Poetry 2014…










Understanding Heaven…

What lies beyond the

wooded valleys and

mountains, the oceans,

moon, sun; will it all

one-day fade into time

without end; eternity.
Will the spirit move with

nimbleness and with

fantasy; will time without

end be ecstasy.
Will everything be pure and

divine, will love replace the

hate that lives today in earths

polluted space.
Will pain and fatigue no longer

exist; will only tranquil and

exciting wonders live within

Heaven’s glorious mist.
Like the Morning Doves, will all

have wings to come and go

unafraid of flight; to enjoy a mystical

life; one love, one language, one

understanding for all, is this what

Heaven will bring?

A Patchwork Life – Part 4


Living and Breathing a Patchwork Life…

“Who am I now?”  I keep on searching, in truth I may never fully know, daughter, sister, mother, grandmother, griever…

As a child when taught about death, it was not that God needed us back or that our mission in life was over; only taught to believe it was a natural process in life, we would live in the sky with our grandmothers and grandfathers; we are born and we must die!  This did not prepare me for what I would feel within and what effect the death of a loved one might have on me.  Taught to be strong, not cry if hurt within or on the outside, to be strong one did not show emotions; if one must grieve, grieve alone.  It was the “way” of my family throughout time; my great-great-grandmother who walked the long dangerous road called “The Trail of Tears”, taught this to my great-grandmother who help raised me!

This may explain my views toward grief, my actions toward grief of all heartbreaking situations within my life.  Since it is not dictated by rules or absolutes, each of us are unique in our own way, our grief is also uniquely our own.

The loss of my father, whom was the subject of my poem “The Chickasaw Farmer”, brought me to the brink of suicide.  He never showed any emotion toward me, no affection; but he was the second strongest individual in my life; my great-grandmother being the first.  He had raised me almost in the role of a single parent.  When my great-grandmother died, he showed strength that I wanted to emulate; he said that “Ma” would not want us to cry, it was not the way.  When he died, I had no one to remind me of the way he taught me to follow; I had no one to support me, I cried, then it ended and I would no longer let it go beyond my throat.  It suffocated me, choked me, I could no longer live without the only person in the world that had concern enough to care for me.  This unrelenting grief lived within me for eight months.

Each time I reached the edge of nothingness my father would speak within my mind and to my soul; his words were clear, “Be strong, it is not your time”.  During these months, I did not show this grief to anyone, I cared for my children, worked and existed; after the eight month, I came to terms with myself and I existed!

Changes were emotion, physical, thoughts, behavior and spiritual; I shut down within, in thought I searched for answers, I socially withdrew from everyone but my children and I questioned my own spiritual convictions.   How long can grief consume one, my father will be gone thirty-seven years on January 27, 2014.  The pain of this loss is unbearable, the mind fears these coming days, and I question is the way actually the right way?

The loss of my children…only four years ago; there is still numbness and disbelief, tears that flow unseen, locked within never to exit, a fog of anger and helplessness, sadness and depression from which there is no relief; but I must survive.

Therefore, my heart continues to be like a patchwork quilt, in keeping the memories alive, it, my heart, keeps breaking apart and I keep trying to mend it piece by piece, I hope my experience; my words will help others in some small way with their own losses throughout their lives.



A Patchwork Life – Part 3


Living and Breathing a Patchwork Life…

“Who am I now?” the search continues, and yes there are too many sharing some form of grief that could be associated with my own, some greater, some less…I can only share my own story.   I appreciate the continued support of my followers in trying to convey mine.

We grow, we learn, we change throughout our lives; I am constantly shifting, searching for the meaning of my own personal self.  This in some way reflects a sense of control and maybe I can find my purpose before it is too late.

Nonetheless, a journey hand and hand with grief forces change; it is slow, it is painful …yes, everyone’s story is different.  My question continues to be, “Who am I now”?

Am I still the mother of five or only three?  Am I still a daughter even though I live with the fact that I was an unwanted child?  Am I still a sister even though my sister was my parents only child?  I sometimes tire of the questions from others, where are you from, do you have family and yes, I am a self-made loner?  Should life be nameless and faceless, I still question…”Who am I now”.

In grief, we find many people saying things that may hurt.  It is important to understand that it is not intentional.  These words of hurt are better than silence; silence hurts worse.

Therefore, my heart continues to be like a patchwork quilt, in keeping the memories alive it, my heart, keeps breaking apart and I keep trying to mend it piece by piece, I hope my experience; my words will help others in some small way with their own losses throughout their lives.


God Lives Hear…

In grief sorrow gathers

memories into clusters

of time; they hideaway

deep within the mind,

spirit and soul pray; yet

the heartache never goes


A black bell tolls upon

silent ears, the soul tries

to protect the human

spirit from fear, this is the

hour of mourning, a mist

of idle breath, and tears

fall upon the brow of


Kneel beneath the heavenly

crown, remembering the

love as the eyes cast down;

loss, pain and tears battle

evil and good throughout

the years, wounds that

cannot heal; demons within

are soon revealed.

Love must dwell in a special

place, life must be lived with

grace; raise the voice to

heavens and sing, think only

of the joys the memories


Go into the future with a grateful

song; let the tears disappear, rid

life from unwanted fears, because

God lives here.



That Final Hour…

Open my beating chest;

listen to the rhythm of

the heart whispering

sorrow in conflict with

a soul that does not

question fate, a soul

that believes in keeping



Who triumphed – the

Heavenly Host, Fear, or

Pain, as a sweet light

removed from life floated

away to a heavenly

destination, upon a sea of



Happiness forever removed;

no longer are there happy

hearts, only sadness walks

through the prairie of time.


The Spirit struggles with a

veiled eternity, despair is born;

winged hope hovers, the world

motionless as the flame of life



The sun no longer gleams, night

stars dim, days move forward

burdened with images of the past,

a time before that final hour.



When and Where Will It End…

Life scarcely sustained, black is

the night, vicious is the pain.

Deadly gloom walks by my side,

this life I sometimes cannot abide,

I have looked to the heavens, no

peace did I find, neither God, Satan

or I can control my mind.

Clouds like whispers move here and

there, my thoughts find no solace I

have searched everywhere.  Bitter

silences, graceless, disillusioned concern,

reflect upon the hopelessness, darkness

spent into the light, intent, and fright.

Defaced, lost, a wilting world, nothing

sacred, lonely soul, waning time in a deadly

whirled.  What lays in the end, weakening

breath, doors closing, the door to death, I

lived my life within a stormy sea of abuse;

I now must cry out in regret.





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Hues of Sunset…


Twin butterflies,

dancing in the

sunset’s gleam in

the heated breeze

they sway, free of

their cocoons now

they stray.

Farewell they bid to

a disappearing day,

earth, air, light, the

sound of the sea;

their charm always

a mystery.

Hues of the far-away

sphere, they float to great

heights, gather among

the stars and disappear

into the night.






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The Gates…

I am death, covered

by the blood of life’s

victims, the peace

loving, the innocent

and the brave, silenced;

they lay with me here

in the grave.

The living stands in cold

silence, regret, moans on

every breath, living souls

that cannot keep away

the fear of death.

In the voices of life, there

could be heard prayer,

prejudice and dismay;

whether hate or fate, all is

now with me at “Heaven or

Hells” gate!






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Writers Block…

Sleep, never-ending conscious,

thunder, spray dashing against

the windowpane, in the distance

railroad cars, clang, clang, clang.


Sleep, gulls screaming float through

the air, wild and free, diving into

the white frothy waves, living without

a care.


Sleep, ghost trampling upon the mind

and soul, brushing shoulders with

death they surge across time wanting

their story told.


Sleep, wanting the body to relax, flip

right, flip left; the noise of the world

springs from every nerve, wistfully let

there be silence, calmness come back,

come back, come back.


Sleep, brooding, daggers in the back, rise,

dress, the night will never be soothing;

those words in the head keep moving,

mind in a rage sitting silently staring at

the blank page.





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