Ramblings of an Old, Romantic Soul

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 poetsforintegrity.org

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 remains...open 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.

   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 knew...my 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 Chic...

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 poetsforintegrity.org 

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...

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

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. emptiness where you once were remnants of our life your easy chair the lonely bed we loved as man and wife i wander now through every room touching this and that your laughing pig your hearing aids your favorite coat and hat all i have are memories these walls don't feel like home scattered pieces everywhere your're gone and I'm alone Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011

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. Treasures 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.  a.t.sole'ful copyright Martin 3/2/01  You can find this poem, along with many other wonderful poems, at poetsforintegrity.org.  Browse the site with a 5 day honorary membership.  A great site with many talented poets.  Check it out.