toleration -v- love

Oh – the beauty of all I see – through the rose colored glasses the world hands me – telling me all of my days – will be sky blue – if only – I tolerate you

Hmmmmm – is what I think of that – is it toleration or love we lack – tolerate – seems a dirty word to me – it may behoove me to tolerate the – shit – that you do – but I am called – to love – the very core of you – through spirit and joy – in all place and time – I find toleration – is the world’s game – not mine – Love is the action – we lack with one another – to truly love and – not – just tolerate our brother

Toleration – is something asked of a child – for love is a choice – a parent – makes with a smile

So it is – that children tolerate their youth – while – being under hand – learning life’s truth – but – as elder – we should love – all that we touch – so our children – will love and not just tolerate us

For if toleration – is really how – to play the game – then we play under hand – of the Ruler of the day – using words – to hold our foe at bay

Do we really think that little of him – that we not love and only tolerate with a grin

Intertwine

I know things that you don’t know

My heart can see your inner soul

When your eyes meet with mine

I can see your life thru time

I really wish it weren’t that way

‘Cause now I know you’ll never stay

My heart is stronger now you see

I know it’s you and it’s not me

She must have hurt you awful bad

To make my heart so torn and sad

Knowing that you’re gonna go

Makes me wonder does she know

Is she waiting there for you

Gazing thru your eyes of blue

Knowing things you never knew

Watching your life pass thru time

Hoping hers will intertwine

A mother was made -

Disclaimer: (If anyone would like to comment to me about this poem, please do so via e-mail at mistyarizona@hotmail.com, as my personal life is very private, and although I draw from my life to write, I never reveal persons identities "and assumptions, you are right, are not very nice". I ask that you respect this, as I have respected, all that you have asked of me.) 

Something beautiful came my way – nine months later - on cold – winters day

Wrapped in linen – the world to see – the sin of love - that grew – inside of me

I labored long – and born the pain – for another woman – who would raise my seed

She who would see – this piece of me – grow and shine – from my womb – would be

She held tight – when I cried out in pain – the loss was mine – for her to gain

Little foot steps – raised far from - my sight – never knowing – my love – given not a gain

She paid her lot – I paid not the same – and gave another – my love – unselfishly – no matter the pain

Years they pass – and who’s to say – what mothers – love is – or how – it may be - kept at a far

Time does not heal – all pains you see – when one thinks – they have bought – the very core of me

If I had known – what I know today – that another felt – I beholden – because of fee – they did pay

Giving - my first love – would have been given to me – for my love holds - no cost - no fee

I have loved all - I hold near – I have never considered fee – a levy to life – giving without love – is not a fair price

So – you go on holding my love – at a cost – you go on holding her tight – at our loss

You have coveted my gift – and lied of me - I am sure – so never to lose – cause – you wanted her – yours - that she is – no one dare say not – because you have the receipt – and then you dared plot

To defile – a love - given not gained – you have distorted my love and made it pure shame

You have caused – this little one – to think badly of me – you have lied – so you may seem – that you are the better of me – and in this – she never will want – look for a love – given without gain but in agony and pain

Oh how my heart grieves – for you - not for me – for in my sin of love  – was given freely – and through your shame – of feeling less than me – you coveted my heart – and closed her away – from a mother who longs to hold her – if only just - once again

In saying this – I know it comes to mind – that I signed her away – so she is yours – not mine – for I am not the mother her – the signature is clear

So this is true and you are in the right – but don’t ever think I don’t care of her plight – I will always wonder – why she dare not look for me – and I know - now it is because thee

You lied and you twisted all that I am – so she would never dare to think she was loved even then – by a young girl – alone and afraid – who gave all that she had – and you a mother was made

Yellow Daffodil

In a little wooded house, up atop hill, amongst the quail and yellow daffodil, I dream of a love pure, not tainted from the land. These hands which have toiled under sun,  making way regardless, all that has been done. A love of pure delight that turns all into one, as dawn rises from the east to the west of the setting sun.

Broken lost through time, from my heart I do speak the dreamer in my soul and of love which I do seek.

Through heat storm thundered rain, the smells of fresh renew, falling on top of holed tin roof, as the water does seep through. There is a storm, which rages inward and outward for all to see, a broken heart not known but only to me. As the rain, falls tapping on the holed tin, I look out on the wildness of all that has been done. Through harshness winds that have blow, rivers running wild, through a land of hollowed out sorrow as time pasted long before and with future not yet unlocked because my heart not dare to dream.

Here atop this hill, sitting in my wooded house, gazing through her cracked and weathered panes, I glimpse a mother quail, tending her clutch among the yellow daffodil. The smells of fresh fallen rain still linger in the air. The presents of renewal for all that dare to take, has been poured out on the land which mans toil cannot make.

It is from the heavens of our land, of the south winds that did blow, comes in a love divine, I dare and will take hold. For under brightened sun the grass does gleam with dew, the soft winds fill the air of fallen rains renew. It makes one dare to dream of future dawns not past. A sun that raises, atop a hill which no man dare try grasp.

Here within the yellow daffodil, my mind will wonder far, with visions of a weathered time that may rage onward still but with life brought by storm filled skies, rises dawns morning light and within this, my heart will take flight. Seeking out a dream of loves pure delight. Yellow daffodil are grasped as quail tend their clutch with smells of fresh spilled rain of renewal I dare touch.

The Dump

I work for a dumping ground. Not the kind, where on any given day, you will find people rummaging thru old and unwanted commodity or maybe searching out that forgotten antique, searching for any thing of value. I wish it were.
I work for a human dumping ground. Unwanted humanity, indeed, are these. Homes, they have not, family unwilling and willing forgotten and friends in uncertainty. These, used disabled, mentally ill, lost, war struck (some born this way, some made this way and some chose this way) all of them scattered, stranded and left for not, on a six block island in the middle of our vast sprawling AZ County. People, Organizations, Agencies, Cities, Towns, Counties, AZ State and yes even other States, dump here.
No one comes to find their value. No one comes to seek their lost or their sick. Not one comes seeking their wisdom, hope or resolve.

Some, they chose to stay; they have been here far too long.
Some, they have to stay; for without value, where else do they belong.
Some are so frail and worn; they have no choice but to stay.

All these, I take home to my sleep each night, the dumped, the ill, the broken, the damaged in soul, those who no one wants to claim as their own.

So, I rummage thru unwanted souls each day. Each day looking for the value that I will find as great, such things as wisdom, kindness, joy and faith. Even more hope, peace, love, knowledge, perseverance, honor, loyalty, and grace. Blocks of treasures, as far as the eyes can see, with value beyond my greatest too compare!

So, at night when I lay down with unwanted humanity at my side, I ask, are we born to not value, are we made to not value or have we chosen not too value (THE SOULS OF HUMNAITY)?

This is a poem I wrote while working at the homeless campus in down town Phoenix.