your hand is sliced

(did you miscalculate

the length of the blade?)

and you are bleeding as it dangles

from your wrist

you would not shrink back from your hand

or hold it away from your chest,

afraid of getting dirty

or possibly staining the sleeve

of your new white shirt

you would not condemn your hand

for its past or present deficiencies

or dark age spots

or inability to grasp

modern inventions

you would hold your hand

over your heart,

wrap it tight

(perhaps wince in pain)

and try to stop the bleeding,

try to keep it whole–without hesitation

because Heaven knows

you need to, without delay

even if it hurts

Their tears are your tears, and they are my tears, and the tears of our children. One world. Our hand is bleeding. Please help. Even if it hurts.

http://www.savethechildren.org/newsroom/2010/haiti-relief.html

The house is empty

and the wine bottle all but dry.

Flames tease candlesticks with a final kiss goodnight

as heirloom sand-papered linens blush beneath in polka-dotted

iridescent splatters of wax, glisten with remnants of broken bread

left clinging to fibers of conversations woven, broken, pieced, interrupted

I hear Laughter

as she peeks from her hiding place behind the curtains

then disappears into the folds, spent and content

Smug vagabond, tonight she will stay

I dust the crumbs into my hand

in a tango with my shadow

The house is quiet

and the wine bottle holds one more pour.

Thanks Jaymie, you inspired me

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to all of you, my new friends made in 2009 and cherished for a lifetime. May you all be showered in blessings in 2010 and beyond.

Cheers,

D

http://www.voxpoetica.com/words_to_linger_on.html

Thank you Annmarie! My grandmother is smiling, I’m sure. She always loved attention

Hope you are all having a great week!

Cheers, D

A thousand miles away, he changes a letter,  

and writes my name.

It speaks softly on the page. I catch my breath

and repeat it, noticing how it ends in ah…

like a sweet sigh of release–not tongue pressed against closed teeth,

but an open sigh of relief, as if just remembering the first words

to a long forgotten lullaby–yes-the lullaby sung by my grandmother,

whose name coyly whispered ah, love knows, love knows in the ancient temples, 

and by her mother, whose name messaged wisdom to generations

she would never know, delivering knowledge in seeds of wheat

and ripe plum tomatoes until it was swallowed by the sigh of the tide

and bitter winds off the shores of Ellis Island.

Ah, yes..the sighing sound of the chime’s echo escaping the church bell in Frasso Telisino,

where I shall walk tonight in my dreams, guitar slung on my back  

pressing gently upon my shoulder like my grandfather’s guiding hand,

where I will no longer be known as a stranger in a strange land

when I leave my sandals on the stoop and walk barefoot collecting pebbles..

Where I will finally find myself, reflected in rivers on the faces of elders

as they cup my face in their hands and greet me by name,  

saying Ah…Daniella, you are home,

You are home.

Thank you, Dhyan, for the inspiration. Whether intentional or not, it warms my heart. Blessings.

It isn’t the dark of the woods I am fearing–

My eyes are accustomed to this tangled plight–

It’s what I might find in the clearing.

With each step, black velvet is disappearing

And moss sputters and dies under siege from gold blight

No, it isn’t the dark of the woods I am fearing…

See-the Devil sits there! And he’s taunting and sneering

Just waiting for me to come into the light

Oh, it’s what I might find in the clearing!

And yet… I keep walking, as though something is steering

Me forward, away from my worn path, despite

It isn’t the dark of the woods I am fearing.

But I’ve never been one for such pioneering!

Feet, I demand you stay tucked in the slipper of night!

Who knows what we’ll find in the clearing?

Oh, but the sun is aglow on my face as I’m nearing

The edge of the woods, where wildflowers ignite

No, this isn’t the dark of the woods I’ve been fearing…

I blow a dandelion wish in the clearing.

Golden

No more, silence

Trembles beneath the shear

Knowing dull, rusty blades cut, bleed

Poison

There was nothing more that I could say.

I hung the phone, stayed out of sight–

I couldn’t tell him anyway.

So frightened that I might betray

An aching heart, like mine tonight

There was nothing more that I could say.

Would it have mattered though, today?

A flicker barely pierces night

I couldn’t tell him anyway.

When will this sorrow fade away?

Please God, make blind this damned hindsight

There was nothing more that I could say

      And even now, with no someday–

      No matter now of wrong or right–

      I still can’t say it anyway

                     Still, lips hold secrets eyes betray

                     And had I drowned in blue that night

                     There’d be nothing more that I would say

                     But he would have known it anyway.

So I’ve decided to make the move to WordPress.org using a self-hosted site. The URL should remain www.calliopespen.com and SUPPOSEDLY it will be a seamless transition. Hmmmm. Sounds too easy to me…

If I disappear from blogland for a while, it means I’m lost in cyberspace. Wish me luck! 

UPDATE! Lesson #1: DO NOT CHANGE NAMESERVERS UNTIL YOUR SITE IS LIVE EVEN IF TECH SUPPORT SAYS IT’S OK. 

Update your links to calliopespen.wordpress .com for now….stay tuned:)