I Cry For Her

 
I carry gifts to my dear friend and her sons, from their wayward husband and father. Alha is a friend of my husband first, on meeting Sophia his wife, a beautiful friendship bonded between us, which spans across the seas. Now for almost eight years, her husband lives in New Jersey and she and her three boys in Egypt.
I carry a closed white plastic bag for her from this wayward man, for who she has been waiting these long eight years to return. With care she opens this white bag to find all the pictures of herself. I feel her pain swell within her, yet she closes the bag, and continues to speak, stands tall, and does not allow her tears to invade her eyes. Yet I know they are in her heart. I feel like I have betrayed her – yet I knew not of the contents of this tiny white plastic bag. If I had known, I would have thrown it in his face. How dare he do this to this beautiful and wonderful woman? And to do this by giving it to me is unforgivable.
She stands tall and bids good bye
And I cry for her.
©8/6/1999 Ellenelizabeth Cernek-Kashk

Husbands:

Equal Traits

I saw them thru rose colored glasses

I saw no faults as “Human Beings”

No less as men and husbands.

APRIL 30, 2010 SECOND RESPONSE (PATH'S END)

Path’s End
Where is the yellow brick road
That’s in a child’s dream?
Where is the line between
Morals taught/ Lessons learned?
Where is the blue horizon
Just as the storm arrives?
Where is the starry night sky
Just as dawn’s born?
Where is the gingerbread house,
That’s in fairy tale land?
Where is the dream of forever
That’s at path’s end!

APRIL 27, 2010 POEM A DAY CHALLENGE (HOPELESS HOPE)

Wow! After today, we'll be a mere three days from the end of this challenge. Today is a two for Tuesday prompt, so you've got two options:

Write a hopeful poem.
Write a hopeless poem.

 
Hopeless hope

She lies there in hopelessness
Her body has give up
She has no control
Everyone must chip in
To bath, feed and clean
This helpless creature

Some days there is only slumber
Not awakening for food, drinks or meds
Other times there are days without
Sleep, wiggling and hoping to get
Loose of the death hold
From the medical bed

Some days are filled with hope
That things will be alright,
As other days only tell
The tale of age just spent.

Where is one to be at 86
Hoping to leave,
Or hopeful to just stay
For one more day

APRIL 20, 2010 POEM A DAY CHALLENGE (WATCHWOMAN)

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides

Today is a two for Tuesday prompt. Here are the two options:


Write a looking back poem. There are a few ways to tackle this one, I guess. The narrator could be reflecting on the past or literally looking back (like over his or her shoulder).

Write a poem that doesn't look back. This poem would be kind of the opposite, I suppose. Narrator who refuses to look back or who is literally looking forward (or I suppose another option even is that the narrator is blind or something).

Of course, if anyone has an interpretation that falls outside of my suggestions, then feel free to run with them. I always encourage poets to bend the prompts to their will.





Watchwoman

I have sat upon
Kaatskill Falls
For a millennium

My arms searching
Reaching skywards
My roots spreading

I have become gazer
Standing testament
Of long times spent

I have witnessed
The inhales and exhales
Of countless days

I have witnessed
Mankind’s brilliance
In fortitude and defeat

I am the original
Birch Tree who
Extends her reach

I am now a grove
Of Birch Trees
Canopying the falls

I am the Sentry
Watchwoman of Earth
Anticipating my rebirth

In the quiets of
A winter storm
You may hear me

“I open to the North,
I open to the East,
I open to the South,
I open to the West,
Elements complete my circle.”

I stand and wait
Bare and naked
In winter’s storms

For the coming
For my resurrection
For mankind to understand

Peace.

APRIL 4, 2010 POEM A DAY CHALLENGE (OBSCURE PASSING OF ECHOING TIME)

2010-04-04

For today's prompt, write a history poem. This could mean a poem about your country's history, the history of an event or a tool, or even your own personal history. Hey, you could even write about the history of a relationship. The history of everything is fair game. Have fun!

Obscure Passing of Echoing Time

As white rivers quietly
Rush in tandem,
Abandoned in a time forgotten
Captured in the sins of the mother
Forever disconnected
In the echoing time
Of then of now?

As I look into the blue gray sky
When the pinks and mauves
Of sunset has faded
And the darkness
Has yet arrived,
Staring up passed the blue spruce
Which have been here before I
And I shall leave before them.

The top most branches
Stilled defined before
Darkness swallows the
Last breath of daylight.

High above tiny white and red
Lights blink
A jet passes, with no sound,
Darkness breathes
Covering the world.

I am disconnected
As I witness the birthing
Of the first evening star.

Echoing to me
The obscure passing of time.