Tag Archives: poems

    Inspiration: The Long Dream by Richard Wright

    The German Translation of this book was on the bookshelves of my parents, and I took it with me as I moved into my first apartment. I never forgot this story, and here are my thoughts wrapped up in a poem:

    In Mississippi dust, a young boy wakes,
    To streets where sunlight bends and breaks;
    Fishbelly learns what silence costs,
    How dreams can live, yet still be lost.

    His father walks with careful pride,
    With fear and power side by side;
    A man who built where chains remained,
    And paid in wounds for what he gained.

    The town speaks low, the law stands tall,
    But justice never comes for all;
    Behind each smile, behind each door,
    There waits the shadow of Jim Crow.

    A long dream stretches through the night,
    Of freedom just beyond his sight;
    Yet waking means he has to see
    The price of simply being free.

    So Fish must choose: to stay, to flee,
    To name the pain, to claim the key;
    For dreams may bruise, but still they rise,
    Like dawn reflected in tired eyes.

    And on the plane, above that land,
    He sits with trembling heart and hand;
    A white attendant passes near,
    And still his eyes are trained by fear.

    Then suddenly the truth breaks through:
    He looks - and nothing comes to do
    The killing work that fear had planned;
    No rope, no gun, no hateful hand.

    For once, his glance does not mean death,
    But simply air, and light, and breath;
    The long dream cracks, the sky turns wide,
    And Fish wakes free on the other side.

    Categories: Art Writing

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    Lazy Hot Summers with My Dog

    In lazy hot summers, the screen door sighs,
    and sunlight stitches gold through the trees;
    my dog trots softly where the dragonflies rise,
    nose full of dust and clover and breeze.

    The porch boards warm beneath our feet,
    the day hums low in a honeyed tune;
    we share the shade and a lemon-sweet
    glass of afternoon beneath June.

    She chases nothing, then everything—
    a flicker, a leaf, the mail truck’s song;
    her ears stand bright like sails in spring,
    alert to every sound as she trots along.

    By dusk, the heat loosens its woven lace,
    and crickets mend the dark with sound;
    my hand finds the fur on her gentle face,
    and the whole wide world settles down.

    So let the summer shimmer and stay,
    let dust turn silver under the moon;
    with my good dog leading the lazy way,
    even the hottest days end too soon.

    Categories: Art Writing

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    The Unseen Thread

    My religion is not a church,
    not walls of stone,
    not a steeple reaching upward
    to prove that heaven is near.

    My religion is kindness
    people showed me along the way,
    the hands that found me
    when I did not know how to ask,
    the voices that stayed gentle
    when the world grew hard.

    It lives in those who were there for me,
    and those who still are,
    not because they had to be,
    but because something good inside them
    would not let them turn away.

    That kind of love
    supersedes every religion,
    every political view,
    every name we give ourselves
    to feel separate from one another.

    There are special women in my life
    who have been there when I needed them,
    quiet women, steady women,
    women who do not announce their goodness
    because goodness is simply what they do.

    They understand love
    without needing to define it.
    They understand charity
    without needing to be praised.
    They understand friendship
    as something lived,
    not spoken of loudly.

    My words are for them -
    for their good hearts,
    for their presence,
    for the grace they gave me
    just by staying close.

    If I have faith, it is faith in that.
    If I have a prayer, it is gratitude.
    If I have a religion, it is the kindness
    they carried to me
    when I needed it most.

    Categories: Art Writing

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    The Promise I Will Keep

    I promised to take care of you the day I brought you home.
    It felt so simple then - a leash in one hand, hope in the other,
    and your trusting eyes already teaching me
    what devotion looked like.

    Now we are aging together,
    and you share all my deepest sorrows
    and my highest joys with me.
    You have stood beside me
    through the ordinary days no one remembers
    and the unforgettable ones
    that changed me forever.

    You are there in the quiet mornings,
    before the world asks anything of me,
    when the light is soft
    and the house still holds its breath.
    You are there in the long nights too,
    when I do not have words
    for what hurt inside me,
    and somehow your nearness says enough.

    You have been my quiet comfort,
    my steady heart in restless days,
    the soft presence waiting at the door,
    the faithful soul who never turned away.
    When I was tired of being strong,
    you asked nothing from me but honesty,
    but one more walk, but one more moment together.

    You taught me that love does not need language
    to be understood.
    It can live in a lifted head,
    a slow wag of the tail,
    the warmth of your body resting near mine,
    the way you still follow me from room to room
    as if my being here is all the reason you need.

    There were seasons when life felt wide open,
    and we ran through them together.
    There were seasons when everything narrowed,
    and still you stayed.
    You have seen me at my best -
    laughing, hopeful, full of plans -
    and at my lowest,
    when even getting through the day
    felt heavier than I could explain.
    Through all of it,
    you loved me the same.

    Time has silvered us both in its own way.
    The steps will be slower one day,
    the naps a little longer,
    the face I love will soon be a little whiter around the edges.
    And yet there is something so sacred
    in growing older beside you,
    in knowing that the years did not lessen us,
    but deepened us, softened us,
    made this bond more tender and more true.

    I think of the life we have made together -
    not grand in the eyes of the world,
    but precious beyond measure to me.
    A thousand small rituals:
    the sound of your paws following close behind,
    the way you look for me first,
    the comfort of knowing someone in this world
    is always glad when I come home.

    If I have given you shelter,
    you have given me something greater.
    You have given me loyalty without condition,
    presence without pretense, joy without effort.
    You have reminded me, again and again,
    that love can be quiet, constant,
    and still powerful enough
    to carry a person through their hardest years.

    So if I hold you a little longer now,
    if I notice more carefully the shape of your face,
    the sound of your breathing,
    the comfort of your being here,
    it is only because I know what a gift you are.
    And because every day with you,
    even the simplest one,
    has become part of the story of my heart.

    I promised to take care of you
    the day I brought you home.
    But the truth is, you have taken care of me too -
    in all the ways that mattered most.
    With your patience.
    With your gentleness.
    With the quiet certainty of your love.

    And when I think of all these years,
    I do not think only of time passing.
    I think of a life shared.
    I think of grace with fur and kind eyes.
    I think of friendship beyond words.
    I think of a love that asks for so little
    and gives me so much.

    So stay beside me as long as you can,
    dear heart, and I will keep loving you
    the way I always have -
    with gratitude, with tenderness,
    with every piece of me. Because bringing you home was a promise,
    but loving you has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.

    Categories: Art Writing

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    Three Leaders – A Poem Of Contrast

    Caesar conquered nations, took their leaders captive,

    He weighed their wisdom, gathered strategy and lore,

    Picked their brains and so enriched his empire,

    With new customs and teachings, expanding evermore.

    Hitler burned down nations, tortured their leaders to death,

    Turned cities to cinders with a poisonous breath,

    He sowed terror and hatred, left scars that still remain,

    And tried to destroy the world in fire, anguish, and pain.

    Trump rose with promises, dividing friend from foe,

    He built his walls, spoke loudly and boldly, and watched the chaos grow.

    He thundered from his podium, his presence hard to miss,

    With tweets that stirred commotion, and claims impossible to dismiss.

    Where Caesar learned from others, and Hitler silenced dissent,

    Trump tweets his thunder, leaving questions about where the lessons went.

    He wove his own narrative, with spectacle and might,

    Casting shadows on consensus, day blurring into night.

    Power wears many faces through the centuries and years,

    From conquest and destruction, to division, and to fears.

    Three echoes in time, three legacies alive,

    Each shaping history, each with a different rhyme.

    Yet what do we inherit from leaders so grand?

    Is it unity, wisdom, or shifting sands?

    The tales of their reigns remind us to be wise,

    For the path of a nation is seen through its leaders' eyes.

    Categories: Art Writing

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    Walk Through Fire

    The soul does not arrive armored.
    It comes barefoot,
    carrying nothing but breath
    and the faint memory of light.

    Wars teach the world the language of iron -
    the grammar of orders shouted into smoke,
    the punctuation of explosions,
    the full stop of silence after names are lost.
    Yet the soul speaks another tongue,
    older than banners, quieter than fear.

    When the sky learns to fall,
    when streets forget laughter
    and homes remember only echoes,
    the soul folds smaller,
    not to vanish -
    but to fit through cracks.

    Suppression builds walls from rules and fists,
    from inked decrees and watchful eyes.
    It says: Do not sing. Do not gather. Do not hope.
    But the soul is not a protest shouted aloud -
    it is a seed buried deep,
    patient beneath the boot.

    In the camps of waiting,
    in the long corridors of hunger and night,
    the soul survives by remembering
    how to make warmth from memory:
    a voice once trusted,
    a story told before sleep,
    the shape of hands joined in defiance of despair.

    Wars try to convince time to stop -
    to trap people inside a single terrible moment.
    But the soul keeps walking forward
    even when the body stands still,
    even when tomorrow feels illegal.

    It learns to hide truth inside metaphor,
    to pass courage hand to hand
    like contraband light.
    A look becomes a promise.
    A shared silence becomes resistance.

    When language is censored,
    the soul speaks in rhythm.
    When music is banned,
    it hums under breath.
    When history is erased,
    it writes itself into scars,
    into recipes, into prayers without names.

    The soul is not naïve -
    it knows loss intimately.
    It has buried children,
    watched cities burn,
    felt the slow theft of dignity.
    But it also knows this:
    destruction is loud,
    and survival is stubborn.

    Through wars, the soul learns endurance.
    Through suppression, it learns precision.
    It saves its strength,
    chooses its moments,
    understands that even a candle
    can outlive a storm
    if sheltered by human hands.

    And one day -
    not suddenly, not cleanly -
    the pressure breaks.
    Walls crack from the inside.
    The unsayable is said.
    The unsung is sung.

    The soul emerges altered,
    never untouched,
    but carrying proof:
    that even under boots,
    even under silence,
    even under centuries of force -
    something within the human spirit
    refused to kneel.

    This is how the soul gets through:
    not by winning every battle,
    but by surviving them.
    By remembering itself
    when the world tries to forget.

    Categories: Art Painting Writing

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    Unconditional Love Of A Dog

    There is something truly special about the love of a dog. Their affection knows no bounds, and their loyalty is unwavering regardless of the circumstances. Whether greeting us with a wagging tail at the door after a long day or curling up beside us when we feel blue, dogs have an uncanny ability to sense our emotions and respond with comfort and joy.

    Unlike any other relationship, the bond between humans and dogs is built on trust, companionship, and unconditional love. Dogs do not judge or hold grudges; instead, they offer forgiveness and understanding, reminding us of the value of living in the moment. Their playful antics and gentle presence often bring laughter and happiness into our homes, creating memories that last a lifetime.

    Scientific studies have shown that the presence of a dog can reduce stress, increase physical activity, and even improve our overall well-being. The simple act of petting a dog has been linked to lower blood pressure and a calmer state of mind. For many, dogs are more than just pets - they are family, confidants, and friends who enrich our lives in countless ways.

    In truth, the love of a dog is a gift that continues to give. Their devotion inspires us to be kinder, more patient, and appreciative of the simple joys in life. As we care for them, they teach us about responsibility, empathy, and the true meaning of companionship. In return, all they ask is to be loved and cared for in the same selfless way they love us.

    Love Letter to My Dog

    Dear friend with fur and gentle eyes,

    You greet me each morning with bounding surprise.

    Your wagging tail writes stories on the floor,

    Of loyalty, joy, and so much more.

    Through rain or sun, you wait at the door,

    My silent confidant, my heart’s evermore.

    With every nuzzle and playful leap,

    You fill my days with comfort deep.

    I cherish your warmth beside my feet,

    The way you listen, so loving, so sweet.

    This letter, my promise, forever to you:

    My love for you is endless and true.

    Christina

    Categories: Art Painting Writing

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    The Space Between Thoughts

    In our fast-paced world, the mind is flooded with a constant stream of thoughts, ideas, and worries. Yet, tucked between these mental narratives are brief moments of silence, spaces between thoughts that often go unnoticed. These quiet intervals offer a unique window into mindfulness, presence, and inner peace.

    The space between thoughts is not simply a pause; it is a profound opportunity to connect with the present moment. When we become aware of these gaps, we realize that our thoughts do not define us, and their relentless flow does not chain us. We discover a sense of clarity and calm that exists independently of our mental chatter.

    Practices like meditation and mindful breathing encourage us to notice and expand these moments. By focusing on the breath or simply observing our thoughts without judgment, we can learn to rest in the silent spaces between them. This awareness helps reduce stress, fosters emotional resilience, and enhances our overall well-being.

    Embracing the space between thoughts can also inspire creativity and insight. When the mind is free from distractions, new ideas and perspectives can emerge. This silent pause is where intuition grows, and solutions to problems can surface naturally, without force or effort.

    Ultimately, the space between thoughts reminds us that peace is always within reach. It is a gentle invitation to step out of the chaos of the mind and into the serenity of the present. By cultivating awareness of these moments, we can experience greater harmony, clarity, and joy in our daily lives.

    Silent Moments

    In the hush between each fleeting thought,

    A world unfolds where silence is taught.

    Gentle shadows drift, and hopes entwine,

    Within the pause, pure moments shine.

    Unspoken wonders linger, softly caught,

    In the space where mind and soul are sought.

    Here, clarity blooms, worries depart,

    Quiet stretches cradle the heart.

    Let us cherish this tranquil domain,

    Where time is still, and dreams remain.

    For in the space between thoughts, we find

    A gentle peace, a rested mind.

    Christina

    Categories: Art Painting Writing

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    Reflection On Love, Loss, And Healing

    Losing a spouse is an experience that reshapes the very foundation of life. The grief that follows is both profound and deeply personal, touching every corner of the heart. There are moments when silence feels heavier, memories become bittersweet, and even the simplest routines call up a sense of longing for the partner who is no longer there.

    The journey through loss is not straightforward; it is filled with unpredictable waves of emotion. Some days, the ache feels overwhelming, and on others, gentle recollections bring smiles through tears. The love shared does not simply vanish; it transforms, remaining as a quiet presence that guides and comforts amid the pain.

    As time passes, healing begins in small ways. Family, friends, and community offer support, reminding us that we are not alone. Through sharing stories, embracing traditions, and honoring a spouse's legacy, one finds solace and meaning. It is in these moments of connection that hope emerges, like sunlight after a storm, bringing the courage to move forward and embrace life anew.

    Though the loss will never be forgotten, the heart learns to carry both the grief and the love. In doing so, those who have lost a spouse discover resilience they never knew existed and a continued capacity to love; profoundly, bravely, and without limits.

    Presence Within

    You are gone, yet never far - 

    I carry your laughter, your breath, your gaze,

    Deep inside the chambers of my heart.

    Your memory walks beside me each day,

    Whispering comfort when the world feels too vast.

    Sometimes I see you in the quiet light,

    A shadow at my shoulder, gentle and strong.

    The echo of your love fills empty rooms,

    And I realize you haven’t left me at all -

    You live inside me, leading every step I take.

    Though grief weighs heavily, your presence is my guide,

    Forever entwined in soul and mind.

    I am never alone; you follow me everywhere,

    In memories, in dreams, in the quiet moments we share.

    Christina

     

    Categories: Art Painting Writing

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    Frozen Soul

    There are moments in life when the world feels distant and cold, not because of the winter outside but because something inside us has grown quiet and still. This is what it means when a soul feels frozen: a sensation of emotional numbness, disconnection, and a heavy silence that lingers beneath the surface. This experience can arise in response to overwhelming stress, grief, trauma, or prolonged periods of loneliness. The heart, overwhelmed by pain or anxiety, retreats to protect itself. We are left feeling as though we are watching life unfold from behind a frosted window.

    Signs that the soul is frozen might include loss of interest in things once loved, difficulty connecting with others, and a pervasive sense of emptiness or apathy. Simple joys seem unreachable, and the vibrancy of life feels muted. This emotional frost can be a protective mechanism, a way for our inner selves to shield us from further hurt while we process what we have been through. However, if left unaddressed, it can persist, making it hard to re-engage with the world and with ourselves.

    To thaw a frozen soul, it is important first to recognize and honor these feelings without judgment. Seeking support from trusted friends, family, or professionals can gently reintroduce warmth and connection. Engaging in creative activities, spending time in nature, and practicing mindfulness can help restore emotional flow. Gradually, as we allow ourselves to feel and heal, the ice begins to melt, and the soul reawakens, ready to embrace life once more.

    Ultimately, the experience of a frozen soul is not a permanent state but a call for compassion, patience, and gentle self-care. By acknowledging this chill and seeking warmth in relationships, passions, and small moments of beauty, we can begin to restore our sense of vitality and belonging.

    When The Soul Feels Frozen

    In silent halls where echoes dwell,

    The soul retreats beneath its shell.

    Frost gathers where the heart once burned,

    Longing for warmth that won’t return.

    Thoughts drift like snow on moonless nights,

    Each memory blank, bathed in white.

    Hope stands outside with trembling hands,

    Unable to cross these icy lands.

    Yet through the chill, a whisper grows, 

    A promise where the cold wind blows.

    One day, beneath the thawing sun,

    The frozen soul will start to run.

    Christina

    Categories: Art Painting Writing

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