Poet. Blogger. Speaker. Author of “Moments: A Poetic Autobiography”. Unapologetically a lover of God, a lover of love and all things nature. Hardcore logophile with an epigrammatic style. Creative soul. Artsy to the core.
Women who stay in abusive relationships often hear the same questions: “Why don’t you leave?” “Why do you go back?” But leaving isn’t always simple. The ties that bind are deeper than what the eye can see—woven from fear of retaliation, financial dependence, isolation, and the emotional manipulation that distorts reality.
Help is Available
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, you are not alone. There is help. In the US:
The flight took off through snowstorm’s might We trusted the forecast, we trusted the flight But when time came for landing, the winds took their stand As if the enemy determined, “They won’t safely land”
The engines groaned, the wings bowed low City lights flickered, dimmed to a glow A whispered prayer, a held-back scream— A battle raged beyond what can be seen
I believe God stood, firm in the darkened sky “Their purpose remains, they shall not die” Plane nose dipped down—the runway clear The wheels reached out, the ground drew near
But darkness grinned, the crosswinds rose And up we climbed—the landing closed Four times the storm would toss and turn Four times the pilot’s skills would burn
Yet heaven’s hand refused to sway “Not on My watch, not now, not today” Guardian angels wove through the steel A hush of peace the soul could feel
The winds did howl, the tempest rise But God still reigns beyond the skies “My child, hold on, for I am here Your time’s not up—give not in to fear”
Back to the start, though shaken still Weary, yet heart with gratitude is filled To breathe, to rise, to see the dawn— A life preserved, a journey drawn
Now I stand on solid ground With grateful psalms, my praise resounds For what was spared, for what’s in store For battles ahead and victories more
Afterword: As I pondered how to capture that night in poetic form, I was reminded of a powerful quote from one of my favorite spiritual writers, E.G. White, in The Great Controversy:
“If the veil could be lifted, and we could see the struggle of the angelic hosts with the powers of darkness, and the efforts of our guardian angels to protect us from the snares of the evil one…”
Reflecting on that night (6 Feb 2025) I cannot help but see it as a battle between good and evil—each attempted landing thwarted by the winds as a struggle for the souls aboard that small aircraft. But through it all, my good-good Father prevailed. Even now, I’m still in awe of His protection.
2025 All Rights Reserved Image by me (from plane window of return flight to NY)
Mirror, mirror—what do you see? No masks, no tales, the truth of me. Full lips, proud nose, skin sun-kissed like earth at dusk. Wearing hair-itage like a crown, a symphony of strength and soul.
Let them look— The questioning gaze. You were never made for their approval. You were made to radiate. To take up space. To shift rooms.
No need to chase what already lives within. No need to mold what was meant to be free. You are the art, the standard, the source. Unapologetically the quintessential you.
Before-word: This is a paraphrase of a psalm penned by my best-Bible-friend, David (King of ancient Israel), as recorded in Psalms 139.
Dear God, investigate my life; get all the facts firsthand. I’m an open book to You; even from a distance, You know what I’m thinking. You know when I leave and when I get back; I’m never out of Your sight. You know everything I’m going to say before I start the first sentence. I look behind me and You’re there, then up ahead and You’re there, too— Your reassuring presence, coming and going. This is too much, too wonderful— I can’t take it all in! Is there anyplace I can go to avoid Your Spirit? to be out of Your sight? If I climb to the sky, You’re there! If I go underground, You’re there! If I flew on morning’s wings to the far western horizon, You’d find me in a minute— You’re already there waiting! Then I said to myself, “Oh, He even sees me in the dark! At night I’m immersed in the light!” It’s a fact: darkness isn’t dark to You; night and day, darkness and light, they’re all the same to You. Oh yes, You shaped me first inside, then out; You formed me in my mother’s womb. I thank You, High God—You’re breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration—what a creation! Like an open book, You watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before You. The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day. Your thoughts—how rare, how beautiful! God, I’ll never comprehend them! I couldn’t even begin to count them— any more than I could count the sand of the sea. Oh, let me rise in the morning and live always with You! Investigate my life, O God, find out everything about me; Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I’m about; See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong— then guide me on the road to eternal life.
“There’s no way your flight will take off in this weather. You’ll be back soon.”
With those parting words from my other-mom on February 16th, I headed to Pearson International Airport, bracing myself against one of Toronto’s worst snowstorms in recent history.
Toronto digs out from biggest winter storm in more than three years Credit: The Weather Network
As the Uber driver cautiously navigated through snow-laden side streets and treacherous highways, I gripped my seatbelt tightly, my foot pressing an imaginary brake, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
All day, I had been refreshing my flight status, fully expecting a cancellation.
At the airport, a complete whiteout swallowed the tarmac; not a single plane was visible. Yet, somehow, our flight remained scheduled. Trusting that the weather forecasting service deemed it safe, I boarded.
After an extended de-icing process, I willed myself to sleep, hoping to escape the turbulence I was certain awaited us.
But no intensity of sleep could have prevented me from this experience.
I woke up as we began our descent into LaGuardia—a route I had flown countless times. But this time it felt different. The plane trembled violently, the wing I had my eyes fixated on was swaying against the wind. My body tensed, pressing into the seat for stability. I could see the landmark buildings and high rises. Then, suddenly, we lurched into a steep climb—our landing aborted. The city lights below faded rapidly as we climbed back into the dense darkness.
The intercom chimed, and the pilot’s voice cut through the uneasy silence:
“Due to heavy winds near the surface, we were unable to land. We will circle and attempt another approach.”
Attempt two: The turbulence was worse. I watched the wing shake as the cityscape came into view, again. And again—another sudden ascent.
Attempt three: Even more violent. Passengers were now visibly ill; flight attendants hurriedly distributed motion sickness bags when we leveled off.
Attempt four: The same gut-wrenching pattern. The aircraft shook violently. My eyes were fixed on the wing. It was flapping as if it might snap.
The fourth attempt felt closest. We approached over water, the familiar low urban approach into LaGuardia. I prayed intensely as water gave way to land. I thought, this is it—we’re landing. But then—another abrupt climb.
A collective gasp of terror and despair filled the cabin. Followed by a deafening silence.
No passengers spoke.
Even the pilots remained silent, undoubtedly giving this relentless battle against the wind their undivided attention.
In the absence of information, I turned to the flight map. It now displayed an estimated arrival time back to Toronto. My heart sank. If conditions here were this treacherous, what awaited us at Pearson?
The intercom chimed again, the pilot’s voice calm but firm:
“We will not attempt a fifth landing due to fuel constraints. We are heading back.”
A wave of confusion spread through the cabin. Passengers exchanged panicked glances. Then, the collective question, I also joined in:
“Heading back, where?”
The intercom beeped once more.
“Back to Toronto.”
The flight map was indeed correct. We are heading back to Toronto!
Minutes passed. Then another chime.
“We are diverting to Hamilton—we do not have enough fuel to reach Toronto.”
Every plane crash story and movie I had ever watched flashed through my mind. This was the moment for faith and self-talk. I whispered reassurances to myself, willing my body to remain calm as I prayed.
We landed in Hamilton with a jarring thud. Passengers, desperate for solid ground, rose from their seats before we even stopped moving. The pilot’s voice returned:
“We will refuel and return to Toronto. Please remain seated.”
Tensions rose. The flight attendants did their best to soothe frayed nerves. The line for the bathrooms stretched the length of the small plane.
My legs up against the seat in this small plane. I can endure this for 1.5 hours, 14 hours was hellish
Our only sustenance? Pretzels and water.
Four hours later, after refueling and de-icing, we were airborne again. By this point, exhaustion had dulled my fear.
At almost 4 a.m., nearly 12 hours after our journey began, we arrived back at Pearson—right where we started. The baggage claim area was packed with hundreds of stranded passengers. My suitcase, like so many others, was nowhere to be found.
Descending the escalator from immigration into the baggage claim area at 3:53 AMlooking in one direction
By the time the ordeal ended—including the scramble to secure another flight—it was nearly 4 p.m. I had been in travel mode for 24 hours for a trip that should have taken 1.5.
Trying to find a ticket online for the day after 😵💫🫣🤯🙄😲The phone number we were given rang with no answer so we stood in a long line to rebook tickets at the airport
No sooner had I settled at home than the news broke:
A Delta Air Lines regional jet had crash-landed at Pearson. The plane flipped upon landing due to strong crosswinds and heavy snow. Miraculously, all passengers survived, though some were injured.
I stared at the TV screen, my body still buzzing from adrenaline.
My straddling that thin line between routine travel and catastrophe had never been closer.
And in that moment I’m reminded of how the convergence of severe weather and aviation underscores that delicate balance between safety and the unpredictability of nature.
Reflecting on my own harrowing experience, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
I still have a flight ahead of me to get back to my second home. Praying for safe travel has never had such profound meaning.
The Sabbath rises with the setting sun Whispering rest into the restless Calling the hurried world to stillness Never a burden, but a breath— A pause written into creation’s rhythm A covenant carved in time A gift wrapped in intention, divine
Before nations had borders Before laws were chiseled in stone Before toil bent the backs of laborers— Sabbath was God blessed the seventh day Not for one people Not for one tribe But for all who bear His image For all all who crave intimacy with the Divine
It is the hush after the storm It is the table set with bread and wine It is the gathering of hearts around sacred space It is a call to cease, a call to worship, a call to remember— We are not the sum of our labor not the weight of our worries not bound to endless striving
The Sabbath is mercy unfolding Healing hands extending— the hungry fed, the weary restored, the broken made whole It was never meant for idleness— but for goodness, for justice, for love
God, the Author of time wove rest into its fabric A holy refrain between the days A reminder that He is the source, that we are His, that the world turns not by our hands, but by His will
So, let the thirsty drink deeply of its blessings The weary find rest in its embrace The seeking surrender to its sacred peace Come O Sabbath day of rest Be a healing balm for every soul
Shabbat Shalom.
I pray you find the divine gift, the covenant of peace, and the sacred rhythm of Sabbath calling you to restoration, justice, and peace.
In shades of blackness, three black women stood By the ocean’s lapping waves, because they could Their skin adorned in shades of black A tapestry of edenic beauty, flashback
In shades of blackness, colors bright They wear a tapestry of strength and light Their hearts yearning thoughts soaring free To Africa, their homeland, across the sea
The water’s shimmer a bittersweet sight A reminder of forlorn journeys in the night When shackles and chains bore heavy weight Yet like their spirit, resilient colors celebrate
In shades of blackness, a tapestry unfolds Stories of strength and courage retold Thinking of Africa their hearts united A land torn from them yet home ignited
In shades of blackness, they stand so tall A triumphant spirit proudly enthrall Their roots deep-seated a heritage divine In their souls, the echoes of ancient rhyme
With every sunset and every dawn They honor the heritage that’s drawn From a distant land, a sacred place Woven in a collective memory space
In shades of blackness they’ve faced stormy days Challenged bias in countless ways Their voices rose above the strife Championing one for all, a better life
In the shades of blackness they’ve come to find The strength and love of humankind Three black women united—a living art In love for community to heal each heart
Today, millions will watch as two teams battle for supremacy on US football’s biggest stage—the Super Bowl. It’s a contest of strategy, resilience, and sheer willpower, where overcoming the opponent is the ultimate goal. But beyond the field, another battle rages—the fight to overcome the noise, pollution, war, hypocrisy, and fear that permeate our world.
Love cannot simply exist passively in the atmosphere
I was struck by fellow blogger Yassy’s poem that challenged the well known adage “love is in the air” by, in essence asking: or is it?! She does so by painting a stark, unfiltered picture of current reality. A reality where the air seems to be permeating with everything but love. It’s a poignant reminder that love cannot simply exist passively in the atmosphere; it must be cultivated, lived, and made tangible.
I was also struck by a verse from the Bible which happened to be something I read today as well. In a world so aptly described in Yassy’s poem, the Bible offers this antidote: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21). And other religious texts contain similar message about overcoming evil with good.
Love must rise louder than the chaos
Just as teams fight to outplay their opponents, we are called to outlive, outshine, and outlove the darkness around us. Love must rise louder than the chaos, transforming not just hearts but the very air we breathe.
If love is in the heart, then it must also be in our voices, actions, and presence—overcoming hate, fear, and injustice. Love is not silent. It does not retreat. It sings, shouts, and clears the air.
This reflection inspired my poem, using the #Dectina Refrain form:
Love Lives Loud
Heart Beating Love resounds Drowning out hate Piercing the darkness Cutting through hopelessness Rising beyond warplanes and lies Spreading joy, light, displacing fear Truth cleansing air, shifting atmosphere Heart beating, love resounds, drowning out hate
Heart beating, love resounds, drowning out hate Truth cleansing air, shifting atmosphere Spreading joy, light, displacing fear Rising beyond warplanes and lies Cutting through hopelessness Piercing the darkness Drowning out hate Love resounds Beating Heart
2025 All Rights Reserved Designed with Canva Images by Pexels
My curls are kinky They coil to the twist of their own internal rhythm So twisted—me and my curls—we had a love-hate thang going ‘Cause others didn’t understand ‘em They couldn’t really teach me to ‘preciate ‘em And ‘cause I wasn’t woke enough to defend ‘em I kinda sorta love-hate ‘em
My curls are wool-like Pulled over eyes, they can be deceptive They’ll coil up tight and shrink to scalp at even water’s sighting They make for a beautiful ‘fro Exposed to the elements for too long though They’ll defy any comb’s attempts to un-kink their flo’
My curls have been terribly misunderstood Their fullness and density been processed to straightness They been pressed, relaxed, texturized, straight-out-flattened Clipped, chopped, colored, razored Braided, weaved, locked, cornrowed And they been greased, greased and mo’ greased
My curls are acrobatic They’ll flip and bounce, changing with my every mood And they’ll totally flip at even the sign of uninvited touch moves Egocentric—yeah, they are—they regard only me Me and my curls now, we got mad chemistry One-hundred-percent-LOVE-only y’all—that’s we
My curls evolved empowered—now they’re unapologetic survivalists Every natural kink in bouncebackability mode Defying every relaxer, every straightening comb They curl unmolested into their resilient-mystique self—whole Conveying cultural, political and social justice opinions In stylish kinky hair expressions
From Madam CJ Walker To Mrs. Michelle Obama My curls are audacious My curls are bold My curls are fully deserving of this— Their very own ode
All rights reserved [first published in 2022, bringing it back for BHM ‘25]
Afterword: Hair was a sacred cultural and spiritual symbol in ancient African societies. Slave traders, as a first step in a process of systemic culture and identity erasure, would shave the heads of all African people they captured. Hair texture and styling played an important role in the survival of enslaved Black people. For instance, in the 1960s, the afro became a symbol of self-empowerment and activism. Black hair is black resistance.
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War broke out in heaven— Sin and hell introduced Sin took its shot A fruit bitten Hell made its move The world shifted When she bit, then he bit— All of creation groaned Sorrow stepped in Death rolled up And the grave claimed its throne
But this story wasn’t over— The script wasn’t sealed To rewrite the ending, Love itself took the field A price too high for men to pay, So love stepped forth and made a way
The cost? Astronomical! The method? Unthinkable! God offered the Lamb, without contemplation The ultimate heist of redemption
Incognito birth— In a barn, low on worth Swaddled in cloth so tattered and torn Who would have guessed, who could have known? This babe so fragile, this child so very small Would grow up to pull off the smoothest heist of them all
Stealth move after stealth move The enemy never saw Him coming First, He stole death’s grip Then, He stole hell’s keys He unraveled the chains— And set humanity free Next, He stole sin’s power, Left it broken, undone Ransomed for eternity— He declared, “It is won!”
But He wasn’t done For He stole condemnation Snatched guilt and shame Laid them at the altar, replaced with His name Like a thief in the night, love came breaking in Forgiveness for all, for every last sin
Jesus— Love in motion, pure devotion A rebel against a borrowed grave No swords drawn, no war to wage Just love unmatched, unshaken and true A love so deep, it made all things new
He robbed the grave with surgical precision Love was His weapon, mercy His mission No force, no foe, could stand ‘gainst His plan The Lamb became the Lion, redeeming every man
Death? Defeated! Sin? Overruled! Hell? Evicted! Love broke all the rules!
Jesus— Master of the smoothest heist on earth Snatching victory from defeat, deliverance at His birth Suffered a criminal’s death, changed the game Eternal love, infinite grace—we’ll never be the same
The mastermind Savior, swift and wise A thief of hearts with loving ties Not stealing to break, but to make whole To heal, to redeem, to reclaim every soul
His love was the heist, His death, the greatest score The cross was the setup The grave—the open door The plot twist? The comeback? Oh, that shook the floor ‘Cause victory—it wasn’t stolen— It was sealed forevermore
After-Word: I first started this poem in 2022, inspired by Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal. Back then, the working title was Smoothest Criminal—a bit risqué, but that’s where my creativity first landed. As the piece evolved, so did its meaning, and just last week, it finally reached completion. After testing the title with a few friends, it, too, transformed—becoming “Smoothest Heist”.
Most mornings, I run to catch the train—let’s start there.
If I take a leisurely walk, it’s about eight minutes. A brisk pace? Six minutes. Either way, I’d arrive at the station with time to spare, breathing normally like most any other commuter. But no, not me. Almost every morning, I somehow end up with the four-minute option.
That’s the Bolt. As in Usain Bolt.
Yes, it’s a full sprint. In running shoes, no problem. In high heels, dressed for work, pocketbook in tow? A whole different kind of Olympic event.
There are no fellow commuters on this path—just me, tearing through the quiet morning streets. If I’m lucky, a kind passenger will hold the train doors hostage just long enough for me to make my dramatic entrance. I bolt into the last car—that’s as far as my exhausted body can make it. I collapse into a seat, gasping out a barely audible “thank”—GASP—“you” to my door-jamming hero.
This morning was no exception. Four minutes before the train was due to arrive, my brisk walk turned to a jog-walk then a full-on sprint. Off I go, the usual fiasco playing out—except this time, a driver pulled up alongside me.
Driver: “Beautiful lady—” (Right then, I knew he was Caribbean.) “Is de train yuh a run down?” (Oh, he’s Jamaican!) “Yuh wan’ta ride?!”
Me: (Panting, because by now, I’ve hit the incline—yes, there’s a hill involved in all this.) “No man, we awrite!” I don’t break stride. There’s a train to catch, after all.
Driver: “Awrite, pretty lady.” (Sweet-mouth Jamaican, I thought with a smile in his direction.) And with that, he speeds off.
So, like I said—I’m writing this post from the Metro …finally breathing normally again, swearing I won’t do this again.
…till tomorrow.
2025 All Rights Reserved Designed with Canva Image by Pexels
Before-word: On the morning of 1st February my phone rang. My heart knew instinctively it was no ordinary call—but I was not prepared for this: “Betty passed.”
Elizabeth “Betty” Talbert, Country Representative for the United Nations Population Fund, Caribbean Subregional Office. May her soul rest in eternal peace.
In processing life’s highs and its lows, I often turn to words. This time was no exception—not just to mark the passing of a life, but to offer a reminder to those of us left behind.
Serving as international civil servants is no small feat. It takes its toll on our bodies, our families, our lives—and yet, amid it all, there is life.
This is not just a tribute to a life lost, but a call to live fully in each moment, to honor the gift of time, and to remember that even in death, we are reminded to cherish living and life.
In Her Memory, We Live
Life is fragile— A delicate thread stretched too thin, woven with moments that slip through our fingers like grains of sand too swift to grasp. The pulse, the breath, so sure in its rhythm one second, then faltering the next.
Death—in its physical form— a stillness that steals the breath, leaving nothing but the echo of a once beating heart. It doesn’t ask permission— it simply arrives, uninvited, claiming the space we once occupied and leaving us with nothing but memory to carry the weight of what was.
But there is a death— one that creeps in unnoticed, the slow fading of light, the quiet erosion of self— the death of the spirit when the spark of divinity is dimmed, and the soul wanders in a vast, empty place where prayers fall silent and even faith grows tired.
Then there is a death— a withering of joy, a loss of hope, a weight of sorrow that bends the spirit and the heart beats only because it must. You stand in the ruins of yourself, facing a reflection you no longer recognize, and wonder when you became a ghost in your own life living in emotional death.
The end of connection, the severing of bonds that once held you close. A love that once bloomed now wilts under the weight of words unspoken, of wounds too deep to heal. When the silence between you grows louder than anything you ever shared, and the phrase “you’re dead to me” lays the foundation for relational death. It’s a slow farewell to everything you once built.
Death, in all its forms, takes what it pleases, but it also leaves the quiet aftermath where nothing is ever truly the same.
Still, in the ashes of loss, there is the possibility of rebirth. For even in the deepest shadows, there is the promise of light, the faintest glow on the horizon, the hope that tomorrow, we rise again.
For the truest death is not the one that steals breath, but the one that robs life of living, the one that leaves us standing still, afraid to move toward the light that still calls us home. It is the death of hope, the quiet surrender of our dreams, the moment we forget to reach beyond the shadows that loom o’er the only true life— the courage to keep moving, toward what is yet to come.
“When death finds you, may it find you alive.” (an African proverb)
Before-word: At the start of Black History Month (USA), this is a declaration of self-worth—unapologetically claiming space and authenticity in a world that rushes to erase difference. In a time of deliberate pushback against rights, equality, diversity, and inclusion, this piece stands as an affirmation: We are enough. Whole. Complete. We belong. And we are undeniably deserving of the rights that are inherently ours—by virtue of being human.
I am enough. Not almost. Not maybe. Not if only. Not someday. I am already—enough!
I have enough of what I need to be the exceptional me Not a watered-down, shrink-to-fit version But the bold, distinctive, unstoppable me
I am enough! Worthy of love that doesn’t come with conditions Worthy of acceptance that doesn’t ask me to edit myself to fit someone else’s visions
I am enough! Every piece of me—flaws and all—God-stitched Created in brilliance Imperfections sculpted into strength I’m not here to erase or to apologize
I am enough! I won’t fade into the background Or try to fit into someone else’s selfie when I was made to standout in my own spotlight— That’s why I won’t dim my shine
And when the world tries to measure me by numbers, by titles, or by expectations I will remind it:
I am not defined by the weight of opinions or the shifting tides of approval
I am not a sum of my scars a reminder of my mistakes or a static product of my past
I am the story still unfolding the light that keeps shining the melody that won’t fade
I will not apologize for the way my laughter echoes like a song too bold to be silenced or for the way my body, my presence take up room I will not wait for permission to own my voice, to own my space, to own my destiny
I am enough! Enough is not the bare minimum— It is abundance It is power It is truth It is waking up whole even on the days I feel broken It is standing tall even when my knees tremble
So here I stand—out: Unapologetic. Proud. Unshaken. No more proving. No more waiting. No more asking permission.
As I stand As I breathe As I be I am enough—just as I am The effervescent, quintessential Me
2025 All Rights Reserved Designed with Canva Image credit: Facebook
If these walls could talk, Their voices would crack like the floorboards beneath your feet, Worn down by years of footsteps that carried love and loss in equal measure
They’d tell of love, The kind that lingers in the scent of Sunday dinners, The faint echo of a lullaby, The creak of a rocking chair swaying long after the baby’s grown
They’d hum with the rhythm of life— Pulsating with the heart-drum of a family piecing themselves together, one imperfect day at a time
They’d whisper of quarrels, loud as thunder at the time, but now softened like rain, falling gently, nourishing the roots of forgiveness Voices raised, slamming doors, but always opening again with hands reaching, arms wide, inviting— “Come back, sit down, let’s talk”
Broken-down boards, their edges splintered but still holding steady
Leaking ceilings, stubbornly letting light drip through the cracks
Rusted shingles, their jagged edges like scars, each one a story of resilience
Stripping paint, layers peeling back to reveal every shade of life lived inside— a kaleidoscope of memory
And yet— Inside regales of a beauty that still blooms Faded wallpaper like the backdrop of dreams Grandma’s patchwork quilt draped over the couch Stitched together from cloths of generations past Created by hands that believed in warmth, in home, in staying
If these walls could talk, they’d tell you this: Even in decay, there is grace Even in ruins, there is history And even when the frame sags under its weight, a house holds its beauty in the love it has sheltered
So listen— To the silence that speaks volumes Listen to the cracks that echo strength listen to the walls that have always stood, not for themselves but for the stories they protect If only these walls could talk
Nothing is forever in this world, not even our problems They come and go like storm clouds Like shadows passing over All working together, in time, for your good
The most lost day in life is the day we don’t laugh
The most lost day in life is the day we don’t laugh— A day wasted Like chasing rainbows with your head down Missing the brilliance arching over you To truly laugh You must take your pain and mold it Shape it into art Turn it into a weapon against despair
Walking in the rain, so no one can see me crying
I love walking in the rain Hiding my tears in its rhythm Letting it wash the salt from my cheeks No one sees them— My tears In the rain— A secret dance with my sorrow A cleansing no one needs know
Six best doctors in the world
Six best doctors in the world Let me count them for your hearing— One: the sun that kisses your skin Two: rest that cradles your weary bones Three: exercise that awakens your spirit Four: a diet that fuels your fire Five: self-respect that builds your fortress And, six, the best of them all—friends Their laughter, their love, their healing hands, a sanctuary in a chaotic world
Life is a play that does not allow rehearsals
Life is a play that does not allow rehearsals— You step on the stage raw Your heart your script Your conscience your guide God by your side Live, love, laugh out fully Because the hands of time move forward, never back
Imagination means nothing without doing
Imagination means nothing without doing Without stepping into the wild unknown Without turning dreams into reality We think too much and feel too little Our hearts trapped behind cages of reason But the heart is a compass Its beat a map to the dreams we’re too afraid to speak out loud
Nothing is forever in this world
Nothing is forever in this world But, Today We are here And that is enough
Afterword: Charlie Chaplin, a silent screen actor whose gestures and expressions spoke louder than dialogue ever could. Yet, when he did use words, they carried weight. Today’s post is inspired by his profound words and a testament that the quietest voices can echo across generations.
Like Martin Luther King: “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear”.
His words are oh so relevant in these times:
“I’m concerned about a better World. I’m concerned about justice; I’m concerned about brotherhood and sisterhood; I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about that, he can never advocate violence. For through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence. Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that”.
Taken from MLK Jnr., “Where Do We Go From Here” speech.
Beforeword: The image of this old Jamaican house popped up in my Facebook feed. Well, it begged to be my muse and so this poem was birthed—“This Old House, This Old Year”.
Like an old house, the past year holds cracks, scars, and beauty—reminding us to embrace resilience, cherish love, and build hope in the year ahead. My word for 2025 is HOPE!
Happy New Year WPers!
The old year stands like an aged house, its frame leaning from the weight of time, its walls etched with the marks of joy and struggle. The floorboards groan with the memory of steps— some hesitant, some bold, each one carving its place in the story.
The roof, patched, imperfect, shielded through storms, even as the rain seeped in through cracks. Shingles rusted, paint stripped away, layers of who you were laid bare, revealing not ruin, but resilience.
Yet, inside, beauty remains. The faint warmth of a fire long extinguished, the soft hum of voices carried by the breeze. Here is where love lingered, where family gathered, where arguments burned hot but always cooled into peace.
The old year reminds you: every crack tells a story, every scar a survival. What wore you down also built you up.
As the new year rises, like a fresh foundation waiting to be laid, remember this: Mend the broken places, but don’t erase their history. Invite the light in, even if it exposes your flaws. Forgive the storms, for they shaped you. Celebrate the strength in what still stands.
Fill this new year with love so fierce it becomes the shelter you need. Open your doors to joy, your windows to hope. And when this year, too, becomes weathered, may it stand proud—like this old house, a testament to how well you lived it.
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Beforeword: New Year is a New Chapter of 365 opportunities to make a difference in the spaces where purpose meets the pulsating of fresh start.
In the quiet unveiling of one year’s end A new one emerges, a cosmic unveiling Darkness surrenders to the dawn’s soft glow The dawning of a year, another chance to step into the uncharted
Pages turn, not with the creak of binding But with the silent rustle of unseen potential Each day, a leaf in the unfolding narrative of possibilities 365 chapters yet unwritten in the book of life
No rhyme to dictate the rhythm of this journey No predetermined cadence to constrain my steps With each sunrise, a new chance to redefine To shape my story unscripted, line upon line
Time, a steady heartbeat, echoes opportunity In the quiet hum of moments purpose beckons A call to craft meaning in the tapestry of existence 365 chances to breathe life into dreams
So, as the sun rises, 365 days stretch like an unwritten book I’ll bravely embrace the new chapters For in every sunrise, a promise is whispered— 365 days, 365 opportunities to live with purpose
‘Twas the days after Christmas, and all through the towns Hearts turning grey, like winter, cast down
Stockings stuffed heavy, now dangling bare All they contained distributed with care
Gifts quickly losing their “must have” splendor Owners eyeing the next “thing” to give ‘em pleasure
Twinkling lights and all their shimmer Turned off, unplugged, leaving spaces dimmer
Trees stripped down, discarded on curbs Christmas packed away, leave undisturbed
‘Till next year’s frenzy, forgetting the reason Is Jesus left behind, till next Christmas season?
2022, republished 2025, All rights reserved
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It was an ordinary night the kind where stars whisper and the earth gently exhales A stable, no different than any other smelled of hay, sweat, and animals— not a palace, not a temple, just a room for the overlooked
An ordinary girl barely more than a whisper young, tired her heart swelling with both fear and faith An ordinary man steady, unsure trying to make sense of a divine plan that didn’t seem to make sense at all
Shepherds ordinary men with dirt under their nails watching their flocks used to the dark and the humdrum of silence never expecting the heavens to tear open with jubilation
And yet— in the ordinary extraordinary light broke through A star, brighter than reason daring to blaze where no star had blazed before An angel joined by a heavenly host declaring the birth of the extraordinary
Wise men called from distant lands following whispers of destiny written in the skies Gold, frankincense, myrrh— gifts fit for a King, cradled in a manger
The extraordinary gift of salvation wrapped in the fragile skin of a newborn the hope of eternity cradled by hands still learning their strength
And now, we stand on the edge of the same choice— to stay in the ordinary the safe, the unnoticed, the blend-in-and-fit-in life Or to step into the extraordinary the blaze-your-trail-walk-on-water-rise-above-the-noise kind of calling
Extraordinary is our design! How then can we fit in and stand out at the same time Step into the gift of being set apart Dare to dream beyond the dust to reach for the stars to bring heaven closer to earth
Christmas reminds us that the One who shattered the ordinary called us to the extraordinary
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Don’t die before you’re dead. Don’t let the grind of days steal the breath from your spirit Or the weight of worry cement your feet in place When death finds you Let it find you alive Let it find you with fire in your eyes With laughter tangled in your lungs And songs swelling in notes to the skies
Live. Live with joy like it’s a rebellion A refusal to let the darkness win Smile wide enough to crack the walls of your fears Let your curiosity roam untamed Chasing the edges of the horizon Like a child who believes the ocean is endless
Be audacious. Speak louder than the silence that tries to hold you Dare to dream when the world says, “Be small” Dance, even when the music is only in your head Run toward the things that scare you Because courage is not the absence of fear— It’s choosing to live fully in spite of it
Speak out. Don’t bear the agony of an untold story, not told Your voice dying within you, unheard Don’t sit still, pregnant with potential Never to give birth to your purpose Speak the truth etched on your soul Let your words carve pathways for others Let your gifts see the light of day A buried dream is a tragedy the world can never mourn
When the clock ticks Don’t just count the hours— Make them count When the seasons shift— Don’t mourn the leaves that fall, Celebrate the seeds you’ve sown
So when death comes knocking Let it find you alive Not half-lived or worn down by regret But shining with the audacity of a life fully embraced And the joy of knowing you left no moment unlived Don’t die before you’re dead
Afterword: The inspiration for this poem stems from: the proverb, “When death finds you, may it find you alive,” and Maya Angelou’s powerful words, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” These are part of my life motto and together they form the foundation of my “Why I Write” declaration, driving me to live fully and to ensure my voice is heard.
Love one another with brotherly affection (Romans 12:10) Bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). Encourage one another and build one another up (1 Thessalonians 5:11) Live in harmony with one another (Romans 12:16) Forgiving one another as God in Christ forgave you (Ephesians 4:32)
Outdo one another in showing honor (Romans 12:10) Be at peace with one another (Mark 9:50) Through love, serve one another (Galatians 5:13) Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ (Ephesians 5:21) Let us stir up one another to love and good works (Hebrews 10:24)
Bear with one another in love (Ephesians 4:2) Confess your sins to one another, pray for one another (James 5:16). Do not grumble against one another (James 5:9) Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you (Romans 15:7) Love one another, just as I have loved you (John 13:34)
Clothe yourselves in humility toward one another (1 Peter 5:5) Teaching and admonishing one another in wisdom (Colossians 3:16) Do not speak evil against one another (James 4:11) But exhort one another daily, while it’s called today (Hebrews 3:13) And above all— Let us love one another, for love is from God (1 John 4:7)
Afterword:
One of the greatest blessings of holidays like Christmas is how they bring us together, reminding us of the power of community and connection. But what if we extended this spirit of togetherness throughout the year? Would our homes, communities, and world be filled with more love? Would we see peace on earth and goodwill truly extended to all people?
The Bible is rich with “one another” statements—guiding principles that call us to live in harmony, serve with humility, and love unconditionally. These statements remind us that we are not meant to navigate life alone; they can only be fulfilled with… one another.
This cento weaves together these timeless “one another” verses. Though written over two thousand years ago, their message remains strikingly relevant today, offering a blueprint for unity, love, and hope in our lives and our world.
I am honored and grateful to be featured by Spillwords in their “Spotlight on Writers” segment.
It’s a privilege to share my work and passion with readers, and I truly appreciate the platform Dagmara and the editorial team have provided for voices like mine to be heard!
Please drop by Spillwords to read the full interview to get a bit more insight into what motivates and inspires my writing.
And while you’re there, would appreciate your leaving a “like” and/or comment.
THANKS 🙏🏽😉🙏🏽
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“Purpose drops in our laps as if the heavens threw it by accident” like a star slipping out of orbit like a word spoken out of turn yet somehow exactly what was meant to be said
It falls— heavy as a stone in still water light as a feather floating on the wind carrying weight and ease in equal measure
We don’t always know what to do with it— this gift disguised as a burden this question wrapped in the skin of an answer Do we cradle it like glass, fragile and precious? Or do we let it burn our palms, carving its truth into our skin?
The heavens may play coy but there are no accidents here Purpose lands exactly where it is supposed to— in trembling hands in restless hearts in the laps of those who thought they were sitting still but were actually waiting all along
It whispers: “Carry me, even if you stumble. Shape me, even if you break. Live me, and I will make you whole.”
Purpose drops in our laps as if the heavens threw it by accident
Afterword: A speech by Deshauna Barber delivered at an alumni event at the University Maryland global campus was the muse for this piece, inspired from this line: “purpose drops in our laps as if the heavens threw it by accident.”
In the still of the night, a light so bright From sleep awakens me in fright Unsure I look around to see God’s holy angel standing by With a solemn mission I could not deny
Me? You want me to be the mother of the Messiah? It would be my heart’s desire To play a role in redemption’s plan? A plan to save the soul of everyone?
And so the Holy Spirit gently came My life has not been the same For within my womb was placed God’s only Son Almighty Nine months to protect and keep in safety
But, how do I tell my husband-to-be There’s already a child growing inside of me?
I know—I’ll say:
Honey, He will be called the Prince of Peace His name to all a sweet release God, becoming a child like no other To Him we’ll be father and mother To nurture, protect and to teach the way To hear His first word and to watch Him play I’ll cradle Him safe upon my breast To Him I’ll be a mother best After Him my womb will bear none other So awesome, like Christ, to call me mother
Donkeys, horses in a barn All beheld God’s miracle being born Pharisees and Scribes too blind to see That the prophecy of the Messiah had come to be Wise men traveled from afar And shepherds followed a distant star Bowed down their heads to worship Him But Herod tried to have Him killed From Bethlehem’s manger we had to flee Our child, indeed, would be a Nazarene
And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature Spending many days alone with God in nature An understanding of scriptures beyond His years He challenged the doctrine of even those who weren’t His peers
I remember—I lost Him once among a worshiping throng Three days I worried and I searched—where did I go wrong? When I found Him, He was carrying out His Father’s affair Speaking with an authority, learnt men revere
Returning home, I held tightly to His hand My heart is heavy, now I truly understand Today, it’s three days lost in a crowd Tomorrow, it will be three days in a grave enshroud
Part II: Life In Ministry
No longer a child, but a man of thirty years With a hug and a kiss, He left me in tears He traveled near and far from home Without a place to call His own
I remember His first miracle—turning water into wine So proud was I, for once upon a child He was mine
And the stories—they came from every corner So many miracles and yet they wondered If He was the promised King, their Messiah No! Too lowly, they said, to be their Deliverer
And so, my child they nailed up, upon a tree But before He died He looked out to me For He could always see deep within my heart And He knew just then it was broken in every part
Even in death my baby thought of me Knowing without Him I could not be In what sounded like His final breath He entrusted me to John upon His death I knew His Father’s heart was also broken For the heavens cried and the earth was shaken
That night I laid sleepless upon my bed For when I close my eyes, I saw my baby—dead! Blood flowing freely from His hands and feet From nine-inches spikes, driven down deep
I buried my child in a borrowed tomb And with these hands, I anointed His wounds Then I remembered what the olden prophets foretold That this child would bring both joy and sorrow to my soul
Joy upon the night when I laid Him in the manger And angels proclaimed that my baby was the Savior Sorrow upon that day when they spat on His face You know, the chosen ones, the special race His disciples scattered far and wide When once upon a time, they were all by His side
Part III: Life Everlasting
But, on the third day the Father cried: Jesus! My Son! Arise! And the earth quaked And the stone rolled away And Jesus stepped forth the resurrection and the way
Surely, you see why He’s my awesome child My lowly Jesus, meek and mild The King of kings, once my baby It takes faith to believe it really
And now He’s in heaven to reign as King An advocate if you or I sin And though He sits upon His throne He’s yearning to come and take me home
As I reminisce on that night, O holy night I smile for I bore the King who is the light Jesus, the Redeemer, it’s all quite sublime That He’s God’s Son, and that He’s also mine
I loved you long before I met you the sound of your laughter like the wind whispering through trees
Love is the rain we chase in summer the sound of bicycles rolling on cobbled streets a rhythm steady, like breathing
You are my confession my memories pressed in the pages of time
We are the poem that never ends the spark to light the night
There is no yesterday without you no tomorrow without us
Rest In Power Nikki Giovanni
Afterword: Prolific autor and poet Nikki Giovanni passed away today (December 10, 2024). She’s been a voice of change in the black power and black art movements. This tribute poem is based on her New York Times best seller “Bicycles: Love Poems”. It’s not quite a cento (I needed more time to write that) but it borrows from her work mainly on love—my favorite muse! Though she’s gone, love rolls on.
In a world we all know too well Women’s bodies bear violence—scarred A contested space, a battleground Where autonomy is a forlorn wish Where choice, stripped away and silenced, becomes A ghost of it’s once true self Where home is where the harm is How can love unfurl its wings? How can dreams find light when darkness lingers Where safety should sing?
For one in three women—intimacy’s touch turns violent Every 10 minutes—for one woman—intimacy’s touch turns turbulent As love’s promise becomes the cold hand of death With no right to say no, no right to say yes— When to bear life or when to hold it close Their own bodies betrayed by laws and customs, imposed Written by hands that will never know The weight of their words, death sentence proposed
Rape—A Weapon of War
In conflicts that rage beyond borders Male invasion, rape—a weapon of war—a tool, a tactic Conquering women’s flesh like spoils While in the hollow halls of the United Nations Resolutions inked by men with pens, spill Like blood, staining sheets Emptying hearts of life’s own source Yet, still, governments choose steel and flame Investing in war machines, no peace to gain Conflicts on women’s bodies play out, the ultimate price paid
Uprooted!
Uprooted! from their soil Women and girls drift like leaves falling from withering trees Their homes lost to gunfire, to flood, to flame Their world, quaking, shifting beneath their feet Displaced by war, exiled by climate’s rage They wander borderless, unanchored Carrying memories of lands once called home Searching for safety in a world, fractured No longer their own
New Dawn, Reborn
But now, imagine a dawn Reborn
A world rebuilt from root to sky Where hands that hold are only gentle Where bodies, once haunted, are fully free Imagine a world where choice is sacred Where every woman’s voice rings clear Her body is her sovereign land A place of power, of life, of joy
Imagine girls, unafraid to play With futures bright as the skies above And women, unbroken, now as rooted as trees No longer the spoils of collateral damage No longer bent beneath a burdened silence No longer survivors, but whole Free to choose, to create— They thrive
A World Beyond Fear
A world beyond fear, a world that is just Where equality stands as tall as the sequoia And equity flows as long as the river of the Nile Here, love needs no pen to promise, no ink to spill Every woman, every girl In freedom walks, unbounded— Potential fulfilled, a force unchained in change
Afterword: This poem commemorates the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence (November 25–December 10). In it I reflect on the injustices faced by women and girls globally, from violence in their homes to the denial of autonomy. It envisions a future of safety, equality, and justice, calling for action to uphold their rights and dignity. This is my life’s work!!
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In this season of uncertainty—caught between staying in my current home or relocating to another country for work—after much distress, I find myself surrendering my plans to God’s will.
This home I’ve created, it’s the fulfillment of a long-held desire: to be settled. To own a space where I could pour my heart, plant deep roots, and foster a sense of belonging. It has been my sanctuary, a reflection of connectedness and stability. The place where I feel settled after years of living in different countries and spaces.
As I stand on the brink of yet another move—an inevitable part of life as an international civil servant—God’s gentle reminder reaches me:
“Your foundation isn’t in where you live or what you own—it’s in Me.”
The absence of my father during my upbringing left a void in my heart, one I’ve often tried to fill through the ownership of things that evoked a sense of home. Surrounding myself with homey objects became a source of comfort, a way to create belonging where it felt missing. Owning my own home, especially, provided a sense of security and grounding that helped anchor me.
But the truth is this, nothing I have ever possessed has been truly mine. Everything belongs to God, for:
“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it.”
Psalm 24:1
This impending move feels different, however.
This time, it isn’t stirring the usual pull to chase the next country, own or set up a new house, or envision fresh decor.
Instead, I am drawn into a stillness—a deep, unshakable peace within the uncertainty of this in-between season. I’ve let go of the need to control the outcome. While I remain intentional about taking the necessary steps, my heart rests in the assurance that the ultimate outcome is held by a God I trust completely.
What God asks of me now is not to prepare another home, but to prepare my heart.
To pause and examine the shelves of my soul. To tend to the decor of my spirit.
This is the work He is calling me to, a work far deeper and more lasting than the spaces I adorn.
“Own what I have adorned you with,” He whispers. “Use it for the purpose I have planned for you.”
Own your choices. Own your attitudes. Own the faith I am shaping within you. And, hone your creativity. This is a season of refinement, not in bricks and mortar, but in heart and spirit.
Lord, everything I have and everything I am is Yours—my home, my plans, my future, my very life.
Wherever I go, You are my home. In You, I am always secure.
My home is in You Not in bricks or what I own— Roots in faith grow deep
Shelves of my soul hold Treasures You’ve adorned. I trust! Lord, I am secure
And so through this tumultuous journey, wherever it ends, my unshakable truth is this and will forever be:
Home is not a place; it’s a person. And for me, that person is Jesus.
Written for W3 Poetry Prompt. Sarah Whiley, Poet of the Week, challenges us to write a poem inspired by the theme—free using the Dectina Refrain form. When I think of FREE-dom, one speech comes to mind: MLK’s “I Have a Dream”. This iconic speech was delivered on August 28, 1963, during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.
This poem is in tribute to FREEdom—that it’s not just a dream but the reality for every person, everywhere.
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Heart’s rhythm beats steady for love For a love that shields, creating a safe space— Unafraid to be vulnerable, wholly free To exist just as we are, completely
You and I—broken in different ways Fragmented pieces from separate days Yet together, we synchronize in all the right places Restoring like ancient art, our brokenness erases
A love created like poetry in motion Like rivers conjoined, flowing to the ocean A journey crafting healing for you, for me Reconciled in the embrace of love’s harmony
We move by love’s essence, a force so pure— Healing in its touch, a bond that will endure Endure through time, a rhythm unexplained A love that eclipses logic, heart over brain
Beforeword: A colleague with whom my friend co-chaired an internship program for students for over 25 years suddenly passed away. Now, standing before her students, their sad eyes looking back at her, she finds herself comforting them, holding back her own tears because, as she told me, she needed to be the adult in the room.Unable to be there to console her in person, I wrote and read this poem for her, hoping it offers some comfort from afar.
Read along and listen to: “Even The Adult In The Room Cries”:
How long will you stay caged in the could-have-been the should-have-done the moments you let slip through your hands?
How long will you wear the past like a collar like a weight that pulls you back like a shackle that stifles breath makes you small makes you stay?
The past is nothing but a paper tiger— it has no growl, it has no bite If you but move t’ward the light feel the warmth on your skin each step a defiance each breath a reclaiming
Regret may whisper but you are louder, still You are the breaking of chains the choosing of joy the walking away You are bound only to the future— where you run free where you rise where you live life, Unleashed
As autumn deepens— night stretches its long fingers pulling darkness over daylight ushering in longer, colder spells inviting leaves’ hidden hues once veiled to blaze forth in defiant, spectacular display they reveal splendors previously cloaked by summer’s green grasp a kaleidoscopic spectrum of colors unmasked as if they had swallowed sunsets waiting for their moment to exhale fire
Afterword: I’m a big fan of David Attenborough. This poem is influenced by one of his recent posts and associated photograph.
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Heart beats fast, room leans in, strangers drawn close
Afterword: This poem (a dectina refrain), is inspired by my first public reading outside my usual circle. It reflects the nervous anticipation and vulnerability of sharing deeply personal work with strangers. It was at the iconic Bowery Poetry Club (NYC) known for its vibrant and welcoming atmosphere. That night was no exception—there was an electric energy in the room as my voice found its place among an audience that leaned in and affirmed a moment of connection through words.
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Help me, Most High, to live each day, so I can truly, humbly say:
I loved You with my whole heart And followed the path You set apart I chased my dreams with fearless stride Rising each time I stumbled or cried I won some battles, lost a few Never settled for less than what was true
I was kind to all I met Gave my best, without regret I was loved, and I loved well Laughed in joy, in gratitude dwelled May my joys outlast my sorrows And my triumphs light tomorrows
If I closed my eyes, then woke to find Life had slipped, like sand, through time
I pray I’d lived a life rich and deep No regrets, my soul in peace will sleep
Even though we’re well into fall the roses keep giving beautiful blooms in spite of losing most of their leaves. These yellow beauties cut from the garden for a minimalist bouquet hanging from a mirror
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I don’t know the end, the path ahead, unclear, but I will trust You, God, for You are always near. In the silence, or the storm, when shadows seem to press, I’ll walk in faith, not by sight, and trust You—nevertheless.
When doubt whispers lies, and fear clouds my view, I’ll cling to all You’ve promised, for I know Your word is true. When the world around me shifts, and I’m tempted to digress, I’ll anchor in Your love, oh God, and hold firm—nevertheless.
For You are the beginning, the faithful, guiding light, Though now I see through glass, darkly I know You’ll make it all, right. In victories and trials, in joy and deep distress, I’ll lift my eyes to heaven, and praise You—nevertheless.
So even in the tarrying, when answers seem delayed, I’ll rest within Your timing— I’ll no longer be afraid. I surrender all my striving, and leave behind the guess, I’ll follow where You lead me, Lord, trusting—nevertheless.
In the quiet park, I sit and breathe A goose glides by, casting its shadow beneath The river flows with high tide’s rise Reflecting the blue of endless skies
A wedding unfolds near the evergreen trees Laughter and vows carried by the breeze Sun rays dance on faces aglow Warming the scene with a golden show
Parents and babes, love tenderly shown In their own worlds where dreams have grown I watch it all in quiet delight The park turns tranquil as day turns to night
I don’t know the name of this flower but I chose this bouquet above all the others because of this spiked beauty. Mama nature sure does replicate herself like only she can—this looks like the land version of the sea urchin, doesn’t it? So I’m naming her the urchin flower 😀
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the kind passed down like heirlooms, a quilt of belonging, a patchwork of sacrifice stitched with hands that remember
Hope is laughter—
the sound of breaking cycles, the release of generational restraints off children who grow strong under the instructions of those who came before
Hope is political—
a movement, a pulse the fight for more than survival it’s claiming the right to thrive, for equality in power where power means change
Hope is social—
woven through our communities a collective will to lift each other to build bridges across time and dismantle the walls of what was once thought impossible
Hope is me, you—
vessels of dreams untold a reflection of ancestors’ prayers carrying their strength in our bones we are the bridge, the builder, the keeper of this flame that lights the way for those yet to come
Hope is the affirmative action of generational wealth—
more than money, it’s memory, it’s possibility, it’s dreaming in color, releasing hands that will build futures far beyond the limits of the past
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Not going somewhere to happen, not chasing the next … For purpose, on purpose, in the now to invest Not bound by tomorrow, nor haunted by past But rooted in moments that matter and last
Each breath is a choice, stepping into your own The journey unfolds, though the path stays unknown No waiting for destiny to knock at your door Live in the fullness of now, nothing more
The future will come, but today is your stage To live without worry, unchained by the age For purpose, on purpose, each second a gift Stand in the present, poised for the shift
So here in this moment, rise and shine Live with purpose, embrace the Divine Tomorrow’s not promised, there’s no guarantee This moment is all to be all you must be
In the ceasing of movement by the unintentional pause
In the pulse between heart-break and the intention of soul-care
In all the spaces of the in-between
That’s where you’ll find God
Transforming. Emerging. In the in-between.
Republished 2024 All Rights Reserved
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In stillness and surrender, I find my way Where numbness wraps me, there God will stay In moments weak, when shadows fall His presence lifts, embracing all
Perfection is Not My Aim
Not a chase for perfect, not a polished being But in my flaws, my truth is seen To manage imperfection, to embrace it all Owning my flawsome, without a flaw
Transformation is Selfish and Hard
The path to change is hard and steep To let old selves die, to lose and weep For the woman I’m becoming, I will strive In selfish toil, I keep alive
The Author
God holds the pen, He writes this tale of mine He scripts and re-scripts, line upon line With bravery bold, my truth I will carry A vision, though delayed, know it will not tarry
For the vision is yet for an appointed time; But at the end it will speak, and it will not lie. Though it tarries, wait for it; Because it will surely come, It will not tarry.
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Give God your today and tomorrows, in Him your plans will last
***
Be encouraged through your struggles
Let go of what you cannot change
New possibilities are abounding
Reset your target-range
***
When you can’t see beyond the pain, and tears your path obscure
Focus on the Almighty’s promises, know His words are sure
Know your steps are ordered, lined-up by His design
Though weapons formed they will not prosper, they’ll be realigned
***
Be encouraged through your losses
Wave sorrow and hurt good-bye
Take pleasure in life’s journey
Through valleys-deep and mountains-high
***
When the enemy comes against you, overwhelming as a flood
Know a banner has been raised, you’re covered by the blood
Lean not on your own understanding, trust God with all your heart
Welcome each new day’s dawning, as your chance to restart
***
Be encouraged through each downfall
The good will outweigh the bad
Count the blessings, not the shortfalls
Then there’ll be no room for sad
2024 [republished] All Rights Reserved
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Sometimes being strong is just surrendering beneath the weight of it all letting go of the armor we’ve worn for too long allowing the tides to carry us unresisting, into the unknown
Strength isn’t in clenched fists but in open hands palms upward, accepting the rain that falls the winds that howl without warning
Surrendering to the fragility of flesh the vulnerability of hearts to whisper yes to the darkness trusting in the stars hidden behind clouds
It’s in the moments of release that we find our authentic selves unencumbered by the need to control to dominate to stand unyielding
Strength is the breath we exhale when the storm presses close the quiet embrace in acceptance of what we cannot change the silent nod in surrender to the mysteries of life
Sometimes being strong is just surrendering to the passing of time to the ebb and flow of emotions to the gentle acceptance of our place in this vast, uncharted thing called “life”
Four Years strong Words I’ve sown Shared what I’ve known Watched each word blossom Garden of thoughts spoken Of stories, of roots, of growth Each post, a bloom from heart to hand Tending this space where passions expand Four years strong, words I’ve sown, shared what I’ve known
Mental health encompasses our emotional, psychological, and social wellness, impacting our thoughts, emotions, behaviors, and influencing our stress management, relationships, and decision-making.
Threads of thought convene
Labyrinth of mind and soul
Inner world whispers
Afterword: A haibun is composed of two stanzas. The first stanza is a prose paragraph, and the second stanza is a haiku.
Afterword: Monday often gets a bad rap, like the “Monday blues”. This limerick gives Monday a new vibe. Let’s transform Monday into a day of heart-leaping joy and possibility—even a romance. Happy Monday!!!
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Beforeword: What/who is your muse, your inspiration? What do you do when muse is in a state of absentia? Well, if you’re a poet , you write a poem about it. So, here’s ode to muse!!
In the silence of your absence, my muse My pen, once ablaze, now stands unused Emotions wither, wander, alight Without your presence, inspiration takes flight
Lines once profound now falter, without a trace In your departure, creativity’s lost embrace No stories bloom, no vivid tales unfurl Without your spark, words twist and swirl
No melody in my heart, no words to find No rhyme or rhythm to soothe my mind No chords to weave through verses align In your absence, my heART voice decline
No structure holds these scattered thoughts in place No hooks to captivate, no bridge to chase No heart to pour into these empty lines Oh, my muse, your absence’s sublime
You, who sparked passion like a goddess divine In your absence, this poet’s soul shall pine For without you, my words, they weep and moan Oh, muse, come back and make my heART your home
Afterword: Written for W3 prompt. Thanks to David for hosting and Sarah Whiley for the direction: the word is soar, the form is Elfje.
An ‘Elfje’ counts as five sentences in only 11 words. This is how you do it:
Line 1: One word. This word symbolizes a colour or feature. The word symbolizes the atmosphere.
Line 2: Two words. These are something or someone with this colour or feature.
Line 3: Three words. Giving more information about the person or the object. You describe where the person or the object is, who the person or what the object is, or what the person or object is doing. This sentence usually starts with the word ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘it.’
Line 4: Four words. Here you are writing something about yourself in relation to the person or the object. This sentence is your conclusion.
Line 5: One word. This word is called the ‘Bomb.’ It is the essence of the poem.
A Dectina Refrain is a poetic form written with your syllables going: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10. The 10th line is comprised of the first four lines all together as one stand alone line which may/may not be in quotation marks.
Wait—time stills, shadows fade, hope takes its place.
A Dectina Refrain is a poetic form written with your syllables going: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10. Your 10th line is comprised of your first four lines all together as one stand alone line which may/may not be in quotation marks.
Time. Frozen, Shared wonder— Child meets duckling Exuberance joins Golden-hue spectacle Feathered curiosity Post-rain puddles playtime joy found Memories created for the first Time. Frozen, shared wonder—child meets duckling
A Dectina Refrain is a poetic form written with your syllables going: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10. Your 10th line is comprised of your first four lines all together as one stand alone line which may/may not be in quotation marks.
Remember the Star Trek intro: “Space: the final frontier…. To boldly go where no man has gone before!”?
With the explosion of the fourth industrial revolution and advances in technology, space is no longer the final frontier, it has been explored and so has the depth of the oceans and the core of the earth.
The Pervasive Nature of Technology
Technology has become extraordinarily invasive. It permeates every sphere and facet of our lives. Unless you make a concerted effort to live ‘off the grid’, you leave a digital footprint just about every minute of the day. And now with AI and generative AI, the intrusion is even more intense.
That got me thinking about what of myself I can keep private, protected from scrutiny and judgment.
It’s not my words for once I’ve spoken/written them they are in the public domain and therefore at the whim of others’ opinions, thoughts and feelings to be scrutinized, dissected and even misconstrued.
It’s not my sense of style either because once I step out into the public domain, my style, my fashion choices (or lack thereof🙃), my hair, even my makeup are all open to be criticized or affirmed.
But my thoughts—the ideas or opinions produced in my mind—those are safe as long as they remain protected.
My mind, the protector and incubator of my thought, is its safest place.
Thoughts should be allowed to germinate, to come to maturity before they are birthed into words. For once they are expressed, they are no longer solely mine.
Thoughts Are Powerful
Everything that constitute the universe started with thought. From the beginning, where there was void and nothing had form and darkness abounded, God thought.
God thought: I’m going to make Me a universe—space, time, matter and energy, the cosmos, galaxies, planets, and stars arranged in constellations. And everything God thought of that was to make up the universe, once He spoke them, they existed.
In other words, God spoke what He thought, and what He thought is what it became.
As an example—before there was light in the physical realm, light was undefined. It was a thought incubated in the womb of God’s mind of what it would be and how it would function. When the thought matured and was ready to be birthed for its intended purpose, God spoke:
“Let there be light and there was light” (Genesis 1:3).
And what He thought light to be, that’s what light became. Traveling at 186,000 miles per second, light separated the darkness.
As it is with God’s thoughts, so it is with ours.
Our thoughts are also powerful enough to create.
For, it is what we think in our minds that we become in our lives.
The mind is the breeding ground for our consciousness, perception, imagination, intelligence, judgment, emotion, instinct and thinking.
Because our thoughts become a reflection of who we really are, why then would we not allow our thoughts to ‘hang out’ with these other faculties of the mind and germinate before they are released?!
Imagine a thought saturated and infused with imagination, judgement, emotions and instinct and only then is it given wings on words to soar.
Would there be less conflict, less war, more love? I think so.
When contemplated in this way, I surmised that thoughts in their purest form—devoid of technological intrusion—are the final frontier of our personhood. That, if allowed to germinate fully/complete/whole would serve us well at the individual, familial, community, societal, national, regional, and global levels.
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In an era where we have access to more knowledge than ever before, why do we find ourselves so short on true understanding? The answer lies in the lost art of listening.
The Importance of Listening
Amidst the overwhelming noise of information, the essence of true understanding is often overlooked. Listening is becoming a lost art, yet it is the key to comprehension. The discerning ear of wisdom can gather understanding beyond the mere accumulation of facts and data.
Why Listening Matters More Than Ever
If we would but listen more and listen better, there’d be no violence in our homes, there’d be no violence in our societies, there’d be no wars.
The ability to listen, absorb, and distill the essence from the relentless stream of knowledge is the hallmark of a wise mind.
Wisdom in the Words of Legends
Jimi Hendricks said it best — knowledge speaks, but it is indeed wisdom that listens.
However, “knowledge isn’t free, you have to pay attention.” (Richard P. Feynman)
Conclusion: Embrace the Art of Listening
In today’s fast-paced world, let’s not lose sight of the importance of listening. By embracing the art of listening, we can foster understanding, reduce conflict, and build a more peaceful society.
Let’s pay attention, for it is in listening that we truly learn and grow.
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Beforeword: I took the picture of a sign I saw alongside a highway because its profundity struck me. It reads: “A society that gives up freedom for safety will lose both”.
It inspired this Tanka:
Safety or freedom Choosing one we lose them both— In chains of our choice Urgent call of liberty Silenced in our hollow hearts
Afterword: Tanka is a Japanese form of five lines with 5, 7, 5, 7, and 7 syllables—31 in all.
Beforeword: We are all connected to the universe, to each other, to God. If only we could live to honor those connections instead of going against the grain.
Bound by threads unseen we are one with the cosmos with each other—God if only we chose to live in harmony, not discord
Afterword: Tanka is a Japanese form of five lines with 5, 7, 5, 7, and 7 syllables—31 in all.
My love looks better on you Like my favorite summer dress, fitted and true You always smiled in pure delight When I wore it on our many date nights
But the seasons, they changed way too fast Autumn’s chill claimed you at last Now the dress lies empty and cold Haunting stories in the memory it holds
In the whispers of the evening breeze I hear your laughter through the trees The way you wore my love, so well It echoes from where your spirit now dwells
Though you’re not here, your love remains A soothing balm for all my pains I see it in the stars above For my love looks better on you, my love
In my dreams, you wear it still, I know My love, like my dress, in memory flow The memories of how your hand clung to mine Feels like they’re escaping on wings to the Divine
My love looks better on you Even now, in skies of blue And when the night begins to fall I’ll feel your presence through it all
Until we meet where time is none And all that’s lost is once more won I’ll hold this thought so pure and true: My love was always better on you
2024 All Rights Reserved Designed with Canva Image source: Facebook Nod to Alicia Keys’s song of the same title
If can’t bend, you’ll surely break Rigid trees in storm’s fierce wake See the willow, how it sways In placid winds, it gently plays
Roots deep, won’t snap or fall Flexibility, bending, is its call When life’s storms come, don’t fear Bounce back, persevere
Afterword: Lisa over at Tao Talk is hosting Monday Quadrille at D’Verse Poets Pub. She chose the prompt word “Bend”. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title.
You may also like my previous post that informed this quadrille: “Be Like A Tree”.
There, by the silence of the tomb His friend, laid low A brother in the cold embrace of death His heart overflowed with human sorrow
Jesus wept
He’s seen and known sorrow A man acquainted with grief This death ushered in a darkness too deep Burdening His soul, strangling his heart
Jesus wept
His tears fell, mingling with the earth In that moment, the world grew still As if creation itself held its breath Receiving the tears of the One who spoke it into being
Jesus wept
In His tears, a revelation unfolds— That the Almighty shares our burdens That Divinity knows our pain That sorrow, too, and grief are sacred
Jesus wept
For every tear we cry For every loss that breaks our hearts For the moments when faith wavers And the nights when hope feels afar
Jesus wept
When your heart is heavy And your cries seem unheard His compassion weeps with you His compassion stands with you
Jesus wept
In His tears is the seed of resurrection power A whisper of the dawn that follows the darkest night For He is the Light that no darkness can extinguish The Life that conquers all death
And so— Jesus wept
From “The Chosen”, Season 5.This scene portrays Jesus overwhelmed with compassion as He witnesses the deep sorrow of Mary and Martha over the death of their brother, Lazarus, His beloved friend. With the weight of His own impending crucifixion and knowing what awaited both Him and humanity down through the ages, nestled in the arms of His mom, Jesus wept.
Rain—nature’s self-care, nature made Drop by drop, earth’s hurt is stayed Sometimes it falls from skies with grace A tender touch, a soft embrace
At other times skies fierce cry Winds will howl, and sea will sigh As lightning splits the darkest night So too does pain, with blinding might
Each drop of tear revives the heart As sorrow fades and grief depart It washes wounds, it mends the pain In every tear, there lies a gain
For tears and rain are much the same They cleanse the soul, they cool the flame In stormy nights and darkest fears We find our strength in rain and tears
So let them fall, both tears and rain For in their flow, we break our chains A gift from clouds, a gift from eyes Nurtured in stormy skies and cries
Afterword: This poem is a reflection on the connection between tears and rain—both born of nature, both born to nurture.
Beforeword: This poetry-music collab is inspired by renowned gospel artist, Kirk Franklin, who is known for blending gospel music with contemporary sounds. Here’s to some of his most popular foot-tapping-body-moving-hands-lifted-high songs usingthe literary technique: parataxis.
Imagine me igniting a Revolution as I Stomp my way to Brighter Days where I can’t help but Smile ‘cause “…even when I hurt, see” I Smile for I made it through The Storm [and it] is Over Now and I got me a Blessing in the Storm that makes me Wanna Be Happy and sing all kinds of Hosanna praises like Melodies from Heaven rolling off my tongue and I bow prostrate proclaiming: “Now Behold the Lamb” for there’s Something About the Name Jesus, that name is the reason Why [I] Sing—it’s my Love Theory—and that makes me wanna Stomp all over again starting another Hosanna praise dance to the assurance that He Reigns, this Awesome God who tells me I Can and I dance the more in praises till I’m so high, so close to my DaddyGod I can hear Him whisper: “Lean on Me” and so Before I Die this is my Declaration: You, God, are My Life, My Love, My All
2024 All Rights Reserved Designed with Canva All words in bold are titles of Kirk Franklin songs
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Hello Everyone! I haven’t had the time to post over the past few days or to engage with your posts as I’d like to. I had a lot to say but not a lot of time to spare to say it, so bringing back this piece to quickly say: “Time Won” yet AGAIN!
What a week! What a work week
There was no time for the solace I seek Not even a wee bit of time with friends to speak
Deadlines on deadlines piled up to a peak Each day the prospects of blogging grew bleak
It’s like time was playing hide and go sneak I lost every round, it was on a winning streak
Crept up from behind, smacked me dead on the cheek
I won! I won! Like time did speak
You’re the loser again this week
2022 All rights reserved [republished 2024] Photo by Pexels
If I closed my eyes, then opened them and life had passed by I hope my joys exceeded the sorrows My laughs superseded the tears My successes outshined the failures I hope I’d lived a life so full, there’d be no cause for regrets
I loved God with all my heart Followed in His prescribed path I pursued my dreams Got up when I fell And tried and tried again
I won some and I lost some Settled for nothing but the best I was good to my fellowmen I gave fully of myself I was loved and I loved
If I closed my eyes, then opened them and life had passed by I hope I’d lived a life so full, there’d be no cause for regrets
2024 All rights reserved
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Before you were formed Before the light first touched your eyes You were known, by God Before your first breath Before the world shaped your name You were set apart, by God
God meant for you to be different To walk paths no one else would see To dance to beats of rhythms only your heart hears No one thinks the way you do A mind weaving thoughts to a unique purpose No one speaks in the rhythm you carry A voice carrying a distinctive resonance
You were not meant to fit in To blend into the mediocrity of sameness You were created to stand out Your colors painted to shine bright In a world of echoes, you are a distinct refrain In a sea of stars, you are the main sequence You were born to be— Unmistakably you Eternally known Eternally set apart
God said: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart … (Jeremiah 1:5)
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Heart Seizing Arresting Redirecting Decisive beating Forces uncontested To new location destined Purposefully recreated Commandeered in transit awakened Heart hijacked by your love to love for love
Us— Me, you Paradise Basking in love Hearts as one connecting Standstill in moments cherished As setting sun frozen in time Strolling on the edge of paradise Holding hands the way lovers often do
Holding hands the way lovers often do Strolling on the edge of paradise As setting sun frozen in time Standstill in moments cherished Hearts as one connecting Basking in love Paradise Me, you— Us
Afterword: The poetry form, Etheree, consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables.
Love a vast horizon in hearts reside unfolding always where our souls intertwine embrace possibilities endless depths of passion and grace love’s ethereal essence takes flight like birds, beyond the boundaries of hate
like birds, beyond the boundaries of hate love’s ethereal essence takes flight endless depths of passion and grace embrace possibilities where our souls intertwine unfolding always in hearts reside horizon a vast Love
Afterword: The poetry form, Etheree, consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables.
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Where once it was “me and I” inhaled—now “us and we” exhaling Birthed through pangs of willing submission, full surrender On this two-becoming-one journey Starting in the acknowledgement that you are his and he is yours Two lives entwined together as one Two as one in love
LOVE …
Its timing unpredictable Its expression unmistakably mirrored in coded smiles, secret glances, gentle touches Its evolution purposed by God In the way it’s transformed you, conformed you, molded you, connected you Two lives entwined together as one Two as one in love
Afterword: I wrote and recited this piece for two of my dearest friends on the occasion of their wedding.
A collection of writing by Dominic Riccitello — intimate conversations, personal essays, and poetic reflections on relationships, loss, and self-discovery.
Poems & More 