The Words

Dreamcatcher InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

Recite the words you want to hear

Those your heart dreams to

Follow

Recite the words your soul still seeks

The ones that soothe

A sorrow

Recite the words you know are true

They will bring forth

Tomorrow.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Heart Tailor

Photo-Atelier de Monique

Photo-Atelier de Monique

 

Tailor your actions

To good mending.

Take care to not

Rip apart

What should be kept.

Adjust your thoughts

So they can fit your conscience

In its Sunday best.

Shape your ways

To outfit what your soul believes in

Sewn to perfect

Silhouette.

Attune to kindness

So it can help you

Choose

The right attire

For your heart.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Your Music

prettylittlethings.typepad.com

Photo: Pinterest

 

Find the string of life

That thrums within you

And play your music –

Bold or timid

Loud or soft,

It is unlike any other

Ever heard

Yet

As eternal

And familiar

As the beat that drums

Inside all living

Chests.

 

For The Daily Post

Collaboration

Passion Fruit plants: Intertwined

Photo-Jason Groepper

The earth, the air, the water;

The sun, the sea, the dust of stars;

The times that passed and built the present;

Things nascent now that

Have not yet become –

All intertwined.

We’re none of us alone

Or separate.

Aware or not,

Collaboration

Is and always been

The only way

For life

Aligned.

 

For The Daily Post

Be in the Pink

Storycubes1

If your heart groans

Under worry

And your belly

Plays acid songs,

Don’t despair:

Life’s still there.

If your head spins

With confusion

In realities

Beyond compare,

Don’t give up:

There’s repair.

If your muscles

Clench with anger

And anxiety

Sheds your hair,

Don’t give in

To what’s not fair.

If your color

Lost its luster

And your spirit’s

Pale and bare,

Don’t lose heart:

We’ve hope to spare.

If the dark nights

Press your innards

And your lungs

Beg for calm air,

Don’t forget:

Love’s everywhere.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Panic’s Anti-Dote

anti-dote

photo: dreamaker2.tumblr.com

 

There’s scare aplenty

Wide cause for alarm

A lot to frown at

Much that charters harm.

No wonder

Panic comes.

Trepidation pushes buttons of old worries

Latches through the tentacles

Of history

And ill-used charm.

It glitters daggers

Into

Masquerading stars and sun.

No wonder

Panic comes.

And yet …

Be brave

Stand firm

Lock arms

Form links

Knit facts

Raise voice

Weave hope

As panic’s anti-dote.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Happy Girl

Happy Girl from pintrest
Photo: Pinterest

She giggles at the slightest silly

She grins at mirrors

Smiles through windows

Makes a dozen strangers’ day.

She beams at dogs, at books

A toy, a leaf, a pigeon

The world itself at play.

She chuckles at her own reflection

Adores someone’s freckles, wrinkles, shoes.

She rejoices in a pigtail, a polka-dot ribbon

Celebrates a doll, a braid, a tube of sparkling glue.

She chortles with abandon at a joke

“Again, again!”

She finds joy in the smallest moments

Her laughter paints bright happy into

Even the most mundane.

 

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Do It Anyway

He has stage fright. The real deal.

Social phobia with all the trimmings.

Speaking in front of anyone renders him paralyzed with irrational but no less numbing terror.

Talking to a store clerk makes him sweat.

Let alone giving a speech in front of assembly.

The whole school. Faculty, too.

He trembles at the thought.

“You don’t have to do this.” His mother. She is distressed by his distress. Protective.

“But I do,” he says.

He’s scared.

Determined, too.

He asks me to teach him how “to speak even when my throat gets stuck.”

We work on it. On breath, on visualizing, on rhythm and on parsing and on tone and pitch and breath again. He practices. With me, at the mirror, with family, with a good friend.

He knows the words by heart. He wrote them. A speech about things that oh-so-matter and are so very needing-to-be-said.

“The words come into my dreams,” he tells me. “Is that weird?”

I shrug. I don’t think so. “What do you think?”

He smiles shyly. “I think they want me not to be afraid. The words. Like we are friends now, words and me.”

 

The day comes.

He calls me in the evening.

“I threw up twice and I trembled like crazy,” he says, but his voice is giddy. “Then I thought about the words. My words … like friends. The beads on the necklace like we practiced … and I could breathe … I was still scared but I did it anyway!”

 

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