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"When you're at your weakest, show a sign of strength!"
-- Stephaniah
Tolerance | by Stephie Goldfish
I truly have to thank our mother for bringing into our lives
the love of all types of music, the love of movies that are humorous, dramatic or tragic, and most of all, the love of all
types of people: rich or poor, white or black, young or old, small or big, short or tall, boy or girl, man or woman, married
or single, with child or barren, having chose not to bring children into the world or having at least a dozen, having accents
or not, blonde and green eyed or brunette and blue eyed, having straight hair or very curly hair, heterosexual or gay or lesbian
or whatever, raised in the city or raised in the country, living in the Biggest City in the world or living in the smallest
town or village in the world, whether from the Upper West Side of Manhattan or the Upper East Side of Manhattan, from Harlem
USA or from Wall Street, whether they are an MD at Goldman Sachs or Salomon Smith Barney or whether they are an MD at Mount
Sinai / NYU Hospital or New York Columbia Presbyterian / Cornell Weill Hospital, whether they live with a disability or have
"perfect" health, living out in the "world" or living in "A Perfect World", living across the
Hudson River in New Jersey or living across the East River in the Bronx, Queens, or Brooklyn, whether they live across the
Verazzano Bridge in Staten Island or across the Bayonne Bridge in Bayonne, NJ, whether the first place they lived when coming
to NY was through the Holland Tunnel over in Jersey City Heights or over the Brooklyn Bridge living in Brooklyn Heights, whether
they are from Huntington, West Virginia or from Huntington, Long Island, living in a "Dream House in Connecticut"
or whoever "needs a House out in Hackensack", living in a "Rent" stabilized apartment or like the Broadway
musical "Rent", whether they have cats or liked the Broadway musical "CATS", whether they have dogs or
walk dogs for a living, whether they have a Ph.D. or whether their education was taken away from them, from the North or from
the South, from North of the Border or from South of the Border, from North America or from South America, from the East Coast
or from the West Coast, from the Far West or from the Middle East, from the North Pole or from the South Pole, whether from
the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere or from the country that is known as the first human civilization, whether they
are "crazy" or whether they have become a Psychiatrist and now hope they don't go "crazy" after seeing
all the things that "crazy people" do, whether they are a "starving artist" or whether one goes to museums
to see famous paintings of famous artists.
Coffee "Regular" | by Stephie Goldfish
Morning coffee the way I like is not so dark, not so light. But
he is swarthy and
she is white. We’d
make a beautiful
baby, they’d
say. We tried, even
twice. He likes his black the Puritan he is. Untainted and pure I was at one time, now mixed the way HE likes. Great Pharaohs of Egypt | by Stephie Goldfish
I took a day
trip
from Cairo
up the River Nile
to El Fayoum
where the oasis of
waterwheels surrounded
by
mangoes,
palms, and willows
watered my parched
desert heart from
the heat of my
Egyptian pharaoh.
::
"You know the early
Christians came from the
great pharaohs of Egypt!"
A young man said,
whose boyish profile
reminded me at once
of the young King
Tutankhamen.
::
Buried in pyramids
and your ancient tombs,
"Oh, divine deities
and mortal rulers,
where has my young
pharaoh gone?"
This poem was written in response to L.L. Barkat's Random Acts of Poetry prompt--the theme being to take us to an ancient place or time--
Please click on the link to read many more samples over at The High Calling!
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| Katrina when she was four years old |
Snow in June I
feel a chill in the air, yet it’s the first day of summer. Even though it’s the first day of summer, it’s
coming up on the anniversary of the death of my niece, Katrina. Tonight into tomorrow is the anniversary of when she passed.
Today, the sky is blue with patches of white clouds, but the air feels more like a cool, crisp, clear fall day, instead
of a hot humid summer day. Katrina died when she was only twenty years old from a very bad head injury, on June 21 into June 22,
1993. She had jumped out of her boyfriend's truck, or so it was said, because she and her boyfriend were having
an argument. We'll never know the truth. But Katrina will always hold a special place in our hearts. Katrina was brave
and courageous. She had just lost her ten-month-old baby, Natasha, six months prior to her own death. And God only knows what
was going on inside Katrina during her own loss. Sometimes the snow does come down in June! I wanted to write something about my niece,
Katrina. And my twin sister, Kim, found a poem Katrina had written when she was only thirteen years old. Katrina's voice speaks out strong to us. She was so wise at such a young
age. Katrina is still teaching us today about life and love and how fleeting it is. Here
is the poem she wrote in 1986: Our Lost Love By Katrina Rae Sowards (written on December
24, 1986) As each day goes
by, one
day one night, a
lot can happen in
one’s life. Such as a death, deep down in one’s heart, hurt feelings and
tears that
strike like a dart. The one that loves, the one that has
cost, the
love that has vanished is the love they both lost. But the pain they
both see, the
pain they both hear, the pain they both feel, doesn’t mean that love is never near.
Please join in a Book Club discussion
about "Voice" in writing over at The High Calling!
Mother's Embrace | by Stephie Goldfish
written on April 22, 2010 Where is my mother when I am losing my grip on reality when I begin feeling a little disconnected from myself,
my body, this
world Where is my mother whom I said goodbye to in a hurry without an
embrace leaving
her alone to
worry Only my mother’s embrace can heal this
disease I
suffer from and
bring me down to earth, grounding me and surrounding me with her grace
Where
is my mother when
it’s time for crying where is my mother when I’m close to dying The daughter
of her womb cries
to be restored to peace and sanity brought back from the tomb and released from this eventuality Just as Jeremiah spoke about the recuperation
of the daughter of my people so my mother’s embrace is like the balsam in Gilead
Hello, over at The High Calling we participated in a Mothers
Day project! You can read about it by clicking the link below:
Please join us in celebrating Mother's Day over at The High Calling!
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