Reflections of My Heart: Reflections in a Waterfall

I look back on a spectacular California day in May 1993. Chris and I took a drive up to the San Gabriel Mountains. A moment in my life that I will never forget. You see, I didn’t travel much when I was a child or a young woman.

Sturtevant Falls in the San Gabriel Mountains

When I was growing up, my mother didn’t take me on trips or vacations. She was busy concentrating on getting me well, and running a household and a business while raising two children, since my father had died in 1965, when I was only fourteen years old.

Although, when I became a young woman in my twenties and thirties, I empowered myself, working on my independence. One of the things I did was travel a little.

But when I got married, I traveled even more. One weekend, my husband Chris wanted to take me to the San Gabriel Mountains. So we packed our lunch, our water jugs, our hats, sunscreen, and hiking boots. It took about an hour and a half of driving to get there.

We finally reached our destination and parked our car. Out the car door, we flew. While walking up the first incline towards the waterfall, I felt the temperature change. It was cooler. The breeze cut through my down vest. We hiked up the trail, following the dirt path, and when I looked up, I saw the sunlight sparkling through the tall pines. ‘

“Ah!” I breathed. The stress released from my body, and a sense of peace came over me.

We walked around a bend and reveled in the rock formations. Surrounded by beauty, we made the last turn. The air grew even crisper. And the topography changed suddenly.

“Oh Chlupie!” I called out, using my husband’s nickname. “Look, how beautiful.”

We had arrived. So breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. Sturtevant Falls stood above us in their full glory, overflowing with beauty and perfection, soothing my heart and mind in every way.

No matter how deep my pain has been throughout my lifetime, I have found a way to let go of my hurt through writing. I’ve learned to take time out to release negative feelings through positive action. I write my feelings out on paper, then, if it’s still too intense, I put my face into a pillow and scream.

Mostly, I have found being out in nature, by myself, under a tree or by a lake or a pond, writing amongst the universe really releases the feelings and helps me rebound. I’ve ripped through many of my writing pads with such intensity. It’s cathartic. It provides psychological relief through the open expression of powerful emotion, causing release, because it makes one feel so much better.

Taking these steps makes me cheer up, rally, and get back to myself. It helps me see things clearly and from a different perspective. Further, it helps me harmonize my body, mind and spirit-self.

I understand how you, the reader, could feel serene one moment, while looking at magnificence, and the next, in the back of your mind, have high levels of anxiety and tension with your heart weeping for a sense of peace and harmony. I encourage all of you, who read my blog posts, who are dealing with any catastrophes, to look to nature or within for refuge.

Reflections in a Waterfall

A waterfall pours
Without resistance or control
Reflecting beauty
Even though its heart is weeping.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Presence Where I Stand

Photo of a rosebud with Kodaikaanal Mountain in background.

It was May 1984. I wrote this poem because once again, I was in a 10 year conflict in my life. It felt as though they were trying to suck me under. No matter what I did to smile or be positive, there was dissonance all around. The counselors on my case were trying to sabotage me once again for doing my all to succeed. It felt like I was on a roller coaster, where I was being tossed around curves and sharp inclines. All because the counselors, their behavior, and the experience behind the events were emotionally shattering.

A state of active conflict and struggle again knocked on my door. Every time I had a period of healing, I spoke up for myself, reasoning with them, making the truth be known. I even tried compromising. The stronger my voice got, the more they challenged me. The way I stood up for myself threatened them; especially when I stood my ground, held my posture tall by not giving in or accepting anything less than what I deserved as a human being with dignity and respect. They tried to manipulate me even more. They met their match all right.

Even though it hurt like hell—depicted like a place perpetuated beneath my feet—I would not budge. Thus, I tried reaching an agreement that would satisfy them and myself, but California Rehabilitation would not bend.

This was my last year of studies. And my last push to clear my name of being labeled mentally retarded a third time. Now I was stripped of all my accommodations because of misguided experts who falsely accused me of cheating. Against all odds, I defied all expectations and graduated with honors. Before this, I had won a civil right case for my own education, even though I had been falsely labeled, on three separate occasions, as mentally retarded since I had turned eighteen years of age. That was when I was sent off to a sheltered workshop like a Goodwill factory. After that, I would stop at nothing.

I worked on myself in every way imaginable, to be the best person I could be. I tried to bring balance and peace to my being. Every spare moment, I meditated or wrote, and I tried to harmonize myself through yoga, to find more tranquility and calm in my life. But I know today, I was supposed to learn something from that experience of discrimination. There was a larger purpose in my life. I had a feeling just like the one during the other aha moments I experienced. My success would lay the foundation for the movement for inclusion. Our new world began with this victory.

With this realization, I became a voice for others.

There were no warning lights, nothing but stop lights telling me,”I better not do that.”

I kept on relentlessly, compelled, hardworking, and ambitious to make things right for people with cerebral palsy and learning disabilities. I looked high and low for answers and kept searching until this very day, trying to make this a better world for everyone.

I called out, over and over again, so people could hear me and see me. I have been driven to change the human landscape in my quiet and proactive way. Each day in my past and present life, I have taken a moment out of my schedule to become quiet. I put my diffuser on, take a healing crystal in each hand, close my eyes, and become one with myself. Settling in, I take a deep breath and visualize forgiveness. I see all those who’ve hurt or harmed me, wishing them well. I release my feelings, blessing those who hurt me and myself to the universe. Then I ask for the healing power to help me let go, so I can stop holding on to all the hurt and pain I’ve gone through in my life and free these remaining thoughts from my body. I ask for acceptance, so I can find peace in my heart. And I send forth a silent prayer for the souls of those who hurt me to heal.

Presence Where I Stand

Ten years passed by,
At the speed of light

No warning,
Little with little light

Lots of searching,
Never finding,
Always looking,
For that one perfect presence
To help me

So, I keep calling out
Do you hear me?
Do you see me?
Do you hear my heart beat?
Will you answer me, please!

And, if perchance
You hear my wailing whisper,
You will stand alongside
of me.
And never, never leave!

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Precious Moments

Photo of brittlebush flowers

One morning in April 1987, I awoke to a magnificent Southern California spring day. The weather was perfect—72 degrees—not too hot and not too cold, just sunny and glorious. Outside my window, laurel sumac leaves danced freely in a breeze, and their scent, like green apples laced with turpentine, wafted through my open window.

My inner voice whispered, “It’s such a beautiful day, Kitten. Why don’t you get outdoors? You just have to…”

Outside, a heavenly array of yellow brittlebush flowers swayed like daisies in fancy gowns, and kalanchoe glowing red beneath the broad leaves of a fig, all gorgeous, sturdy, and standing tall, reaching toward the sun, just like me.

I rolled over and lifted the receiver of my phone. A moment later, a sleepy voice answered, a new acquaintance from the Beverly Hills YMCA, where I taught fitness and dance.

I said, “Hey Julie, how would you like to come over and do some yoga with me?”

In her alto, Julie answered with a swift, “Yes! I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. All right?”

“See you then.”

I pulled on my favorite unitard—bluish violet, made like a strappy leotard with built-in shorts—and got to my door, purple yoga mat tucked under my arm, just as Julie knocked. Opening the door, I looked up into her smiling face and admired her long, sandy blonde pony tail. Even in a baggy gray sweatshirt and leggings, she had style.

As we walked down the wooden steps into my garden, she said, “This is beautiful. I love all the plants.”

“Yes,” I said, as we unrolled our mats on the lawn. “Nature always makes me feel whole.”

In silence, we sat cross-legged, facing each other, breathing slowly and deeply. Julie knew yoga, so there was no need for me to teach her. After a few minutes, we each laid down, and I turned my attention inward, inviting myself to relax, closing my eyes and visualizing the birds singing all around me. I practiced my breathing technique until I became one with nature.

Slowing down helped me distinguish our feelings and see them clearly, in many ways. My viewpoint changed. Being still and quiet helped me and my frame-of-mind.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Julie was having the same experience.

The flowers, the trees, they all aligned and attuned me. They filled my spirit. Nature had a way of grounding me. It rejuvenated the parts of me that made me anxious. It helped center and quiet my soul, so I could hear what it was saying, good or bad. Something about the environment filled me with love, joy, light, peace, and understanding, and the vibrant colors of the plants—the yellows, purples, reds, greens, and blues gave me the desire, energy, and strength to follow this path in life. I wanted to live with and in this kind of presence.

Sitting silently, I closed my eyes again, but the air on my body changed, grew cooler, almost cold. I couldn’t help but look around. Above, the sky had a sheen, and the light had turned dreary, nothing like the cheery morning. Deep hues of gray darkened the sky into an eerie, almost scary ceiling above our heads.

For a moment, I wondered, why? Then I smiled to myself and observed Julie’s stillness. With her eyes closed and a half smile on her lips, she looked like a Buddha. Gently, so I would not startle her, I gently tapped Julie’s hand, and she opened her eyes.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“The weather is getting very gloomy,” I said, emphasizing the word gloomy. “I guess the universe has its reasons for stopping our yoga session. Who am I to question the universe?”

That’s when I accepted It, and completely understood. Julie did, too, even though the weather changed on us.

I said, “I hope you enjoyed yourself, my friend.”

“I sure did Karen, We ought to do this again.”

We both not only enjoyed the moments together but also earth’s beauty and pleasures, however briefly they lasted. Through this experience, I learned to live in the present moment, being grateful, and making new friends.

I wrote this poem because I became aware that I wanted to move forward with my life spiritually. I wanted my life to flow and expand. I really did. I had so much hurt and pain that I was ready to let go even more. I was ready to alter and transform myself. It was time. I was ready to make further changes towards mental and emotional health. They call that self-care today. I wanted to take control of my feelings and to learn how to stay neutral. I didn’t want to react badly as the result of being kind hearted and taking on other people’s feelings. Not that I did not still sometimes do that, but I was going to take more action to set healthier boundaries by being more thoughtful.

I worked on myself. I developed a moment-by-moment awareness of my thoughts, my feelings, my body’s sensations, and my environment, seeing them all through a more nurturing lens. I attracted people who were like-minded. I didn’t struggle as much. I was more at ease. A comfort within came. I learned to deal with every situation with less effort. Yoga freed me, calmed me, and helped release and heal my being. Being around like-minded people, such as Julie, made a vast difference, too.

Precious Moments

It was a bright
Sunny day

The sky
Dimmed ever so slowly
Into very deep shades,

And though the smokey sky
Filled the sphere,
We smiled anyway,
Laughing like
Light hearted children
At play

But then time came,
And snatched our
Happy hours away

Our day,
Turned into a
Few moments
That remained

Forever sweetly reframed.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Poets Yet to Come

Photo of a small white cloud above green fields

I wrote this poem on a beautiful spring day in 1984, just about a year before I graduated from Santa Monica Community College. It was a Saturday in the middle of May. My mentor Robert and I walked down to Douglas Park, at 25th Street and Wilshire in Santa Monica, backpacks loaded with our favorite books and some lunch. We were going to read our most adored authors, write, and hang out in the park I used to go to after summer camp, back in 1959, when I was a child.

We read our favorites of William Wordsworth’s English Romantic poetry, “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud,” “The World is Too Much With Us, and “The Solitary Reaper.” Another poet from the past we adored was Walt Whitman, especially “O’ Captain My Captain,” “Poets to Come,” and his book Leaves Of Grass. We wanted the words to seep into our hearts and minds, like sweet wine. We wanted the language to filter into our senses.

So we took a break, putting down the books on a beautiful quilted blanket, out of view and harm’s way. I immersed myself in my thoughts, where I could scratch out this poem on paper. It took me to a spiritual place I’d never been before.

Sentimental, yes. The park brought back memories of childhood, feelings from time past. The warmth of the pond, the comfort of the tree that had grown bigger, more substantial, yet still stood, reminiscent of 17 years past. Especially finding myself staring into the pond, intermittently looking up, sharing this with my closest, dearest, mentor and friend.

A bright white light appeared, pulling me. Its energy caused a movement towards me. I looked into the pond, then into the old oak tree, then, inwardly. Why? I asked myself. Was it trying to tell me something? The light kept shining. It kept shining its light intensity on me. I took a deep breath. When I saw the celestial sphere indicating that something had taken place. What was it? I asked. Then I realized I had come full circle. I had changed, so the universe let me have a glimpse, a glimpse of me.

A recognition of all I had gone through arose in this short period, a flash-back into my earlier life. It was like a scene in a story, a view from a different perspective, of something that is inevitable.

My willingness, my devotion, my courage to work hard and grow up to be able to fit into society. I learned to accept myself unconditionally. It wasn’t easy. I’d be lying if I said it were. But I also wouldn’t be the person I am today, if I hadn’t faced my issues and feelings head on—and kept on.

I wouldn’t be brave. I wouldn’t be courageous. And I certainly wouldn’t be strong. I wouldn’t have fought with all my heart and might. All these emotions ran in overdrive as I sat, sharing.

I wouldn’t have the voice I have today or found myself and my way. Like the principal of my alma mater said back in 2007, after I spoke as the Valedictorian of my graduating class, “Now they know the impossible is POSSIBLE … and what a survivor you are to have overcome such tremendous barriers of bias and discrimination to evolve into this phenomenal force.”

I looked up at Robert and said, “Thank you for being my teacher and friend. Thank you for all the things you’ve done for me. You are the one who has made learning a joy and a possibility for me.”

He said, “Did you ever think of what you did for me, Kitten? You inspired me to go back to school and become a teacher.”

“I did that?”

“Yes, you did! You changed my life!”

Nothing else was said. We were two contented people, reading books of poetry in the hot ruby sun.

Then I dropped into my book, immersed in it, and wrote this poem. It came through me in a moment’s time.

Poets Yet to Come

Under the ruby red sun,

My pen etches shadows

Upon the mint green grass,

While we scholars sit

Reading our books,

Of great poets of the past,

And dream of

Poets yet to come!

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Playful Bird

Photo of a blackbird with a bit of food in its beak

I wrote this poem back in April 1984. My third year of college. On one of my walks with my mentor, Robert. Suddenly, out of the blue, a blackbird landed by our feet. Walking. Talking. Wobbling to and fro. Side to side. Then backwards. Drawing our attention. Like if we were his best friends. Cute as could be. We stopped. But the bird’s low and slow clucking kept talking. Telling us something. Wobbling down the block. Stopping for a minute. Then wobbling more. That’s when we noticed he had something in his beak. What could it be? Looking closer, we saw he held a moth. His treasure. I guess he wanted to tell us all about it. Or maybe. Just maybe. He was trying to tell me I was on the right path. Which some black birds do. Telling me to trust my journey.

Playful Bird

A blackbird lands near my feet
Wobbling, as if to play with me

Mr. Blackbird, I say,
As he holds a moth in its beak,

Please snatch it away,
And play with me…

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Patchwork Quilt

Photo of quilt showing a rose bloom by Therkel Anderson

Rose bloom quilt by Therkel Anderson

I wrote this poem in June 1987, the summer before I met Chris, the man who would become my husband.

At the time, I knew I would have to let go of a lot of old resentments and pain if I were ever to meet healthy, like-minded people. After a lifetime of moving forward, I had to face the unfaceable—my feelings. I had to face each resentment over the intentional hurts that had offended me, and that I hung on to. So, after a courageous, soul-searching internal struggle, I found my way.
I learned to face my life each day through sewing, love, and forgiveness. By standing tall and being brave, I was able to adjust myself emotionally enough to face my fears. Through this process, I found acceptance, beauty, joy, and love. And I wove them into my being like a beautiful patchwork quilt.

I got interested in quilting one day, sitting in my car at a stoplight. The thought came to me in an instant, like an inspiration from nowhere. So, I knew I had to follow through. I read books on quilting and attended programs on it, where I watched people quilt in person. I loved what I saw and learned, and I grew fascinated. But, no, I never quilted. It would have been impossible to do well with only one hand, but that did not stop me completely. Where there is a will there is a way, so I took up embroidery and loved it.

This poem is about how I released myself from the entanglement of resentment and hurt by reading books on patchwork quilts, seeing some real ones on display, and wanting to let go of the negative emotions I had held in my body and mind. I wanted, in my mind, to create a beautiful patchwork quilt, and with unconditional love and forgiveness, free my past from its prison of resentment so I could go forward, accepting and loving myself unconditionally.

The poem cleansed my soul, and a few months later, I met Chris.

Patchwork Quilt

Crimson are my eyes,
With sadness on my face,
A tear no more can
This tender heart partake.

I’ve learned
From time gone by
Never to hold life’s sorrows
Down deep inside.

So, with complete composure,
And my inner strength secure,
I fortify myself with
Resilience
And with radiance I find,

I am no longer broken,
Like that china doll
I once was.
I stand,
I wait,
I am stitched and mended,
Like a new patchwork quilt, unentangled.

Now, I know splendor
As I sip the sweetness of earth’s wine!

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Passionate Past

Gerry and the Pacemakers arrive NYC, 1964

I wrote this poem back in 1981 after facing another incident of discrimination in my career as a fitness instructor. Though the episode itself was ugly, my attitude and beliefs turned it into an experience that opened a door of truth, a door that led me within, where I found peace and clarity about who I was then and who I am today.

Throughout my life, I have nurtured my ability to let go when my heart is hurting. I retreat to nature and turn inward, chanting the sacred syllable Om. I don’t do it every time, but when I do, I find peace of mind, body, and soul much quicker.

Om is a sound. Its history goes back thousands of years. It’s the sound of peace and the harmonious universe.

I chant Om to find my center. Wherever I may be, I find a place outside, in nature, to relax and absorb the surrounding presence of the trees, the ocean, the mountains, and the quietude of my acceptance.

That is what I did on that day.

I closed my eyes and breathed to quiet my beating heart, saying Om. When I did this, I became one with myself. Clarity came, and I found the ability to relax into my feelings. I found peace within. I became open and willing to see all parts of myself, both the good and the bad.

As I looked deeper, I let go of the critical parts of myself and accepted my good as well as what was happening at that moment. Instantly, my life changed. I freed myself from attachment. I learned to let go without resistance.

As a result, on that day, I received the gift of clarity. I saw clearly the difference between the dark feelings I had and the light within myself. Trusting myself, I walked through my fears and became fearless. The natural agent within stimulated my sense of sight and made things visible to me, like darkness contrasted with light.

I could see. I saw the positive experiences in my life. From my childhood, I saw the music, the dance, my family, and the simple things that brought me happiness, such as blowing bubbles or playing hopscotch with my girlfriend, taking dance lessons, and listening to music I also saw the negative ones, like falling and breaking my tooth in the middle of the street. And I accepted them all.

But, especially I saw the mama I was blessed with. She talked and reasoned with me. She gave me hope in ways I never suspected would bring me strength in the future when the hard times came. Encouraging me to hold my head high and not be afraid of the dark, she sang “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” Thanks to her, I learned to dance in the rain.

Thank you for following my blog. After you read this poem, please take a moment to listen to “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” as performed by Gerry and the Pacemakers. And hold your head up high. If I can do it, you can do it, too.

Passionate Past

I remember the days
Not long passed,
The days gone bye
Of my passionate past

When life was
Pleasing, simple,
And free,
And my dreams
Shimmered or faded
With every
Hope I had.

Each dream that I dared,
Every star I wished upon,
Became an enduring light
And kept on keeping on.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Paralyzed Little Girl

Photo of mirror shaped to fit in a wavy red frame

Pink ‘Penelope Pitstop’ mirror by designer Flavia Brilli, seen here in chill out room, Ministry of Sound Nightclub, London.

In 1981, after years of envisioning images and thinking deeply about myself, I wrote this poem. In my late twenties, I was coming of age as I recognized things about myself—about my disabilities—and about what my life would continue to be.

It hurt really badly. Was I ever going to be any different? Would my hand clutch the world like this forever?

I kept asking why? Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this body of mine?

This was like seeing a full-length picture of myself, a graphical representation of who I was as a person, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I stared—I studied myself. This was what I looked like. I told myself, “This is who I am—accept it. Love yourself as you are.”

This was the image I saw when I looked at myself.

That image was captured in my memory. Recorded. Imprinted for life. How deeply it took possession in my mind.

I was crushed by what I saw every time. I didn’t move. I was stationary. All I could do was stand there, and learn that I had to embrace myself and accept myself unconditionally.

Paralyzed Little Girl

Seven-year-old little girl,
Paralyzed with cerebral palsy,
Smiling even though
She silently stands alone,

Quietly thinking distant thoughts,
Waiting for an unspoken word
To reveal her shrouded light.

She gazes into the starry
Canopy once more, and solemnly sighs.

I cannot gallop the green fields like others,
Or ride a colorful merry-go-round.

Am I motionless?
Why me?
When I want to touch
The world of delight!

Instead, I
Will clutch
The universe
With my paralyzed left side!

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Palette of Reds

User-uploaded image: 320px-Exposition_Park_Rose_Garden_Exposition_Blvd._at_Vermont_Ave._University_Park_15.jpg

In the spring of 1997, I went with my husband Chris to the Exposition Park Rose Garden, behind the Los Angels County Museum of Natural History, with a friend of ours.

Silently, we stood, observing the rows of roses, inhaling their scent, and absorbing their delicate beauty.

As in all of my life, I listened to my heart and did not touch them. I respected their boundaries and knew there would be other blooms to come.

Oh, though, how I enjoyed them!

Palette of Reds

As I walked through the peaceful pathway,
I spotted a fragrant flower garden.

Oh, how sweet the fresh scent
That filled the fields beyond my senses.

I wanted to reach out.
I wanted to touch the roses’ palette of reds
But I remembered, upon touching them,
Their sharp, thorny stems.

I recalled
The petals of the past
And
The new blooms
Yet to come.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Palate of Purity

It was now one year later, 1987. A Friday night in November. I had graduated college and accepted a freelance job teaching chair aerobics at the Beverly Hills YMCA.

Yes, you might ask. How can a person with one arm teach aerobics? Well, I did.

Initially, I taught adults with Parkinson’s, but then I was asked to teach another class—a 4:30 in the morning class for middle-aged and older adults.

Me. Right? Who would have thought?

So I taught with my smile and my light. Through music, laughter and sheer joy, I taught them to love themselves through exercise. Just as Al Gilbert helped me, I wanted to help others shine and forget everything else while engaged in physical activity. To share my happiness with them, to be that example and light, and to show them it could be done, that anyone could have fun and enjoy themselves through laughter and movement, no matter what their disabilities—this was my goal. I wanted to illustrate what exercise could do for anyone with or without a physical disability.

What does this have to do with the poem? Everything.

After coming home from the 4:30 class that morning, I straightened up my home and got in several hours of writing on one of the poems in this book. For me, writing had become a part of my life. It was something I did on a regular basis, because I not only loved it then and love it now, but I recalled how, as a young woman of eighteen, I couldn’t even write a letter by myself.

When that evening came, I was eager to do more than just sit around. Besides, it was a weekend night, and I was ready to dance the night away.

I was so full of energy and enthusiasm that I primped and fussed over myself. I got all dolled up with my hair, my makeup, and my lipstick just right. I twirled around the floor, looking into the full-length mirror, seeing this young woman ready to dance. Me!

With my outfit on point, I was ready to walk out the door and drive the thirty miles round trip to the square dance at the TRW building in El Segundo, where they built satellites. I double checked myself in the mirror by the front door and dazzled myself with my smile.

I walked out the front door, down the stairs, opened the car door, and off I drove.

Thirty minutes later, I arrived. I parked my car and headed towards the hall where the square dance queueing would start.

After two rounds of dancing, a man came up to me. He was very good looking, with sandy blond hair. He asked me to dance. I accepted. He was so nice that, to the end of the night, I danced every dance with him. We talked and exchanged telephone numbers as he do-si-doed me to my car.

I not only wrote this poem about my feelings for him, but we have been married for 37 years.

PALATE of PURITY

For years, I’ve lived with hopes and dreams
Wishes and wants
An inspiring word
A response or
A gentle smile from some divine soul
Sent from above.

A day,
A week,
A year,
Twenty have passed,
But I always knew
In my heart that there would be a kindred spirit,
A soul in tune
With mine!

Then one day
I heard a sweet melodic sound,
A constellation crossing
In the midst of my path,

Weightlessness
Which took me by surprise
Engraving a mark
Indelibly on my life.

We knew from the first,
We felt it deep within
Which washed our palate,
With a purity and reprise
Resilient
Elastic
And Buoyant from all woes

Now, nothing can touch us
Nothing at all
Not a care in the world
Can come between us
Nothing but you and me
To climb the staircase way on high.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Reflections of My Heart: Reflections in a Waterfall

Reflections in a Waterfall

Reflections of My Heart: Presence Where I Stand

Presence Where I Stand

Reflections of My Heart: Precious Moments

Precious Moments

Reflections of My Heart: Poets Yet to Come

Reflections of My Heart: Playful Bird

Reflections of My Heart: Patchwork Quilt

Reflections of My Heart: Passionate Past

Reflections of My Heart: Paralyzed Little Girl

Reflections of My Heart: Palette of Reds

Reflections of My Heart: Palate of Purity

Inspiration and Hope for People with Cerebral Palsy and Learning Disabilities

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