Monday, March 28, 2011

Cherry Tree Love

My oh my
who do I see,
hiding in
the cherry tree?

Mom and Dad,
love still in bloom;
ah, inhale
love's sweet perfume!

Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/27/2011

Inspired by the love of my parents, and a friend, Martin, and his Cherry Tree series...
for more, visit

Saturday, March 26, 2011


Do people realize how they can hurt with words?  How something simple can wound so deeply? 

I admit to being a bit emotional; and I admit that I can get my feelings hurt easily...but be that as it may, why aren't people more careful with their utterances.  Truly, some people open their mouth and the arrow is out before they can stop.  They move on, but the wound and ugly.

And I do believe that some people don't realize what they say, how they hurt.  Others, on the other hand, know exactly what they're saying and shame on them.  Physical wounds can heal.  Bruises disappear.  But the damage of words, and the power they hold, sometimes last a lifetime...and sometimes they are the deadliest wounds of all.

'Loose lips, sink ships'...loose lips can sink hearts as well.  Take heed.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Pug Mahone!

 Please read the title in your best Irish accent possible...and to that add 'top o' the mornin' and 'erin go braugh'...these were favorite sayings of my great-uncle Ed.  He was Irish through and through and very proud of his heritage.  St. Patrick's Day always reminds me of him.  

One may ask, 'what does pug mahone mean?'...not quite sure we ever really got a definite answer, but I do believe the definition is somewhere along the lines of 'kiss my ass'...That was Uncle Ed.  Uncle Leddy, as we called him when we were little.  He was a great man...more of a grandfather to my siblings and I, than a great-uncle.  He and Aunt Marie - Aunt Aree...

The two of them were truly the only 'grandparents' any of us truly last grandparent died when I was only 6 months old, so I never knew them.  Aunt Marie and Uncle Ed filled the bill, perfectly.  Whenever they would visit, Aunt Aree would have boxes, or bags, of Chicklets in her purse...the first to find them got to hand out the bunch - whoever was first to the purse, was in control!  If you didn't like a certain sibling, they didn't get their Chicklets till last...!  Poor Aunt Marie...sometimes we were more excited about the darned Chicklets, than we were to see her!   And every Christmas there would be Santa sleighs on the Christmas tree...each of us would get a sleigh with five silver dollars inside.  

Uncle Ed fell in love with Aunt Marie the first moment he ever saw her.  He was on a bus, she was on the street...He told his traveling buddy 'that's the girl I'm going to marry'...They were married as close to 50 years as possible without actually celebrating the day.  Aunt Marie was buried on or about their 50th wedding anniversary.  They lived in the same apartment for those 50 years; the magical apartment that held many mysteries for my siblings and I.  The closets, the hallways, the incinerator, their bedroom, Uncle Ed's desk...the elevator!   And every time we would visit, we would knock on the door, and Uncle Ed would stand behind the levered door and say 'who's there'?  We would all say 'Uncle Leddy, it's us!'...

Memories that are rich and full of love.  So, on this St. Patty's Day, I raise a toast to the greatest 'grandparents' who ever lived - to Aunt Aree and Uncle Leddy - top o' the mornin' to ye!   

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Little Death

Every time you walk away
I die a little death;
a piece of me disappears,
heart stops, as does my breath.

My lonely soul held captive,
imprisoned by your grace;
come love, return, rescue me,
unveil your winsome face.

Then once again I shall live,
forever in your spell;
leave me not, my lady fair,
close by you let me dwell.

Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011

 Inspired by my husband...early this morning he gave me the line 'every time you walk away, I die a little'...challenged me to write something...
so, this is to my love...
For more of my poetry, and work of other wonderful poets, check out 

Monday, March 14, 2011


It happened today over bacon, of all things.

The day started out normally.  Went for an eye appointment, then we decided to have breakfast out.  I ordered my usual creamed chip beef, my husband ordered his usual pancakes, eggs, and crispy bacon.  The bacon, of course, was for me.  We were laughing, chatting, enjoying the time together.

Our meals came out, and I ate one piece of delicious crispy bacon.  As I moved on to the next, I thought of Dad.  I thought of how much he loved bacon; and how one of his last meals was bacon.  My husband attempted to cook him bacon, but even dying, Dad knew his bacon, knew good bacon from bad bacon.  Dad's critique of my husband's bacon was 'mediocre, not quite as good as Mom's'.  All of this came flooding back in an instant, and the tears started; I couldn't drink my coffee, I couldn't talk. The lump in my throat felt like my chipped beef had just stalled and wouldn't go any further.  Then I started thinking of his last days - did he know how much he was loved?  What was he thinking during those last days, when he couldn't talk, just slept?  Did he know how much I loved him, how much we all loved him, or did he simply think we wanted him out of the way? What were his thoughts?

I remember one day sitting with him.  I started crying, and he called me to him, he hugged me.  He said 'Poopsie, you're not okay with this are you?'  I tried to tell him I was, but I was going to miss him so much.  He told me that he understood, that he knew I had to cry my tears; then he caressed me and told me he would always be my side.

All these thoughts came in an instant, as if a dam had broken...and all over a slice of bacon.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Misty Flats

When Daddy was in school, the nuns used to say to him 'Thomas, Thomas, you're wandering the misty flats'...I thought of those misty flats the other day and wrote the poem below. This is for you, Daddy.

Wandering the misty flats,
searching high and low;
what do I seek, here and there,
I do not even know.

Something pulls my soul to roam
the meadows far and wide;
a constant ache deep within,
a need I cannot hide.

Her mystery speaks to me,
dark secrets are revealed;
upon the moors, solitude,
where heart and mind are healed.

As I wander misty flats,
your presence feels so near;
alone I walk, wrapped in love,
with nothing more to fear.

Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


Thursday, Mom will leave here and return home, to her empty condo, loneliness.  She is scared and nervous, yet feels Daddy is calling her home.  I awoke this morning with the first lines of the poem...this is for Mom.

where you once were
remnants of our
your easy chair
the lonely bed
we loved as man and
i wander now
through every room
touching this and
your laughing pig
your hearing aids
your favorite coat and
all i have are
these walls don't feel like
scattered pieces
your're gone and I'm

Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011

Thursday, March 3, 2011


A friend of mine wrote the following poem and it touched my heart; made me think on all those friends who are treasures in my life.


People are treasurers who often cross your mind,
who in your life have shined with warmth of
love, spark and light.

No matter how long since you have met,
each one is a cherished gem who
gleams and glows in memory,

bringing special measure to
each other as lifelong treasures
providing fulfilling pleasures. 

copyright Martin 3/2/01 

You can find this poem, along with many other wonderful poems, at  Browse the site with a 5 day honorary membership.  A great site with many talented poets.  Check it out.