Coral Reef

I want to thank you, On The Edge, for encouraging me to post some of my paintings. Because of your kind words and constant support, you have kept my creative side alive! Wishing you all the best in 2009!

New Beginnings

The New Year is knocking on the door
as old year’s stories from my heart pour,
happy and sad times blur together
then float away light as a feather.

Suddenly there’s a brilliant white page,
new beginnings show no signs of age,
time indeed offers us a fresh start,
throw old baggage on a passing cart.

Happiness dances across the stage
celebrating life, stomping out rage,
toasting 2009’s designs,
breathtaking patterns of life entwine.

Fireworks, confetti – signs of what’s near,
signal January first is here,
with open arms we embrace the day,
guided by hope we search for the way.

New Year's Day

I have to be ready for New Year’s Day,
I’m soul searching while walking near the bay.
It is difficult to try to improve,
I must get psyched up, get into the groove.

Last year’s resolutions are forgotten,
thinking about it makes me feel rotten.
But this year will be better, I promise,
certainly my pledges won’t go amiss.

For the New Year wipes the slate shiny clean,
as if all transgressions were never seen.
I am a new person on New Year’s Day,
on a new path seeking a better way.

Joy Ride

Express gratitude,
ignore platitudes;
bliss is in small things
like hope a friend brings.

A loyal pets love,
warms you like a glove,
and kissing a child
makes problems seem mild.

A walk in the park,
removes all the dark
thoughts, fears and worries,
you can't feel surly.

It's the little things
that makes your heart sing;
chasing importance
gives life no substance.

Be thankful each day;
be prepared to say,
life is a joy ride
to embrace, not hide.

Work of Art

Life is a tapestry
woven with pastry
of sweet and bittersweet,
tasteless to distinct treat.

Colors add unique spice
speckled with silver ice,
flavors flow in a stream,
scrumptious beyond a dream.

Intertwined is glitter,
dabbing out all bitter,
camouflaging gray hues,
presenting brighter views.

Life – a novel weaving,
like clouds coming, leaving,
indeed a work of art,
each stitch comes from the heart.

An Echo in the Night

Written for my favorite musician.

Stand tall and tell all,
you have met an amazing girl
who makes your head whirl.

Don't hide, don't hide a special thing,
accept it in your life and hope it brings
happiness and bliss,
bliss that you'll surely miss,

the moment she's out of sight,
the moment she walks out into the night.

I don't stand tall.
I don't tell all.
I hide. I hide! Why do I hide?

Something is wrong; something is not right
as I watch her walk out into the night.
When she is a silhouette in the distance,
every muscle in my body becomes tense.

My heart cries out don't go.
Don't go.
Don't go.
It's only an echo.

My lips still tremble from her kiss,
if that's not bliss, what is?
Come back, I plead,
please come back!

The words float in the breeze,
and bounce off the trees…
an echo in the night,
only an echo in the night.

Friendship

A long lost friend is found,
to an oath we are bound,
to always be in touch,
remembering how much
we missed sharing our thoughts,
and how hard we have fought,
to keep each other close
and cherished as a rose.

For friendship never dies,
and friends never tell lies,
in each we can confide,
there is nothing to hide.
There's a joy in sharing,
there's pleasure in caring,
you are my special friend
from now until the end.

Santa's Reward

Tick tock, tick tock,
chimes the old clock.
Swinging in time,
is Santa's sock.

Beaming faces,
to bed they race.
Sleep eludes them,
as reindeer pace.

On the rooftop,
out Santa hops.
Down the chimney,
the toys he flops.

Twinkling lights,
makes the room bright.
Spotting the tree,
toys are placed right.

Santa's reward,
is the wayward
children changing,
listening, believing.

Christmas

My Mom and sister just got
their tree...

A warm glow comes over me,
when I view my Christmas tree,
glistening red ornaments,
laced with silvery adornments,
multi-colored lights blinking,
background laughter, glasses clinking,
the familiar melodies
being sung by the ladies.
It is truly a season
to throw away all reason,
and give in to emotions,
swelling like waves in oceans.
‘Tis the season for feelings,
magic in the air, blessings.

Extraordinary View

You would be jealous if you knew,
what an extraordinary view,
presents itself daily at dawn
while I sip my coffee and yawn.

Treetops gently wave and whisper,
it's as lulling as a cat's purr.
Their splash of green on rainbow skies,
sets all the wrongs right in my eyes.

I watch the birds flitter, flutter,
listen to sweet sounds they utter,
accompanied by the dogs' choir,
my gaze moves higher and higher.

Rosy clouds float across the sky,
I shake my head and wonder why,
I never noticed such beauty,
straining to fulfill my duty.

Once I see, I am never blind,
I have limitless time to find
bliss in all that nature offers,
I dance through life thinking of her.

Disharmony

Family reunions,
result in confusion,
reverting to childhood,
some control, others brood.

Innocent intentions,
ripen into tension,
accusations are hurled,
bouncing around the world.

Brothers and sisters part,
with disappointed hearts,
swearing to never meet,
yet saddened by defeat.

Don’t dream of global peace,
when family feuds don’t cease,
are we truly modern?
When old lessons aren’t learned?

Devil

I met the devil in the parking lot,
he lurks in the most common spots.
Shaped like a man, possessing a black heart,
sneering, grabbing evil from carts.

Smiling, approaching, extending his hand,
he lured me into the quicksand.
Trapped, and realizing that I had been tricked,
panicking because I had been picked.

I did not succumb to his desires,
his eyes turned red like huge fires.
Sinking, sinking, I recited some prayers,
sand crept up layer by layer.

Dancing in delight, spreading wickedness,
sure I’d follow his waywardness.
Suddenly a white cloud wrapped around me,
a bright light flashed and I was free.

The devil vanished in black puffs of smoke…
heart racing, sweating, I awoke.
It took awhile to shake the bad feeling,
still praying, my head was reeling.

Mantra

Mantras of others
annoy and bother,
not settling well
with nothing to tell.

My heart must find one
that's cheerful and fun,
lifting my spirit,
loving to hear it.

Days passed, so did weeks.
I knew I should seek
a mantra for me,
but what could it be?

Then driving one day,
enjoying sun's rays,
it's all about love
was worth thinking of.

My mantra was mine,
it was the right time,
to sing from my soul,
it made me feel whole.

It's all about love,
It's all about love,
To repeat, repeat
It's all about love.

Dawn

The world is sleeping as well as the sun,
a couple of hours before it runs
across blackened sky trailed by colored streaks,
nature’s sunrise displayed for all to seek.

Sniffing aromas of perking coffee,
the black liquid opens eyes so puffy,
then creative juices begin to flow,
if writer’s block doesn’t deal its harsh blow.

Tranquility soothes in golden silence,
the writer and sun are in compliance,
simultaneously creating art,
until light illuminates and both part.

Culture Shock

Living in a foreign land,
strangeness barking its demands,
lost, lonely, feeling bereft,
confidence snatched, from a theft?

Different customs to learn,
weak, powerless to discern,
what to know, what to ignore,
must I now sit on the floor?

Questions and doubts crowd my mind,
answers are tricky to find;
tired and agitated,
life here is overrated.

Screaming I want to go home,
resounds from the villa's dome;
resolved to catch the next plane,
I feel I’m once again sane.

I Want

I want to live on a star
and bathe in silvery light.

I want to float on a cloud,
snuggling in fluffy white.

I want to capture sunrays
and bask in their warmth at night.

I want to bounce on the moon,
soaring to the highest height.

All of my wants will come true
when I close my eyes so tight

and dream.

Centuries Old Song

Resentment bubbles up,
spilling out of the cup,
a noxious gas scatters,
leaving paths in tatters.

Monstrous feelings emerge,
rancor, envy converge,
heart hardens like a stone,
strange – no longer your own.

Volcanic forces rage,
like tigers in a cage,
focused on escaping,
spectators are gaping.

In a destructive mode,
snubbing ethical codes,
a centuries old song,
a love story’s gone wrong.

New Start

I think I’m too serious,
I’d rather be curious,
learning new things every day,
seeking, exploring new ways.

A lighthearted view of things,
makes me want to dance and sing,
I want to shed my old skin,
forget old places I’ve been.

A new start should make me part,
from strings restricting my heart,
free to try and free to fail,
with wind guiding my boat’s sail.

Now I wonder aimlessly,
enjoying all shamelessly,
I taste the sweet and the sour,
and blossom like a flower.

Smitten

I'm gazing at you from afar,
I saw you last week in a bar.
Your hair gleamed in the golden light,
while dancing to music that night.

You don't even know who I am.
Probably wouldn't give a damn.
I looked at you and was smitten,
shaking like a timid kitten.

Did you see me, you glanced my way,
or were you looking at the bay?
I take two steps toward you and stop,
few ladies want to date a cop.

I face danger with confidence,
but meeting you makes me feel tense.
Lovely lady, you make me feel weak,
and I can’t afford to be meek.

Senior Moments

Why do wrong words pop out of my mouth?
It tends to send my self esteem south.
The brain is aging, becoming weak.
Dementia… what lies ahead looks bleak.

I pause to think why I'm in this place,
losing my thoughts is what I must face.
The answer's at the tip of my tongue,
I stop, concentrate, but for how long?

There is relief when I remember,
senior moments have lots of members.
What can I do to strengthen my mind?
There must be a way out of this bind.

Do something different every week,
is the medical advice I seek,
and eat healthy foods, get enough sleep,
add brain food to the top of the heap.

If I can recall what I should do,
I'll be so healthy, as good as new.
What am I supposed to do each day?
Where am I going, is this the way?

Artistic Side

I'm searching for my artistic side,
but it's buried deep and wants to hide.
Amateur world is where I belong,
is being a beginner so wrong?

I have to accept I'm not Mozart,
but his music can be in my heart.
Magnificent paintings are Monet's
but his style, techniques can guide my way.

I'll never be a professional,
leave ego in the confessional.
Pure enjoyment is the attraction
when my talent is a small fraction.

My work takes me to another place,
freed from life's demands and rapid pace.
Totally caught up in the moment,
the thought of stopping causes torment.

Life's Lessons

Life's daily lessons are easy,
once I open my eyes to see.
There's a reason why I am here,
a purpose as my time draws near.

I need to accept differences,
stop all negative references.
My heart needs to radiate love,
transcend pettiness, rise above.

Forgiveness is on the top list,
to emerge through an angry mist.
Then there's the call for compassion,
a new way, make it the fashion.

Balance work, family and friends,
soul mends, a winner at the end.
Throw out materialism,
return to spiritualism.

Well, life's lessons aren't so easy,
as I open my eyes to see.
I have to improve my outlook,
follow what's written in God's book.

Why do I shy away from roads,
built to handle heavy loads?
I opt for the off beaten tracks,
carrying loads that break my back.

My life's path can be direct, smooth,
or painful like pulling a tooth.
It's up to me to make the choice,
select well, so I can rejoice.

Now life's lessons can be easy,
once I open my eyes to see.
I grow, become a better me,
evolving to what I must be.

Pioneers

Pioneers throughout time,
heard a different rhyme,
not following the crowds,
they held their heads high, proud.

Born with inventiveness,
born with creativeness,
they didn’t fit the mold,
their ideas were new, bold.

Picasso broke the rules,
was scoffed and called a fool,
he didn’t study art,
he painted from the heart.

Howard Hughes, engineer,
tested planes, tasted fear,
aviation’s wonder,
woke the world with thunder.

Dr. Blalock’s vision,
enabled decisions,
daring, brave, radical,
medical miracles.

Pioneers in our time,
hear a different rhyme,
strong-willed because they’re sure,
they create new futures.

Spirit of Halloween

Jack-o-lanterns with crooked smiles,
line the streets mile after mile,
orange and black balloons hang from trees,
casting dark shadows in the breeze.

Vampires and bats congregate,
this is a night to celebrate,
glowing red eyes burn in the night,
the devils are ready to fight.

Steam rolls up from the witches' brew,
while mixing concoctions for you,
whitish streaks flash across the sky,
stillness is broken by ghosts' sighs.

An eerie feeling fills the air,
coupled with chilling screams so rare,
vampires, bats and witches fly,
as devils raise pitchforks and cry.

One step, two, your heart skips a beat,
time to flee but where are your feet?
You're rooted in place like a tree,
unable to escape, be free.

You beg, cry for someone to come,
terror fills your veins, your brain's numb,
head swirling, you're ready to faint…
Happy Halloween, the stars paint.

I Was Tagged

On the edge has asked me to address the following:
Please describe to us how you paint with words, a picture so clearly.

On the edge, your question has led me to discover that I have been searching for that answer for years. It is reflected in my work, so I will share it with you. I don't think it's the answer that you're looking for, but I also don't think I can provide that kind of answer because I don't know.

Brief Encounter

I met you in nineteen ninety one,
at a doctor's office with my son,
out of the blue you spoke to me,
those comments have never let me be.

"You have poetry inside of you,
and surrounding you is a white hue."
I stared at you in disbelief,
a stranger reading a tea leaf.

I don't recall saying a word,
acting like I had not heard,
to this day I don't know your name,
maybe we'll meet so I can explain.

The impact of that brief encounter,
I relive often as I saunter,
through life’s shadows and sunny spots,
to date I think of your words a lot.

How can you unravel what’s inside,
when it is buried deep and hides,
you saw a decade ahead of time,
predicting my interest in rhymes.


Reason

Infection was flowing through my veins,
fever was raging ever so high,
numb from the illness, I felt no pain,
there’s a reason why I didn’t die.

My strength was slowly ebbing away,
strangely, I wasn’t afraid of the end,
I’m too young, I attempted to say,
"the crisis is behind, you will mend".

I heard the doctor’s voice in a haze,
weakly I opened my eyes to see,
I was struggling to leave the maze,
where my sluggish mind had taken me.

I did indeed recover in time,
I knew there was something I should do,
yet it was important not to pine,
for I was to begin life anew.

I'm patiently waiting for a clue,
while remaining open to my fate,
pondering what I'm supposed to do,
waiting for that significant date.

I have a suspicion what it is,
then I doubt if it really could be,
yet my mind keeps whirling in a whiz,
my destiny is in poetry.


Words

I don’t want to work,
I just want to write,
isn’t that all right?
Too many words lurk
in darkness waiting,
wanting to appear
so people can hear,
before abating.

The words want to share
their meanings to all,
standing proud and tall,
showing that they care.
The message is clear.
the feelings are warm,
protecting from harm,
imposing no fear.

Paper is my friend,
keeping forever,
never to sever,
words that will not end.
And ink is the link
that captures all words
needed to be heard,
valuable as mink.

Fields of Words

My mind is never a blank screen,
even in my fanciest dream,
I plea, I cry for some relief,
it’s not written on my tealeaf.

While my husband snuggles in bed,
word’s creep and crawl into my head,
never giving a moment’s rest,
seeking nourishment from the breast.

Once on paper they thrive and grow,
spreading their seedlings as they sow,
many fields for words are ready,
acquiescing I feel heady.

Sleepless nights seem to be my fate,
words and I have numerous dates,
holding pen and paper in hand,
as they acquire and plow land.


The current global situation is tense and complicated, so my poetry is simple. I think modern readers are not in a frame of mind to attempt to unravel deep and complicated messages.

Writing poetry is a hobby which keeps a smile on my face.

Serena

Halloween

In the spirit of a child,
imagination runs wild,
feeling free to jump and run,
a special day to have fun.

A holiday of mischief,
a skull on a handkerchief,
remind us of Halloween,
where pirates and queens are seen.

Crying, laughing and joking,
follow innocent poking,
playing a trick here and there,
stirs up the pot everywhere.

Let's celebrate playfulness,
and embrace all impishness,
push serious ways aside,
behind masks, we all can hide.

Put laughter back in our hearts,
step forward and be a part,
of a time to live out dreams,
in the world of doubts and screams.

Candle lit pumpkins on trails,
ghosts whispering spooky tales,
send shivers up and down spines,
evil's lurking at each sign.

Fright seeps in from head to toe,
in the darkness all are foes,
a whirl of wind, what was that,
beyond belief, vampire bats.

Hearts thumping, legs wobbling,
dead silence turns to sobbing,
who stole the moon and the stars,
the sky is as black as tar.

Abruptly a light comes on,
and all frights and fears are gone,
Happy Halloween to all,
yell witches as their brooms fall.

Email Message

I opened my email box,
sat motionless as a fox,
disbelieving the message,
which was meant to encourage.

It is a virus I mused,
looking completely confused,
slightly touching the delete,
the motion was incomplete.

Deciding to take the risk,
click, it opened in a whisk,
once again I gaped in shock,
panting like I ran a block.

Tiny tears slid down my cheek,
still through blurred vision I peeked,
a valentine’s card from you,
my deepest wish had come true.

Lyrics - I've Given In To Love

Broken trust and shadows of doubt,
lead me down the heartbreak route,
why did you break my heart, I shout,
but the words fall idly about.

I'm wrapped in a blanket of pain,
as tears pound my cheeks like rain,
slowly the door to my heart locks,
and is shoved behind a concrete block.

I've given up on love…
I've given up on love…

Then you appear in my life,
and melt away my fear,
I feel safe in your embrace,
each kiss makes my heart race.

One moment I'm floating,
the next I'm crashing,
memories descend on me like an ugly mist,
reminding me of the last goodbye kiss.

And that I've given up on love…
I've given up on love…

I gaze into your eyes,
wishing to see inside,
is love now on my side,
or is what I hear all lies.

My head swirls as you whisper in my ear,
suddenly your voice is all I can hear,
how can I give up on love when you are near,
I can't give up on love when you are near.

I've given in to love again…
I've given in to love.

Bad News

A telephone call delivered bad news,
automatically I reached for the booze,
a friend’s husband was killed in a plane crash,
I was off to console her in a dash.

Five somber faces were looking for Dad,
not understanding, they were getting mad,
the little ones sensed that something was wrong,
the night was going to be painfully long.

Tears flowing freely, I hugged my dear friend,
a grief-stricken look acknowledged the end,
one day a wife, the next day a widow,
shocked, hysterical, she almost let go.

I felt helpless during this tragedy,
is it enough to offer sympathy?
Then I remembered that there is prayer,
providing strength layer upon layer.

My friend and I faced the night together,
strength and courage kept grief on a tether,
the blackness of night faded into dawn,
the morning dew sparkled on the front lawn.

The comforting sun’s rays brought her new hope,
she became confident that she could cope,
in her heart her husband would have his place,
cherished memories she would soon embrace.

Colors

Before I drift off to sleep
vibrant colors dance and leap
changing shapes and racing off
disappearing in a puff
to reappear instantly
teasing me blatantly
rose melts into pink than blue
not leaving the slightest clue
of what marvels lie ahead
while colors dance in my head.

Dig Deep

My eyes are open but I do not see,
details slip and slide and elude me,
outer appearance is not important,
skin deep beauty is irrelevant.

I can tell you about a person’s mood,
and if his intent is bad or good,
I know if he’s willing to go great lengths,
I am aware of his foibles and strengths.

What is inside excites and intrigues me,
remove the wrapping paper to see,
is he a person to treasure and keep,
or perhaps I’ve uncovered a creep.

Discerning what’s true and fake takes its toll,
but eyes do indeed reflect the soul,
penetrate his eyes to his very core,
you will find what you are looking for.

Quote to ponder

I find it fascinating that most people plan their vacation with better care than they do their lives. Perhaps that is because escape is easier than change.
- Jim Rohn

Feeling Bereft

Commotion surrounds her life,
she is wilting from the strife,
distraction, noise fills the air,
she kicks and rears like a mare.

Wild eyes shift from right to left,
revealing feeling bereft,
she lunges forward and darts,
fleeing from racket, she parts.

Solitude envelops all,
tension eases and she falls,
soft grass welcomes and comforts,
her fingers caress soft dirt.

Thinking opens to clarity,
unfolding to hilarity,
most try to escape their thoughts,
but her thoughts are what she sought.

Quote to ponder

The way to gain a good reputation, is to endeavor to be what you desire to appear. - Socrates

Mad Men

Sitting at the heart throb of power,
refusing to relent or cower,
are the mad men in the universe,
spreading their warped ways like a curse.

The span of their reach cast dark shadows,
flowers wither and die in meadows.
All laws are changed to benefit them;
the masses hide money in coat hems.

Trust has vanished in this lawless land,
possessions are buried in the sand.
Chilling cries for help fall on deaf ears,
no one speaks of what they see or hear.

Fear is embedded deep in the soul,
an abundance of worries take their toll.
Black clouds of despair hover above;
hearts feel dead, there is no room for love.

Ocean

When I step in, you embrace me,
tender lapping waves push and pull,
lazily I float and feel free,
happiness seeps in until full.

You send friendly fish to amuse,
their splendid colors attract me,
teasingly chasing, they accuse,
I've invaded their privacy.

You adorn the shoreline with shells,
I collect spectacular ones,
each has its own story to tell,
caressing all, I know I’ve won.

You send a soothing breeze my way,
it tosses my hair in the air,
lightly dancing, it wants to play,
joking that we make a good pair.

You sing a song of contentment,
the lulling sound puts me to sleep,
shoving away all resentment,
I slip into a slumber so deep.

My eyes open to a painting,
its beauty splashed across the sky,
brilliant colors rearranging,
your friend, the sun, has said good-bye.

Shadows appear to end the day,
and it is time for me to go,
we exchange smiles before I say,
loving you keeps away all woes.

Baby Blue Jay

Abandoning the nest
seemed a mighty test;
my wings were not strong,
everything appeared wrong.

I peered over the edge
then gazed at the ledge
where my mother perched
as her intent eyes searched.

Suddenly she swooped,
pecked the ground then looped
around me giving food
that tasted, oh, so good.

I sighed in relief;
felt proud in my belief;
my mother was the best
and I could stay and rest.

Living Each Moment

The warmth of the sun warms my back,
as my mind wanders and looks back,
but there's nothing there to dwell on,
good and bad memories are gone.

The warmth of the sun warms my back,
as I realize that I don't lack,
my own personal history,
my past isn't a mystery.

It's not repressed causing me pain;
I purport that I am still sane.
It's simple, I released my past
and everyday life is a blast.

It was work to send it away;
it had a voice with lots to say.
I struggled, fought, to let it go;
now I'm free from unwanted woes.

The warmth of the sun warms my back
as I put future in a sack.
The present is all I have got,
and it was the one I forgot.

The warmth of the sun warms my back,
embracing the moment, I pack
for my life 's journey in the now,
my new found spirit tells me how.

Joy

It gives me joy to make you cry,
it sounds strange but I’ll tell you why.
My words send your spirit soaring,
from you happiness is pouring.

Elatedly I work some more,
seeking laughter that makes you roar.
For there is no greater reward,
which a writer could surely hoard.

It gives me joy to see those tears,
reading my work makes you so dear.
A writer seeks an audience,
appreciation lends credence.

So write I must and write I will,
typing from dusk to dawn until,
I can elicit no more tears,
and tears and laughter turn to jeers.

Lyrics: God Created a Masterpiece

God created a masterpiece and it's you
It's reflected in all you do
I'm so happy to be with you

God created a masterpiece and it's you
Each moment is precious and new
I'm so lucky to be with you

Your heart's a waterfall of love
And pure as the whitest dove
You were sent to me from above
I know you were sent to me from above

Your smile is brighter than the sun
Dispersing warmth to everyone
Around you life is always fun
I relish that I am the one
for you...

Chorus:
I thank God on bended knee
That you were sent to me
It's enough for me to be
By your side forevermore

I treasure all that we share
I want you to know I care
Let's walk together if we dare
What we share is extremely rare

Let's walk through life hand in hand
Leaving our footprints in the sand
We will travel across the land
and entwine our journeys in dreamland

Chorus:
I thank God on bended knee
That you were sent to me
It's enough for me to be
By your side forevermore

God created a masterpiece and it's you
It's reflected in all you do
It's so wonderful to be with you

God created a masterpiece and it's you
Each moment is precious and new
I want to spend my life with you

Joy from the Soul

Today I sat down with a blank page in front of me as I often do. Initially nothing came to me. Then I wrote Joy from the Soul. I was putting my notebook away when I had another idea which led to the lyrics God Created a Masterpiece.

I sit and wait for inspiration,
my masterpiece, my creation.
The page is blank, reflecting my mind,
not a single idea can I find.

Pen in hand and ready for action;
pen on paper ready for motion;
nothing comes, no creative juices,
there is no contact with my muses.

I accept there's no masterpiece now;
tomorrow I'll try once more I vow,
to combine words into something fun,
or write a song as warm as the sun.

And, if I don't, I will recover,
since my dreams push me to discover,
the final product isn't the goal,
it's writing that brings joy from the soul.

A Circus of Errors

A circus of errors
keeps tumbling from the air,
inconsequential ones,
harmless, amusing, fun.

Others are elephants,
huge, can’t fit in the tent;
they need to be addressed,
worked out and laid to rest.

A circus of errors
keeps tumbling from the air;
jugglers can toss them high;
send them across the sky.

Flash lion tamers' whips
to ward off those that rip,
through hearts destroying all,
a deadly cliff-dive fall.

The circus of errors
has vanished from the air;
everything’s been put right,
only brightness in sight.

Burned Out

Inspiration eludes me,
burned out, I do not feel free;
too irritable, frowning,
caught in a whirlpool, drowning.

Life is nothing but demands,
I don’t want to hear commands;
caught on a high speed treadmill,
life’s a blur, nothing is real.

Desperation overcomes,
overwhelmed, all limbs are numb;
exhausted, routine controls,
like a ball, if pushed, it rolls.

My mind screams, my body moans,
I work to pay off the loans;
is this all there is to life –
pain, suffering, and more strife?

Cowboy

It’s all in the song,
how often he longs,
for bright starry nights,
to provide the light.

Moving on horseback,
few clothes in a sack,
he crosses prairies,
he never marries.

He was born a cowboy,
handguns were his toys,
horses were his friends,
childhood to the end.

Fun is riding bulls,
roping calves to pull,
always on the move,
with nothing to prove.

A guitar in hand,
he lives off the land,
building a campfire,
mending a wire.

Roughness is his name,
gentle when calf’s lame,
resisting limits,
free as time permits.

Do you hear him sing?
Loud melodies ring,
downing a few beers,
never knowing fear.

Lyrics: I want to laugh, I want to cry

This is a song that I wrote. Sami composed the music for it and sang it.

I want to laugh
I want to cry
Not say goodbye
Not say goodbye

You are my life
You are my hope
I can not cope
I can not cope

Call and say no
Please stay, don't go
I need you here
I need you right here

It's a song of joy
and broken heart
Why must it be?
Why must it be?

Then take me too
Don't say we're through
I can adjust
I can adjust

I'll take your hand
To foreign lands
Together strong
Together strong

Call and say no
Please stay, don't go
I need you here
I need you right here

It's a song of joy
and broken heart
Why must it be?
Why must it be?

I want to laugh
I want to cry
Not say goodbye
Not say goodbye

You are my life
You are my hope
I can not cope
I can not cope

Call and say no
Please stay, don't go
I need you here
I need you right here

It's a song of joy
And broken heart
It needn't be
No, it needn't be.

Quote to ponder

The road to success is always under construction.
-- Arnold Palmer

Winds of a Dying Star

In the winds of a dying star,
a purple light flashed from afar;
it touched me in my dream-like state,
assuredly it changed my fate.

I walked the lucky path of life,
released from worry, pain and strife;
people commented on my glow,
pouring the way waterfalls flow.

Each sunset I gazed at the lights,
sparkling in the blackness of night;
feeling part of the universe,
sharing the wealth from nature’s purse.

A star died but I was reborn,
bathed in star dust, a life adorned;
with goodness and richness galore,
I’ll be thankful forevermore.

Quote to ponder

The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us.
-- Bill Watterson

Usual Stuff

Monotony invades my bones,
I pace in my gray encased zone,
mumbling about nonsense, guff,
just doing the usual stuff.

After work, the kids await me,
with their stories, tears and scraped knees,
being responsible is tough,
just doing the usual stuff.

At last I can kick up my feet,
as the moon and stars smile and greet,
my time vanishes in a puff,
just doing the usual stuff.

Dawn’s light flickers over my eyes,
it’s time to tell dreamland good-bye,
work calls but waking up is rough,
just doing the usual stuff.

Quote to ponder

Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.
-- Albert Einstein

Quote to ponder

The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.
--Albert Einstein

Pandora's Box

I dug up my Pandora’s box,
out leaped jealousy like a fox,
followed by hatred and anger,
I could hear their threatening purr.

Insecurity strangled me,
impatience kicked me in the knee,
gasping for air, moaning from pain,
pelted in poison, left in the rain.

Soaked, frightened, shivering from cold,
depressed because I was not bold,
I threw up my arms in despair,
ugly feelings growled like a bear.

I suffered their brutal attacks,
lacking the courage to fight back,
weakness, illness crept through my veins,
I welcomed death, was I insane?

Enveloped in blackness, I screamed,
tunnel of light, was it a dream?
The light wrapped me in a warm coat,
dark emotions jumped in a boat.

I watched as they drifted down stream,
realization dawned, my eyes gleamed,
instead of burying my fears,
I dug them up and faced the tears.

Ugliness cannot surface now,
to my freedom I bow and bow,
weakness has been replaced by strength,
I’ve no regrets, I’ve come great lengths.

In The Wild

Enthusiasm flows through my veins,
bliss bubbles forth, I loosen the reins,
jumping excitedly like a child,
dancing about, embracing the wild.

Vibrant green leaves decorate my hair,
as wind gently whispers that it cares,
sun spreads a rosy glow on my face,
blossoming rose buds open like lace.

Glistening tears flow like waterfalls,
expressing delight like bouncing balls,
no greater joy could ever be found,
or surpass lying on nature’s ground.

Grass tickles my back, ants march along,
butterflies land, I feel I belong,
clouds form and change shapes to entertain,
the wild is where I wish to remain.

Quote to ponder

If you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain.
-- Dolly Parton

Hidden Talent

"Dr. Chapman's office, may I help you?" The reception desk faced the waiting room. The patients and I could easily exchange questions or information.

"Mr. Hughes", Caroline the chiropractic assistant read from the file in her hand. He left the waiting room and followed her to a treatment room. A quick sweep of the room revealed that one patient remained. I smiled at her as our eyes met.

"Your aura is white.
You have lots of poetry inside you.
You were a nun in your previous life."

I just stared at her. What was she talking about? My numbed brain was incapable of formulating a response. What is aura? My past life? Poetry?

**
I have so many hidden talents. The key word is hidden. The problem is they are so well hidden that I don't have a clue as to what they are or where they are. One of them is becoming a writer. Either it's an undiscovered talent or there is red ink on my forehead that is invisible to me but clearly visible to others. They simply read what's written on my forehead, which is when are you going to write your book?

The first time that question was presented to me, my eyes reflected confusion. Where did that question come from? Why is he asking me? I've never said that I want to write a book. Maybe it was a joke. Some months passed and another person popped the identical question. Guess he read it on my forehead.

If you believe in The Secret, you can concentrate on your deepest desire and send that thought out to the universe. The universe will deliver like a genie. Your wish is my command. I cannot recall consciously sending out thoughts of becoming a writer. I can recall consciously sending out thoughts of becoming rich. I guess these thoughts have to travel a great distance because the universe has not responded and I am still waiting.

Greatly inspired by the motivational speakers sharing The Secret, I went into a meditative state to concentrate fully on my request for prosperity. Daily I asked the universe to send prosperity. Daily I waited and waited and waited. The universe didn't smile on me.

Discussing The Secret with my sister Loraine when I was at a low point of believing in it, she pointed out that there are different kinds of prosperity. The universe responds to specific requests. So I'd been oblivious to the kind of prosperity the universe was sending me. From that day forward, I was careful to send out thought waves requesting financial prosperity. I even put a hundred thousand dollar bill on my screensaver so I could visualize it numerous times daily. I'm still waiting!

On the other hand, a not-so-favorite relative showed her cat's claws. I'm sure she has never heard of The Secret, so she has decided to fight over inheritance. In a way it's comical because there is no inheritance to fight over except the house. You should have seen her shouting and demanding that the inheritance laws be changed because "they weren't fair".

I wonder who has a better chance. I want the universe to rain hundred thousand dollar bills on my head. She wants to change inheritance laws.

**
The Atlantic Ocean and The Mediterranean Sea separated my husband and me. I was in The States; he was in Libya. Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder because my eyes opened wide at two in the morning and a poem was on the tip of my tongue. Groggily, I reached for a pen and pad and jotted it down. Happily, I drifted back to sleep.

When my eyes were tickled by the early morning sunrays, the poem was like a mirage. Was it real or an illusion? There was a notepad on the nightstand so I glanced at it. Allure caught my eye. I continued to read:

Allure

During the peaceful hours of the night,
I hear The Mediterranean Sea calling me.
As I awake to the early morning light,
The Mediterranean Sea is calling me.

I am far away from this glorious sea,
while visiting my friends and family.
Yet my heart skips a beat, and I jump to my feet,
turning to meet the whispering of this sea.

For it’s not a call that I can ignore,
or a sound that can be stifled by closing the door.
It’s like a magnetic pull drawing me.
to this majestically crystal blue sea.

Willingly, I acquiesce with a smile,
to travel the thousands of miles.
The Mediterranean Sea
is calling Me.


That was the beginning of hundreds of poems that sprung to life. Was this a hidden talent? I was doomed. Who reads poetry? Who writes poetry? There is no market. I don't even read poetry! Where did this come from? A bemused expression formed when I discovered that thousands of poets were posting their creations on The Internet on a poetry website. People do write poems, but who reads them?

What remains the most perplexing is who was that lady who sat in the waiting room at a chiropractor's office eight years ago and told me that I had lots of poetry inside me? I have never forgotten this mysterious lady's words. "Your aura is white. You have lots of poetry inside you. You were a nun in your previous life." I had no idea what she looked like, but her message was etched into my memory never to be erased. I used to jokingly tell people that I was a nun in my past life, and I couldn't even to that right, so here I am again!

**
When are you going to write your book? I've decided it's a thought sent from another galaxy. Once the message is delivered, it bounces off my forehead and returns to sender like a boomerang. Is it another mysterious message in my life?

To appease these caring friends and relatives whom have uncovered a talent that I have no knowledge of possessing, I sit down at my computer to "write my book". I stare at a blank page. Aren't I supposed to have an idea?

**
When are you going to write your book?

Aaahhh! Can you hear me screaming in your dreams?

A quote to ponder

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.
-- Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

A quote to ponder...

Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.
-- Buddha

Bookworm

“Your nose is always in a book, bookworm",
he spat out the words, holding my arm firm.
Helpless, not knowing what to say, I froze.
He never noticed my tears as he rose.

Heartbroken, I watched him slither away.
I would never see him after that day.
He wanted me to change but I couldn’t,
or an honest account is I wouldn’t.

As painful as it was to let him go,
it was blatant that it had to be so.
Why should I give up what is dear to me?
Reading opens doors and sets my mind free.

Ten years have passed and maybe you can guess,
books in all corners, everywhere a mess.
Buried under books is my handsome man,
furnishing as many books as he can.

Mother Teresa's Wisdom

This is the first time that I post something that
I did not write, but I find these words inspiratonal.
I read and reread them as a constant reminder.

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;
FORGIVE THEM ANYWAY.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
BE KIND ANYWAY.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
SUCCEED ANYWAY.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
BE HONEST AND FRANK ANYWAY.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
BUILD ANYWAY.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
BE HAPPY ANYWAY.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
DO GOOD ANYWAY.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
GIVE THE WORLD THE BEST YOU'VE GOT ANYWAY.

YOU SEE, IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS, IT IS BETWEEN YOU AND GOD; IT WAS NEVER BETWEEN YOU AND THEM ANYWAY.

50th Birthday

Counting down to my 50th birthday,
a splash of depression overcomes me;
looking back on a half a century,
reveals I have nothing profound to say.

Dismally time slips out of my hands,
my youthful ideals have fallen astray;
motivating dreams are now castaways,
I am chocking and sinking in quicksand.

I have sought a purpose that eludes me,
I do not feel wise, I feel exhausted;
I cling to time that before I wasted,
the crystal ball is cloudy, I can’t see.

A tiny voice shouts this is outrageous,
giving in to doldrums is not the way;
fight to keep ugly sensations at bay,
avoid dark feelings which are contagious.

I listen to my tiny voice of hope,
the black mood lifts and I feel like dancing;
on my 50th I will be prancing,
at my party no one will see me mope.

Bereft

Commotion surrounds her life,
she is wilting from the strife,
distraction, noise fills the air,
she kicks and rears like a mare.

Wild eyes shift from right to left,
revealing feeling bereft,
she lunges forward and darts,
fleeing from racket, she parts.

Solitude envelops all,
tension eases and she falls,
soft grass welcomes and comforts,
her fingers caress soft dirt.

Thinking opens to clarity,
unfolding to hilarity,
most try to escape their thoughts,
but her thoughts are what she sought.

Pill Popping Society

Anxiety, anxiety,
a pill popping society,
antidepressants are the norm,
new personalities are formed.

Blank faces in crowds, dressed in stress,
sport their uniforms freshly pressed,
drifting through days without feelings,
boasting of their half-baked dealings.

Worry, never stop worrying,
on the move, always hurrying,
time is the biggest enemy,
fading like smoke from a chimney.

Want to heal? Take another pill.
Robot-like is an immense thrill.
Anxiety, stress and worry,
endorsed by the masses jury.

Work Place

Funeral parlors are more upbeat,
than the atmosphere where we meet;
wearily our feet drag along,
somewhere our heart has lost its song.

Team spirit folded long ago,
colleagues treat the boss as their foe;
biting comments intend to hurt,
greetings are impolite and curt.

The boss invited all this strife,
fights at work, his tongue like a knife;
known for his partiality,
lacking perceptibility.

Informers mingle amongst us,
deceivers that daily we cuss;
welcomed in the boss’s circle,
glimpsing them turn faces purple.

The undesirables will fall,
but always there will be a wall;
damage done cannot be undone,
the work place will never be fun.

Fate

Standing majestically tall,
bearing fruit for all,
sways the leaves of the palm tree,
inviting me,
to indulge in the sweetness of its dates,
while pondering my fate.

I close my eyes and savor the taste,
eating each without any haste;
when an enveloping peace sweeps me,
into a dream that I clearly see.
Thousands of palm trees
are smiling and singing:

You married a man from the country
of the dates,
to live in his country
is your fate.

Tiers to Heaven

I will bake a cake with tiers to heaven,
you can climb in increments of seven,
at each gate stop and perform a good deed,
for rich and for poor that is all you need.

Do you want to climb now, no not today,
you’re not quite ready to start on your way,
knowing if you climb and fail, you will fall,
the cake looks overwhelming, it’s so tall.

Every seventh tier offers new splendors,
including what your good deeds have rendered.
Get on your way! What are you waiting for?
Do your good deed and tap on that gate’s door.

Rusty

God called Rusty home on July 25.
His wife Janice asked me to write
a poem to express her gratitude to
all their friends who have provided
comfort and support during such a
difficult time.

How do I express what is in my heart
since God called Rusty and we had to part?
The love pouring forth from our dear friends' eyes,
gives needed strength for the final goodbye.

I feel blessed to be surrounded by friends,
reaching out to comfort while my heart mends.
All your thoughts and prayers, flowers and letters,
shower kindness and make me feel better.

But what gives me the greatest happiness?
You were a part of Rusty's life and miss
all the little things that made him stand out,
and cherish thoughts of what he was about.

Words seem inadequate to say thank you,
so I will send love to all of you who
keep Rusty's family close in your prayers,
as we slowly heal layer by layer.

Latest Craze

Cyber love is the latest craze,
hearts pounding, minds are in a daze,
imagination is alive,
as appearances are contrived.

Lonely, I race to my keyboard,
investing time, I can afford,
anticipation is thrilling,
if once again he is willing.

A smile widens, he is online,
nimble fingers are feeling fine,
sexual innuendos bounce about,
lust is in the air; there’s no doubt.

My words fly across cyberspace,
to a person without a face,
that is cool, it’s fun to ponder,
at his end, he also wonders.

Cyber dating is contagious,
even though it sounds outrageous,
love is floating in cyberspace,
attacking at a rapid pace.

Growing Old

I slipped and fell and bounced down marble stairs,
rickety bones groaned, bruises everywhere,
“You clumsy fool” replaced “how are you hon?”
Who in the world said growing old is fun?

Who’s that staring at me in the mirror
with wrinkles and eyes reflecting fear?
Wisps of grey hair escape from a French bun,
who in the world said growing old is fun?

My weight shifts to an undesired place,
many gowns, too small, display yellowed lace;
I hate to admit that I’ve gained a ton,
who in the world said growing old is fun?

Restlessly I flip and flop every night,
my tired eyes are blinded by sunlight;
exhaustion strikes like a shot from a gun,
who in the world said growing old is fun?

“A penny for your thought” cost me a dime,
my memory fails me most of the time.
What’s your name boy? Did you say you’re my son?
Who in the world said growing old is fun?

I can’t see small print or hear the doorbell;
I forgot the hole and fell in the well;
limping through life, I can no longer run,
who in the world said growing old is fun?

Layers of clothing fail to keep me warm.
Where am I? In a hospital or dorm?
Am I young or old is life’s greatest pun,
who in the world said growing old is fun?

Desert

Mesmerized by sand dunes
as the wind sings its tunes;
shapes shift repeatedly
as sand soars regally.

What breathtaking beauty,
guarding it, a duty;
nature’s best creation,
sparks imagination.

Colors splash the dunes’ peaks
that the sunset rays seek;
sand sparkles like crystals,
casting light on thistles.

The day fades into night
which parades stars so bright;
listen, the desert calls,
warmly welcoming all.

Glimpse

Pink and yellow polka dots,
appear as florescent spots,
shining in the morning dew,
spreading wings to show their hue.

Butterflies make me marvel,
I gape at them and shovel,
petals of roses and mums,
while listening to bees hum.

Enveloped in richest scents,
a glimpse of heaven is lent,
I’m at peace at this moment,
knowing complete enjoyment.

Daily Dose Of Nature

Mists of Indecision

Immersed in mists of indecision,
riddled, stifled by inhibitions,
sprawled out on the sofa inert,
I ignore rude comments that hurt.

Exhaustion seeps deep into my bones,
no responses come except for moans,
drowning in torrents of pelting words,
cruel, cutting, I wish I’d never heard.

Attacking cannot force me to change,
seeing options in a wide range,
hundreds, thousands, dancing in my head,
they’re weights on my chest like heavy lead.

Indecision is my curse in life,
which constantly aggravates my wife,
I want to decide but cannot,
perhaps there’s a choice I haven’t sought.

Like A Moth

I have no glorious tale to share,
nor can I brag about friends who care;
success remains out of reach for me,
yet my life is great because I’m free.

Friends drain energy with their demands,
social obligations are commands;
be jovial, witty and sincere,
it’s necessary to please your peer.

Struggling to obtain lifetime goals,
is akin to walking on hot coals;
stay focused, driven, competitive,
sleeping requires a sedative.

Destiny is woven in my cloth,
ordinary and brown like a moth;
but fluttering randomly each day,
free to relish joys along the way.

Take Time To Notice

Wisteria

Her car offered solace from the graveyard,
leaving her beloved there was so hard;
she was overtaken by hysteria
when her eyes focused on the wisteria.

Clusters of purple flowers on the vine
had a calming effect greater than wine;
tears ceased to flow and shaking subsided,
she took wobbly steps towards the curbside.

At the grave she sobbed her final good-byes,
bombarded with thoughts of why did he die?
Time was eternal in her world of grief,
thirty years of marriage was way too brief.

Suddenly she was in the flower store,
insisting on purchasing even more;
wisteria’s scent lingered on her jacket,
there was no need for pills in her packet.

Woody vines now cling to her weathered fence,
displaying flowers in clusters so dense;
aromas offering serenity,
a tranquil fragrance for eternity.

Every week she cuts flowers from the vine,
and takes them to his grave under the pine;
she promises him no more hysteria,
as long as they both share the wisteria.

Kitty's Song

The knee replacement was painful,
I gave up feeling resentful,
until Kitty plopped in my lap,
snuggled closely to take a nap.

Kitty came because I was hurt,
love in her eyes when I was curt,
amazingly my feelings changed,
somehow my life was rearranged.

Extraordinary results occur,
cuddling a kitten that purrs,
wrinkles and frowns evaporate,
great love chases away all hate.

Burdens of life have disappeared,
an obstructed road has been cleared,
softly stroking her snow white fur,
I will always be there for her.

Together we take the first step,
very aware of renewed pep,
illness won’t keep me down for long,
while listening to kitty’s song.

Nature's Beauty Surrounds Us

Free To Be Me

I am forever free to be me,
whatever in the world that might be,
standing proud and tall like an oak tree,
pointed eagerly skywards to see.

Imposing limits can’t pin me down,
I can act as silly as a clown,
roaring laughter rubs away deep frowns,
while doing cartwheels around the town.

Free to be me – music to my ears,
I dance through my days not knowing fear,
I wonder why others fret so much,
immensely worried, troubled and such.

Are they blind? It’s great to be unique!
Differences are not to be critiqued!
Dance to your own drum and joy will soar,
start anew - shred the old coat you wore.

Dream State

Lying on a fluffy cloud
in a field of wild flowers;
butterflies floating so proud,
gliding to golden towers.

Unknown colors dance to time
while muses create sweet sounds;
poets cite verses in rhyme,
and a famous sculptor pounds.

I cuddle in the softness
without a care in the world;
treasuring the peacefulness,
catching candies that are hurled.

The beauty of the moment
tantalizes the senses;
exceeding known enjoyment,
leaping the highest fences.

Candle of Life

Flame flickering, wax melting,
lights dancing while rains pelting,
gazing intently, listening,
noting raindrops glistening.

The burning candle is life,
pelting rain brings gloom and strife;
now attitude plays its part,
choosing life as sweet or tart.

The flame of life’s candle burns,
limited time for its turn;
the candle is half its size,
suddenly life is a prize.

Each moment is a treasure,
priceless, cannot be measured,
the flame still glimmers, there’s time,
reach for sweet oranges, not limes.

Making A Difference

Published in The Tripoli Post in the July 2002 issue

My first step on Libyan soil was on June 11, 1990 which was a holiday. An immigration officer teasingly commented to my husband, "What are you doing bringing an American in when we are celebrating the date of the expulsion of the American military". The timing of my arrival on this particular holiday had been kept a secret from me, which was probably wise because I would never have boarded the plane from Frankfurt to Tripoli if I had known. I would have been terrified. Later my husband mentioned that people had advised him to reschedule our flight so that we could arrive on a different date, but he refused to listen to them. He knew in his heart that his American wife would be welcome in his country even on such a significant date.

I was filled with fear and dread as we approached my husband's villa. His house was one of those that had been bombed by the Americans in 1986, and I was going to meet my husband's family for the first time in this place. Would meeting an American trigger emotions about the bombing? And, I certainly wasn't looking forward to being known as "the American" in this neighborhood where families had lost loved ones due to "miscalculations" that hit erroneous targets.

So, what kind of start was this to life in a new country? My husband assured me that I could disclose my nationality. He was confident that there would be no problems. But, hesitations consumed me and consideration was given to alternate possibilities like Irish or Canadian.

Anyway why did shopkeepers have to always inquire, "Where are you from?" Trusting my husband implicitly, I softly whispered "America". I braced myself for the negative reaction which never came. On the contrary, the shopkeeper had a welcoming smile. "America? Good…" he managed to utter in his broken English. A sense of relief spread over me, and I returned his smile and left. By the way, when you can't speak a language, a smile goes a long way.

Once in the car, the generosity and kindness of the shopkeeper was discovered. He had slipped a chocolate bar inside my bag of purchased food items. My fear of divulging my nationality evaporated as shopkeeper after shopkeeper exhibited the same behavior.

As I settled into my new life, I began to wonder why I, an American, was living here. Yes, the simple and obvious reason was because my husband was Libyan. But, I pondered a deeper understanding which initially left me with no other answers. Three years passed before a purpose was stumbled upon. It took some time to gather up the courage to share my thoughts with my husband due to the realization that what I had to relate could sound incredibly absurd. But, the belief was so deep inside me and it guided me to make the announcement that the reason why I was in Libya was to help improve relations between Libya and America. To my utter astonishment, my husband concurred. He felt I could and should play a role. There's satisfaction in finally ascertaining your purpose after soul-searching for years. But, my satisfaction was short-lived as my mind tackled the next mammoth question, "What am I suppose to do?"

Relations between Libya and America were severed. U.S. and U.N sanctions were in place. Surely, a U.S. citizen married to a Libyan could not single handedly make a difference. After all I wasn't a diplomat nor did I hold a key position of any kind. All I possessed was my opinion that I was supposed to do something.

Direct communication with the American public was crucial. But, how? Basically there were two ways and both seemed unattainable. Once choice would be to release a movie on a love-related theme between an American and a Libyan. The other would be to publish an article in a renowned, national magazine.

For years all the American newspaper and magazine articles about Libya had been negative, supporting the belief that Libya was a terrorist state. Now, based on my experiences living and interacting with Libyans, I wanted a positive article published depicting good aspects of the people and the country. Impossible? Most probably, yes. But, my slim chance at succeeding did not deter me.

Through my family connections in The States, it was possible to introduce my dream to a journalist. Actually, I was forthright and said, "Mike, grant me a miracle. Publish an article about Libya that does not address politics and its negative implications." "You've got it" was the immediate response.

Then we searched for topics. Mike pointed out that sports continued to be a popular pastime for most Americans, and we agreed to explore this idea. He would contact the media in America, and my husband and I would pursue it in Libya. To my dismay, there was absolutely no interest in either country and the idea was set aside.

Two years later the idea was revived when U.N. sanctions were suspended. There seemed to be a new hope and an upbeat atmosphere. Would Mike be available to travel to Libya to write a story on sports? To my delight he was extremely interested and he discussed the details with the editors at Sports Illustrated. The editors immediately seized the chance to have the story. I followed these developments elatedly but shook my head in amazement. Timing is everything. Two years prior, these same editors had refused to consider publishing a story about sports in Libya.

With the knowledge that this sports magazine was read by seven plus million Americans and the editors were wiling to send a journalist accompanied by photographers to Libya to write a story about sports, my husband approached the subject with the Chairman of the Olympic Committee, Engineer Muhammad Mu'ammar Al-Gadhafi.

The suggestion was well-received and he was instrumental in extending an official invitation.

The journalist and his team arrived in Tripoli in July, 1999. Under the guidance of Engineer Muhammad Mu'ammar Al-Gadhafi, sports interviews were conducted and hundreds of photographs were shot.

Full cooperation was extended to these guests of the media, and Engineer Muhammad Mu'ammar Al-Gadhafi bestowed a very special honor on the journalist when he personally welcomed him to Libya and consented to an interview. This was also a monumental day for me because I, too, had the honor of meeting Engineer Muhammad Mu'ammar Al-Gadhafi.

In September 1999 Sports Illustrated published a ten page article about sports in Libya against all odds.

Before the editors could release the article for publication, they had to address two serious concerns. They acknowledged that the author had written a fair article based on the interviews. But, what would be the consequences of being the first magazine to print and distribute a fair article about Libya? It was a fact that media exposure had been political in nature and negative for a decade or two.

The editors pointed out their concern for the safety of the journalist as there could be threats from special interest groups. A second worry was related to their revenues. Would their major advertising companies fail to support this issue?

Numerous meetings were held and the editors had to think long and hard about whether they could incur such risks. Despite these reservations, the article was given the green light and was sent to print.

The feedback from the American readers who sent letters to the editors clearly expressed their viewpoint that the story was presented in a balanced way. The Americans felt that Engineer Muhammad Mu'ammar Al-Gadhafi had conveyed a positive message in a friendly, likeable way. Ultimately, the Americans were touched by this young, Libyan gentleman.

The Engineer Muhammad Mu'ammar Al-Gadhafi had made a favorable impression on the American public. The Sports Illustrated editors' worries did not materialize and my dream had become a reality. The "impossible" had been achieved! Now my conviction that I had a job to do in bridging the gap between the two countries was even stronger. An article had touched the lives of American readers.

Would it be possible to touch the lives of Libyan readers through an article? I decided to try and submitted Home Away From Home to the Tripoli Post. It was in the November 2000 issue.

The fact that an article written by an American had been published in a Libyan newspaper was encouraging. Thus, I forwarded a second article to the newspaper, The Story Behind the Sports Illustrated Visit to Ghadames which was in the January 2001 issue of The Tripoli Post. My campaign to make a difference had successfully touched the lives of American and Libyan readers.

I again found myself yearning for my next project that I could attempt on my own. That's when I learned that a Libyan American Friendship Association (LAFA) had been formed. It shared the same objectives that I had identified, that is, seeking ways to reach the American people to start the process of bridging the gap between the Americans and Libyans. What a tremendous discovery this was for me. There were others partaking in my ideology.

Through the Libyan American Friendship Association, Libyans reached out to Americans residing in Tripoli following the September 11th tragedies in The States to offer their sympathy and support. American ladies could not place flowers at the American embassy, as was being done in other countries, because there was no embassy.

Realizing that the American ladies needed to express their grief, the General Secretary of the Libyan American Friendship Association stepped forward and offered to have a Show of Sympathy for the victims.

He noted that the Libyans were also shocked and saddened by what had occurred, and he wanted to assist the Americans in any possible way. Within days after the tragic events in The States, there was a service where Libyans and Americans gathered together to express their sorrow and to pray for the victims.

Currently through LAFA many plans are being formulated, such as an American cultural week in Libya. The General Secretary is seeking ideas: cultural exchange programs, seminars and lectures, sports events and media coverage to be organized in both Libya and America. The General Secretary, supported by the LAFA members, is firmly committed to developing and sponsoring these types of programs.

Proudly I can report that I am now a Member of the Board of LAFA, and that I am no longer alone in my endeavors. I have found friends in LAFA and believe that together we will make a difference because Libyans and Americans are putting their heads and their hearts together in a sincere attempt to reestablish good-will and friendships.

As The Leader of the Revolution Mu'ammar Al-Qadhafi has so aptly expressed in the Green Book, "Lasting relationships are between people not governments".

Betrayal

A black cloud covers me,
through tears I cannot see,
pain beyond description,
leading to restriction.

Once a friend, now a foe,
is the cause of my woe,
betraying our secrets,
showing his lack of grit.

Eyes that once shone are dead,
I can’t get out of bed,
my sorrow is so great,
yet I still cannot hate.

I laugh, and then I cry,
always wondering why.
Why did he betray me?
Why can’t I let it be?

My heart screams out in pain,
I am no longer sane.
I fight the urge to call
remembering his gall.

A soft moment changes,
one small feeling ranges
from a hill to mountains,
then tears flow like fountains.

It takes me many weeks,
to forget and not seek,
a flame that is not there,
we’re no longer a pair.

Baffled

Your mother might die,
and you can not fly
in time to see her?
I am baffled, sir.

Family must be first;
she is at her worst.
What, you cannot come?
Your feelings are numb.

So proud of her son,
the man who won’t run,
to her side in need,
all because of greed.

Work consumes your all,
one day you will fall,
heads will look away,
“Greedy man” they’ll say.

He deserves to lose,
time to pay his dues.
He chose work, not mom,
condemned, beat the drum.

Answers

Lighthearted:

I’m not Mr. Perfect but damn near close,
you can ask me anything coz I nose.
When I call “Help!” why do people not hear?
That’s very simple - coz they live in fear.

I’m not Mr. Perfect but damn near close,
you can ask me anything coz I nose.
How can a mother despise her daughter?
Because this is what the daughter taught her.

I’m not Mr. Perfect but damn near close,
you can ask me anything coz I nose.
Well, we can go on and on I suppose,
but what is the point because now you nose.

I’m not Mr. Perfect but damn near close,
you can ask me anything coz I nose.
You nose that I nose almost everything,
answers to all inquiries I can bring.

Home Away From Home

Published in The Tripoli Post

Mabel loved Tripoli extravagantly. She exulted in its oriental enchantment, in the Roman arches and ruins, the Moslem funerals and weddings, the mosques and minarets, the caravans, the desert wilderness, the scorching heat of the sun, the limped purity of the days, the black star-shining nights that made it different from her home in Massachusetts.

At the end of her stay, she wrote of Tripoli: It did remain quiescent in the sense of world progress but its charm was never to be resisted. It was a city of enchantment, white dreams of paradise.

An American, Agnes Newton Keith, documented Mabel's description of Tripoli, the capitol of Libya, in her book entitled The Children of Allah. This book, written following Agnes's nine-year stay in Libya from 1955 to 1964, describes her experience and the feelings of Mabel, another American woman who had stayed in the country.

According to Agnes, "Mabel came to Libya with her astronomer husband to study the total eclipse of the sun in 1900 and again in 1905. Their telescopes were set up on the British Consulate's roof terrace in the medina inside the city walls. This building, constructed in 1744, still exists today."

Like Mabel, Agnes loved Tripoli too. The following extract from the book reflects this feeling. "Tell me Mabel", said Agnes, "did you, as I will soon, look back with deepest love to the spicy shores of Tripoli?"

And when it was time for Agnes to leave Libya, she wrote: It is a magnificent North African day…The time is here when Harry and I must shake off the desert sands of Libya, abandon its seductive sea, its singing desert winds, its lucid sky, its blazing sun, its beauty, elegance, and its enigmatic, contradictory, prodigal, pious people whom I love."

Mabel…Agnes…I am walking in your footsteps now. Do I see what you saw? Do I hear what you heard? Do I feel what you felt? Do I love what you loved?

Like both of you, I am also an American living in Libya where the life and the culture are hardly known by the outside world. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. The desert wind still swirls the sand, thus the sand shifts and moves like the constant movement of the sea. The desert has its own allurement and beauty different from the sea but as captivating.

Libya offers the beauty of the desert and the sea. The best beaches in the world are here, a secret that only a few of us know. Tranquil water reflects a rainbow of bluish colors ranging from deep blue to turquoise to green lapping waves.

So, as both of you once experienced, I can still see the desert sands dancing. I can still dive into the cool refreshing sea, and I can still enjoy long walks along the beach where the Mediterranean sun provides a beautiful, bronze tan quickly and effortlessly.

Sunrises and sunsets splash rays of orange colors. Such moments are Mother Nature's artistic gift to us. Even the most famous painters cannot capture the full essence of these moments because the color continually changes from one spectacular scene to the next as the sun rises or sets.

The days continue to be lavished with blue skies and plentiful sunshine, although we have rain during the winter months. The rain is always welcome since Libya remains primarily a desert climate. The winter rains bring spring flowers with fields covered with bright yellow blooms.

There is a quiet peacefulness in the early mornings as the song of birds can be heard and the nights are enchanting with the sky full of bright stars.

Like Mabel and Agnes, I love what I have seen in this country. But, I am also experiencing some things that they did not. That is because I went one step further than the two of them. I married a Libyan man and lived with a Libyan family.

There were difficulties in the beginning of having to adjust to a different place and culture. There were times when I threw up my hands in exasperation, ready to pack my bags and return to America, but I found myself unpacking my bags again. Why? I had been captivated by the city. A city enriched in historical sites and ruins. A city where shopping was like a treasure hunt. A city where the most difficult things were easy and the easiest things were difficult. I had discovered that my initial boredom had been replaced by a longing for a little solitude because there were too many social activities to attend that were coupled with the demands of my work.

But mostly, the people had captivated me. The Libyan people continued to be kind, gentle and friendly. They were genuinely happy to meet me, an American, just as Mabel and Agnes had described years before. I found the Libyan people to be proud people who welcomed foreigners with open hearts and arms but simultaneously kept them at a distance. I laughed with them and I cried with them. I celebrated happy occasions like weddings and newborn babies and grieved with them at funerals. I understood them completely and I didn't understand them at all at times.

Because I was captivated by the charm of the people and the city, Libya became my home away from home.

My Soul Soars

My soul soars when I’m at the beach,
I feel that I can stretch and reach,
the secrets buried in the clouds,
unraveling them makes me proud.

I can perch on peaks of rainbows,
absorbing colors till I glow,
then jubilantly slide towards Earth,
landing in the sea, filled with mirth.

I can paint the sky rosy hues,
then change it to red-orange on cue,
varying the strokes of the paint brush,
the skyline’s masterpiece is lush.

I can float in the air with gulls,
while sea wind's gentle motion lulls,
then swoop and dive to catch a fish,
which brings luck and grants every wish.

My soul soars when I’m at the beach,
shouting my deepest wish to teach,
that daily treasures surround you,
open your heart to nature’s view.

Fling

Tingling in the aftermath of your kiss,
clinging to every memory in bliss,
I float through the day as if in a dream,
my flushed face radiates a rosy gleam.

My colleagues are whispering and smiling,
expecting to hear about my new fling,
always before we shared our encounters,
describing details like story tellers.

I'm avoiding their inquisitive looks,
pretending to be engrossed in a book,
I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself,
so I slip quietly behind a shelf.

Your features are imprinted in my mind,
I'm recognizing that I'm in a bind,
strongly I feel that it is not a fling,
my nerve endings tell me it’s the real thing.

Twenty Minutes of Fame

Published in The Tripoli Club Gazette

Some people believe that everyone will have 20 minutes of fame in their lifetime. Was this lady's appearance on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno her 20 minutes of fame?

She delightfully told this story and the audience loved her.

"Well, I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed when I dropped my dentures in the toilet. Of course, I reached in to get them, but my hand got stuck. I twisted and pulled but it was stuck.

After 30 minutes I telephoned my friend. It's a good thing that I had my cellular phone with me! I asked my friend to please come over and help me because my hand was stuck in the toilet!

My friend came and he tugged and tugged, but he couldn't get my hand out.

Finally, my friend decided to call 911. The fire department's rescue team rushed over and succeeded in freeing my hand!"

Wintry Days

It's a wintry, gray, cloudy day

so under the cover I lay,

curling up in a ball in bed

warmth spreading from my toes to head.

Relaxed and comfortable,

my smile is noticeable;

while I sip on hot chocolate,

my face like a lantern is lit.

Munching on warm, buttery popcorn,

I pick up a book, cover is worn,

I reach for chips, and crackers with cheese,

put up the "Do Not Disturb" sign please.

My favorite days are rainy,

and wintry months promise many.

The People Collector

Published in The Tripoli Club Gazette

"Do you have a collection?" It's a typical question and "collectors" come to life. Their cheeks have a soft flush and their eyes glow as they begin their in depth revelation of their interest – be it a stamp collection or a rock collection or a coin collection. I listen politely, but I cannot share their enthusiasm for "things". Later I chide myself for being different and shrug my shoulders with a quick excuse that not everyone collects things. "Do you have a collection?" he repeated. I sighed and hurriedly exited the shop as I caught a fleeting view of the salesman's baffled expression. Then I absentmindedly headed towards The Village.

A restless urge would always drive me to The Village, a trendy location in the inner city, which caters to the bored but wealthy population. The bold, contemporary architecture would invite me to enter and explore the unique and novel boutiques which offered clothes, jewelry and art at fantastically escalated prices.

After browsing and glimpsing into the world of the rich, the enticing aromas of various spices would draw me to an exclusive and quaint French restaurant with a limited number of customers to allow time for full enjoyment. Two to three hours easily vanished and I marveled as to how I could have possibly consumed such a quantity. The service was superb, the atmosphere was warm and cozy, and the food could only be matched in paradise.

A quick glance at my watch ended my floating bliss and reminded me of my appointment – my appointment with Fluffy. I smiled. What kind of a name was Fluffy? But it suited her.

A strong, sweet fragrance enveloped me as I was guided to my chair. Seconds later my seat whirled around as Fluffy arrived with her scissors in hand. She always wore brightly colored contemporary attire, but it was her hair that had earned her the nickname, Fluffy. Her naturally curly auburn hair was the envy of most women. It was a rare color and impossible to obtain through dyes. You could dye your hair red but not her color of auburn. Her hair fluffed gently around a heart shaped face like a frame. She possessed a truly unique beauty and she could perform magic with those scissors. I always felt like a million bucks when I left the beauty salon.

My next appointment was not quite as pleasant, but it had become necessary since the day of torrential rains when a truck mowed me down on the freeway. I have had aches and pains in places where I never knew I could have aches and pains. The old bones rattle and creak and need a jump-start. It was time for the jump-start.

Tornado bustled into the room. Her energy, vitality and gusto for life had labeled her. She never tired and when she entered the room, I could swear that a gust of wind had just slapped me in the face. Her questions were thrown at me at such a velocity that it was impossible to utter one word.

Tornado was renowned for her replies to a very ordinary question of "How are you?" "Great and getting greater, wonderful and getting more wonderful, or I only know high and higher." With a chiropractor like this I had no choice but to recover and quickly. "Electrical massage, electrical stimulation and exercise." (Yea, plug it in and jump-start the old engine," crossed my mind when she finished ordering my chiropractic treatment.) "Three times a week for four weeks. Now let me see you smile". Personally, I have never known anyone who smiles with excruciating back pain! Tornado departed the room and a whooshing sound accompanied her.

Regular visits to my massage therapist follow my chiropractic treatment. As anticipated, I entered the room to find Tranquility in her favorite yoga pose looking like a flamingo perched on one leg with the other extended out behind her and both arms positioned for balance. Several minutes elapsed before her eyes focused on me and a slow, graceful movement would land the extended leg on the floor. Without changing moods, she would quietly guide me to the table.

An aurora of peacefulness surrounded Tranquility. I gazed at her serene face half hidden by her silken blonde hair as she bent forward to light the scented candles and then turn on the soft music. In a calm controlled manner she would begin the massage, and I could feel her inner strength and warmth flow from her fingertips.

I glided to my last appointment of the day cloaked in a mellow feeling. As usual, Mr. Tinker greeted me with a chuckle in his voice, a wide grin and a twinkle in his eyes. "What outrageous character have you dreamed up for me to design this time?" Mr. Tinker inquired. "I don't dream them up. They are real people," I quipped.

The gleam in his eyes brightened. "Each time you say you are not a collector. Hmmm…" he paused for emphasis, "how many dolls have I designed for you? Fluffy, Tornado, Tranquility, Tolerance, Curiosity, Impatience…"

"That's right, Mr. Tinker, "but they are all replicas of real people. I don't collect things."
"Who is the next lucky person to have a doll designed after him?" Mr. Tinker searched for my reaction as he enjoyed his work as a custom doll designer.  "You," I responded in a cajoling tone, "and your name will be Replica."

Merriment danced in Mr. Tinker's eyes as he extended an elaborately wrapped package over the counter. "For you," he could scarcely conceal his amusement, "Open it." My mouth gaped open as I stared at a miniature doll…of me! Dramatically he announced, "Your name is – People Collector."

Fragrance

Hear the whispering of the wind,
as it travels around the bend,
carrying millions of scents.

It is a cocktail effect hence,
creating a sweet fragrance,
Nature's Secret gift.

A Modern Inconvenience

Published in The Tripoli Club Gazette

How many times have I performed acrobatic maneuvers in a rushed attempt to answer a ringing telephone? How many times have I raced to the landline phone even though it was at an extremely inconvenient moment? Is the telephone a modern inconvenience?

One wintry day when a penetrating wind had chilled me to the bone, I longed for the warmth of a steaming hot bath. Finally my wish was about to be fulfilled as I settled into a lavender-scented bubble bath and the chill that had annoyed me all day was being gently replaced by a tingling warmth. I closed my eyes and reveled in my relaxed state. I felt light and floating as I slipped further into a blissful, meditative state.

Suddenly my ears perked up and I was immediately alert. The phone was ringing and like a conditioned response I leaped from the tub, grabbed the doorknob for balance and then snatched the towel as I darted to respond to the signal.
"Can I call you back", I politely but quickly inquired.

Sauntering back to the tub, I gazed at the trail of water puddles. The abhorrent cold once again assaulted my awareness as I stepped into the tub and immersed myself into the now tepid water. The relaxed state that I had reveled in moments before could not be recaptured, so I sullenly washed and concluded my longed for bath. I consoled myself with the thought that the movie I had been looking forward to watching would be starting momentarily.

I was happily cuddled up on the sofa, wrapped in my favorite afghan, sitting on the edge of my seat as another surprise twist occurred. I wasn't certain who the murderer was yet, but I was highly suspicious of the "friend". But, what was his motive? I sipped my hot apple cider as I mulled over motives.

I heard the phone but decided to ignore it. I was too engrossed in the made-for-TV-movie. But, the ringing was interrupting my concentration so I reached for the receiver, "Hi, Mom".
I attempted to follow the next turn of events and listen to my Mom. "You seem distant tonight. Perhaps you're not feeling well." I scrambled to end the conversation with a promise to take two aspirin and to call her back in the morning.

I focused intently a second time on the movie, but soon discovered to my dismay that an important clue had escaped me. I could no longer solve the murder mystery and my previous contentment eluded me. Feeling somewhat disgruntled, I decided to retire early. I harshly pushed the stop button on the CD player in the middle of the words "sleep like a log". "I haven't slept like a log for ages", I grumbled. "I deserve to sleep well tonight since both my bath and my movie were interrupted by that modern life curse!"

Exhaustion overwhelmed me as I snuggled under the heat of the electric blanket. My tiredness dissolved into a tranquil, floating sensation which enveloped me, and I welcomed this reprieve from my daily worries and woes. I drifted into a deep, restful slumber laced with dreams.

My eyes opened wide. All my dreams dissipated. I recognized the everyday tone of that contraption…that cursed contraption. "I forgot to unplug it", I groaned. A quick glance at the illuminative alarm clock revealed the early morning hour. I pounced out of bed, stumbled over the rug, and stubbed my toe. My toe was throbbing so I limped to the living room, groped for the light switch, and grabbed the receiver. I heard a "click".

Disappointment and anger welled up simultaneously. I hobbled back to bed and I squeezed my eyes shut demanding that my respite return. But I couldn't cease worrying about a call at 2:30 a.m. I tossed and turned. Obviously, it had to be a gloom and doom call. My thoughts swiftly shifted from all the potential dreaded news to my throbbing toe. 2:43 a.m........2:57 a.m…….3:08 a.m……. At 3:54 I forced myself to get up to take an aspirin.

When the shrilling, obnoxious sound of the alarm rudely penetrated my unconsciousness, I hurled the cursed device through the doorway. I was completely awakened when I first heard a crashing noise succeeded by a shattering one. I rolled out of bed to "check out" the disturbance. I shrieked as I scratched my foot on a sharp piece from my alarm clock. "Bad luck always comes in threes", I managed to assure myself as I recited a well-known superstition. "That modern convenience – the telephone – has been a modern inconvenience three times."

Able

Never say impossible,
believe that you are able;
build castles in the sky,
with a twinkle in your eye.

Believe that you are the best,
and put it to the test;
developing your talent,
to its maximum extent.

For you will soar so high,
Above the stars you will fly;
living life to the fullest,
each day being the brightest.

Your life will be fulfilled,
when you climb mountains not hills;
when you become all you can,
and you can tell every man:

I know that I am able!

Grandmother

This poem is dedicated to my friend
on the edge:

I gazed at my daughter in amazement,
holding her newborn daughter in her arms;
cuddling her while providing nourishment,
instinctively protecting her from harm.

I gazed at my daughter smiling brightly,
motherhood certainly agreed with her;
lips brushed her little one’s cheek so slightly,
the contented sound was like a cat’s purr.

The beauty of the moment was captured,
imprinted in my heart forevermore;
I never knew I could feel such rapture,
joyous feelings penetrated my core.

Watching my granddaughter sleeping soundly,
I softly placed a kiss on her forehead;
while covering her I whispered fondly,
I love you then I tucked her in her bed.

Practical Artist

Exuberance abounds from her radiant face,
as she dances and bounces around the work place.
Snip, snip harmonizes with exultant laughter,
the scissors click in time; she never once falters.

A practical artist sprinkling her magic,
whisking away all sadness and blues so tragic.
Converting an everyday gal into a queen,
Instilling confidence, she’s ready to be seen.

She sends her masterpieces out into the world,
hair is her canvas - short or long, thick, thin or curled.
She’s a practical artist painting hair with care,
encouraging new styles, convincing all to dare.

Africa

Happy 4th of July to all my American friends!

My favorite colors are red, white and blue,
while I am in Africa standing true,
to my country which is dearest to my heart,
even though I must be apart.

Life has so many twists and turns,
and through every experience I must learn,
that the roads are sometimes bumpy,
and rough roads surely leave me grumpy.

Africa, I mumble, why did you call me?
I am from the country of the free.
I love my country, my family, my home;
I don’t want to live abroad and feel alone.

We need you here rumbles the reply,
as I continue to formulate the whys;
stand tall, my dear American, so all
can meet and see and call you their friend.