In catholic grade school in the late 1950s we memorized lots of poetry. This, Daffodills, was my favorite. Frequently the nuns set them to familiar songs to help memorize them.
Little Brook.
Oh March that blusters.
To name a few more
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I am carrying a line of this poem of yours into making a sunlit forest painting. I've needed inspiration to learn how to paint luminous light. It's been a journey and I've not mastered the techniques quite yet but keeping in my mind the words "we'll walk where sunlight sets the forest's leaves aglow" may help me along the way. Lovely writing Belinda.
This poem has really touched me because I have been going through things since I was a baby. My parents left me when I was little and after that I built a wall so no one would see my weakness. My brother had always thought that our parents wanted us but it's not true. Every time that my family would talk about my parents I would act like I don't care or I don't know who those people are. But now since I'm older I feel like I don't belong or like I don't exist anymore and all I need to know is if there is still one person that still wants me around and that there is someone there to hear me when I scream for help.
Thanks, John, I appreciate the comment, and as long as I can still think, I will still be writing.
Jac Judy
Please Teah, I don't want you to lose faith in your ability to write. Don't stop writing. Thanks for sharing.
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You and your mom really inspired me with this poem, Stacy. Don't stop writing. Thanks for sharing.
Hi, Judy. I loved the way you emphasize on music, poems and poets. Don't stop writing.
Thanks, Ann, for your nice comment and for your encouragement. Blessings always
Jac Judy
This poem holds so much meaning to me. My parents were the type to say "don't cry over spilled milk," so relating that to surviving an earthquake validates my experience surviving trauma when others just want me to "get over it." I'm glad my parents saw the horror, but I am sad my mother died crying for the children stolen from me. If any other them read this ... maybe 7 years from now as I am reading this poem for the first time 7 years after Ganci published here - if my children see this later, I hope they find these words comforting as I have. Knowing this was written by a teenager actually helps me immensely. The dialectic of the poem meets with the dialectic that a young person brought me so much hope in a situation that a teenager cannot experience exactly as I have. I am more than this anxiety. I am more that judicial abuse. I am more than dv. I am more than... fill in with your struggle. We are all more than our challenges.
Another lovely poem from you, Judy. Keep writing! Very best wishes, Ann.
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