to exit.

I didn’t know I was singing out loud (loud enough to be heard well anyway), until I realized someone has joined in on the song at exactly the right part. Remember, I have on my ear buds. I do not blast my music, so there is no way he can hear the song except by standing next to me and hearing snatches of my singing. I looked to my left and a male, not listening to his own music, is nodding his head in a teasing way to mine as again he comes in right on time with his line of the song telling me to knock a little louder baby (I’m guessing some of you, knowing the song, are smiling right now). So, what’s a girl to do? I comply along with him and the song. He is definitely singing with me, and to make things even more spontaneous and amusing, a woman sitting by the door joins to match my part. In the spirit of the more the merrier, by the time the train reaches the station there are five of us dancing, laughing and belting out the ending parts of the B-52’s Love Shack. Dare I add, much to the horror/amusement of the three other people in the car with us? Hell, they probably thought we were a mini flash mob. It was perfect timing as two of us (the guy who initially joined in and I), left the train just as the song ended, waving our byes to the others and then ourselves as we went our separate ways.

You gotta love the power of a good, upbeat (and wacky), song to break even the most steadfast of nonchalant commuters out of their shells on occasion.

You’re WHAT?!