Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me
The Carriage held but just Ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess in the ring
We passed the fields of gazing grain
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us
The dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my gown
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the GROUND
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice in the ground.

Since then 'tis centuries and yet
Feels shorter than the DAY
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.


by Emily Dickinson

Welcome to Holland

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this…



When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, the Michelangelo David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.



After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."



"Holland?!" you say. "What do you mean, Holland?" I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy.



But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.



The important thing is that they haven't taken you to some horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.



So you must go out and buy a new guidebook. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.



It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.



But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."



The pain of that will never, ever, go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss.



But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.

Written by Emily Perl Kingsley


To read more beautiful and heartwarming autism poems click here.

The mountains are calling, and I must go.

a poem for the broken hearted.

This is a poem for the broken hearted.

For the abandon.

For heavy eyelids,

and led boots.

This is a poem for those who wonder

if they'll ever be able to shake the thought of their ex-lover.

But pray they never do.

This is a poem for those who's hearts have been broken so much,

that it only pumps sawdust into your veins.

For the constantly hazy eyed,

constantly drunk,

constantly stomach punched

constantly hurt.

Constantly changing the songs on your ipod

because every single one reminds you of her.

Because she has branded a hole the shape of herself into your soul.

Left you so fucking broken,

even God looks at you and shrugs his shoulders.

Somedays, you will wish your snooze button was a noose.

Somedays, you the only thought more unbearable

than the ones about her,

are the ones where your mother is watching your bloody shirt

tumble in the dryer.

And somedays, youre worried even that thought won't keep you alive.

But listen,

you are not a human sacrifice.

I am not a human sacrifice.

I will no longer bleed in your name.

I will no longer drive past your fucking house,

and I will no longer look for you every time I go to a coffee shop.

And I will no longer look at red ford focuses

hoping you're behind the steering wheel.

You're never behind the steering wheel.

I will no longer cry after I have an orgasm.

I will no longer imagine that the girls I fuck are you.

I will no longer fuck girls.

See, I'm 24 years old and I still think love

is in the front drawer of a one night stand.

Every morning for me is empty,

dwelling in a place where the sun never rises.

Because some days, I still think you were the one who put the sun there

in the first place.

This is a poem for the broken hearted.

I know that time is your friend now,

and it seems like she even broke the hands on your clock,

but the crow bar she jambed up underneath your ribcage,

will rattle loose again.

And that shit hurts even when it's coming back out.

And every time someone says to me “it gets better”

I kinda want to punch them in the throat,

but it gets better.

Eventually,

after a while.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

by Erica

http://ericaisabird.blogspot.com/2013/08/a-poem-for-broken-hearted.html

“There Is No Word for Goodbye”

Sokoya, I said, looking through

the net of wrinkles into

wise black pools

of her eyes.

What do you say in Athabascan

when you leave each other?

What is the word

for goodbye?

A shade of feeling rippled  

the wind-tanned skin.

Ah, nothing, she said,

watching the river flash.

She looked at me close.

We just say, Tlaa. That means,

See you.

We never leave each other.

When does your mouth

say goodbye to your heart?

She touched me light

as a bluebell.

You forget when you leave us;

you're so small then.

We don't use that word.

We always think you're coming back, I

but if you don't,

we'll see you some place else.

You understand.

There is no word for goodbye.

Sokoya: Aunt (mother's sister)

Tlaa: See you 


 From Mary TallMountain’s volume of poems The Light on the Wall. 

Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1990.

I Can’t Remember

I can’t remember
skipping rocks on the beach
My childhoods forgotten
My childhoods lost.

Going to the doctor
Making mud cakes
Playing with friends in the street.

I can’t remember
All the bereavement
My childhoods forgotten
My childhoods lost.

The doctor doing surgery
Me getting pain pills
I can’t remember any of it
None of it’s clear.

I still can’t remember,
How it’s gone
My childhoods forgotten
My childhoods lost.


by Jamesha Willis

Sugar Baby

Sugar baby

plaything for daddy

showers her in money

she’s his honey

Fulfills her lifestyle

widens his smile

hugs and kisses

never his mrs.

he’s paying her college fees

she’s often on her knees

has a child to feed

gives her what she needs

Is it prostitution?

or business transaction

Is either getting hurt

is it all just sport

Sugar is nice

to life adds spice

but too much can be bad for you

I hope their actions they don’t rue


by Susan O'Reilly

http://hellopoetry.com/-susan-oreilly/

Jail

Sitting in my cell
thinking
what the hell is wrong with me
I'm going down
for prostitution
and don't know what to do next
waiting
to see what the judge
has in store for me
I am scared
to death
I let a pimp abuse me
and let him walk free

damn

I wish I could go back in time
scared to look my mom in the eye
scared to become judged
by everyone I know

How am I just going to let this ride off me?
So now
sitting where I started
all because I'm too scared
to talk about what's going on with me.

In my cell
everyday, thinking
why
I let him walk free

Now I am doing a 6 month bid
for someone who doesn't even care
where I am

I'm in jail
In my cell
aching from the pain
of jail.

by Paulette Essie

A WARRIOR IN CHAINS

WHEN

A WARRIOR'S

SPIRIT IS WHOLE AND STRONG

HE IS NOT AFRAID TO DIE

IT'S OF NO AVAIL

TO THREATEN A WARRIOR WITH DEATH

FOR DEATH HAS LITTLE MEANING

TO LIVE

A WARRIOR NEEDS

FREEDOM

FOR IT IS THE INDIAN WAY

TO ENDURE

A WARRIOR NEEDS

THE RIGHT

TO FREEDOM OF THOUGHT

A WARRIOR TAKES

CONSOLE IN THE

SACRED PIPE

FOR IT IS HIS RELIGION

LIKE A DIEING POOL

OF WATER

A WARRIOR BECOMES STAGNANT

WITHOUT FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION

FOR IT IS

THE

INDIAN WAY

A WARRIOR PERISHES SILENTLY

ALONE

FOR HIS PEOPLE CANNOT

HEAR HIS WORDS

WITHOUT THE FREEDOM

OF COMMUNICATION

IN PRISON THERE ARE

FEW

HUMAN RIGHTS

MY BED HAS BEEN A CONCRETE

FLOOR

MY BLANKET HAS BEEN MY

OWN BLOOD

I SURVIVE

WHILE THOSE THAT

ABUSE ME ARE

HONORED

BUT I AM NOURISHED BY

THE GREAT SPIRIT

EVER TRUE AND UNWAVERING

I DO NOT FEEL LOST

I AM NOT ALONE AND WEAK

MY PRINCIPLES REMAIN

STEADFAST

MY BELIEFS REMAIN THE

INDIAN WAY

by Bobby Garcia

The Bandit

Upon his way to rob a Bank
He paused to watch a fire;
Though crowds were pressing rank on rank
He pushed a passage nigher;
Then sudden heard, piercing and wild,
The screaming of a child.
A Public Enemy was he,
A hater of the law;
He looked around for bravery
But only fear he saw;
Then to the craven crowds amaze
He plunged into the blaze.
How anguished was the waiting spell
Of horror and of pain!
Then--then from out that fiery hell
He staggered forth again:
The babe was safe, in blankets wrapt,
The man flame lapt.
His record was an evil one,
Of violence and sin.
No good on earth he'd ever done,
Yet--may he Heaven win!
A gangster he . . . Is it not odd?
--With guts of God.

by Robert William Service

Far Away In The Near Distance

Far away in the near distance.
Stands a dream with no signs of resistance.
This dream exists in each and every one of us.
Yet we look back and forth.
Truly trying to understand.
Who is this weird man.
Talking of dreams and man.
I speak of happiness and peace.
If we all could understand.
We kill one another.
Then ask the question why we struggle.
If life is given.
Why not give it a chance.
Love and forgiveness a dream we all can agree.
Is something you and me can see.
Far away in the near distance.

by Edward Morales

Seven Great Love Letters

1. Ernest Hemingway to Marlene Dietrich

"I can't say how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home."


 2. Napoleon to Josephine 

 "Since I left you, I have been constantly depressed. My happiness is to be near you. Incessantly I live over in my memory your caresses, your tears, your affectionate solicitude. The charms of the incomparable Josephine kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart. When, free from all solicitude, all harassing care, shall I be able to pass all my time with you, having only to love you, and to think only of the happiness of so saying, and of proving it to you?"


3. Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera

"Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning. The dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. my fingers touch your blood. All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours."


4. Georgia O'Keefe to Alfred Stieglitz  

"Dearest - my body is simply crazy with wanting you - If you don't come tomorrow - I don't see how I can wait for you - I wonder if your body wants mine the way mine wants yours - the kisses - the hotness - the wetness - all melting together - the being held so tight that it hurts - the strangle and the struggle." 


5. Beethoven to his 'Immortal Beloved' 

"Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, Be calm-love me-today-yesterday-what tearful longings for you-you-you-my life-my all-farewell. Oh continue to love me-never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved. Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours." 


6. Oscar Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas  

"Everyone is furious with me for going back to you, but they don't understand us. I feel that it is only with you that I can do anything at all. Do remake my ruined life for me, and then our friendship and love will have a different meaning to the world. I wish that when we met at Rouen we had not parted at all. There are such wide abysses now of space and land between us. But we love each other." 


7. Henry VII to Anne Boleyn  

"But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give up yourself body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant, (if your rigour does not forbid me) I promise you that not only the name shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my only mistress, casting off all others besides you out of my thoughts and affections, and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire answer to this my rude letter, that I may know on what and how far I may depend. And if it does not please you to answer me in writing, appoint some place where I may have it by word of mouth, and I will go thither with all my heart. No more, for fear of tiring you." 

You Have A History

You were only six
But your eyes seemed hundreds of years older
And when you asked me if the lines on your palm told your future
I couldn't help but laugh
Because, babe, you had it backwards.

The curvy one growing up from your wrist is the stem
You were once a flower
And the zigzag striking across your palm is the path
You were lightning
The squiggly one that dances from the base of your thumb to the pinky
Isn't it beautiful to know how to fly?

Remember you were a bird
And the ebbing lines running across it all
Waves, you were the most wonderful sea
The ones slowly sliding down from your first finger
Paint.

You were god's masterpiece
Then, finally the short, straight, horizontal
Lines rushing all too quickly across your fingers
Oh, isn't it obvious?

Human.

What I Have Lost

I lost my mother to a gun
Ever since then I’ve been on the run


On Mother’s Day I cannot phone
She’s not here I’m all alone


After she was killed I heard her voice
She said, “I’m sorry I left, but I had no choice.”


The man who killed her never did time
It never cost him one thin dime



by Betty Phillips

Cynthia Leigh Waters

Child

Yearns

Never-never Land

Touches

Hurt

Instant Love

All Mine

Loving and Lovable

Emotional

Intricate

God’s Child

Hard Life

Wondrous

Admirable

Trusting

Eclectic

Romantic

Sunny

You were my joy and my life,

My everything, my all

You were an answer to prayer

I loved you so much

I had to give you away

You weren’t a toy

I would have broken you

You were my sunshine

After you were gone

I lived in perpetual darkness.

I became an underground animal

Never seeking the sun

You are my sun

by Betty Phillips

What I Have Lost

I know through the years

There were good times and bad

Unfortunately what hurts

I remember the bad

I’ve disappointed you

In so many ways

The drinking, the drugging

Almost forgetting your special day

I know you’ve lost trust

Today is a new day

I’m sobering up

While missing you the same

The days are getting better

I’m recalling the good days

I know that this year

I’ll remember your special day

by Jill Smith

Paw Prints from Heaven

Though you can't see me, I am always around...
Though you can't hear me, I am speaking to you...
Though you can't touch me, I am reaching for you...
The images you see, but cannot explain...
The energy you feel, but cannot see...
The love that you feel, when thinking of me...
My presence you feel, when walking outside...
My hugs remembered, never let go...
My heart that I gave you, that you now wear...
The things you are seeing, that no one can explain...
And the things that you hear, with no one around...
These gifts that I give you, are my Paw Prints from Heaven.

- Romeo

Grieving a Soulmate: The Love Story Behind "Till Death Do Us Part"

"Grieving a Soulmate" is unlike any book you've ever read, even though the story is universal. It's about the death of a lover. This book takes on a difficult and very personal topic with courage, out-of-the-box thinking, and deep love. Ranging from the practical to the emotional - and frequently blending the two - Orfali's style of writing makes a difficult topic easier to manage. He writes in an easy style that is analytical, yet speaks from the heart. The content is thought-provoking, unique and original. It's your gentle and informed guide to the deep grieving that accompanies the death of a soulmate.

This book should help you quickly overcome the red-hot pain of grief. It also tells you how to reconstruct your life, find meaning, and deal with the big existential issues from a secular perspective. It's a survival guide for the last stages in a soulmate relationship. Above all, however, "Grieving a Soulmate" is a love story.

"Grieving a Soulmate" by Robert Orfali is available in paperback and e-book from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, and others.

ISBN-13: 978-1936400669
Paperback list price: $14.95
E-book list price: $ 6.99
Book's website: GrievingaSoulmate

Bio: Robert Orfali and his soulmate of thirty years, Jeri, were both in the computer software field in the early days of Silicon Valley. They co-authored three best-selling software books and went together on several world tours to promote their technology. Jeri was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, in 1999, shortly after they moved to Hawaii. Jeri and Robert spent the next 10 years fighting Jeri's cancer and learning how to live with it. Jeri even learned how to surf during her chemo years. She went from "Silicon Valley Executive Woman of the Year" to "Waikiki Surfer Chick." Jeri received one of the most moving surfer funerals ever. Her ashes are in the ocean at Waikiki.

Trailer by Vickie of VickiesBusinessServicesdotcom

Songbird

High above in the trees.
Nestled among the leaves.
The songbird sings.
Her voice is heard on the breeze.
Sweet melodies floating across the seas.
The songbird sings of love, joy, and sweet romance.
A forever lover’s slow dance.
Whether at night or break of dawn.
Like a fairy with a magic wand.
Her voice can be heard across the skies.
This songbird so fair.
Touching the hearts and souls of lovers everywhere.

by Lamar Cole.

Hope

Hoping for peace on Earth;
Wishing upon shooting stars;
Taking chances to make things right;
Helping others, and listening well;
Making problems disappear;
Giving heart in all we do;
To give love, and never take;
Will give us hope; and one day peace.

by Abegail Samson

Feather of the Heart

I take a feather from my heart and I want you to take it with you

Then I will know forever more that you will always carry my love, 

deep inside your heart 

May this feather of my heart always illuminate and help you to rise 

I pray that on the wings of our love our hearts will be guided, 

so that our spirits are one 

When we are apart, I will try to be strong 

When I wish to see your face, I close my eyes, and you appear 

I hear the words you speak and placed inside my heart; 

That my heart will be the greatest feather you could ever earn. 

My heart is in gentle touch of your hands, like a feather; 

as you speak, you call me your loving heart 

I am anxious for us to be together once again, my great love 

I will comfort your heart by placing my hand over it 

For it is within your heart that I will always call home 

I take a feather from my heart and I want you to take it with you 

By taking this feather from my heart, 

our spirits will never be apart, 

for I will always be with you 

For all eternity. 

 by Rollo West