Magazine Posts

The heart that beats within my chest
Keeps on beating, no matter the test,
As the love I've known for many a year,
Slowly, oh so slowly, begins to disappear.
My love for her is strong.
Her love for me is not,
As her memory can no longer
Recall. I know my life is wrought,
With this terrible loss of love,
No matter the indifference from above.

International Women's Day (March 8) has been observed since 1909 . The first IWD gathering in 1911 was supported by over a million people in Austria, Denmark, Germany and Switzerland. It is a global day celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women. Today, IWD belongs to all groups collectively everywhere.

Photo credit: Mike Eliason, public information officer for the Santa Barbara County Fire Department,

Who am I to say
On this very grey day,
About the lives of another.
I am sure I can opine,
Point of views to you,
About your loss in life,
As both a wife and a mother.

The Rhododendron leaves are curled tight
To prevent damage, from Frost's bite.
The plant, shrunken from the cold,
Has an ugliness, in my sight
Not the beauty that I did behold.
Warmer weather is what we need,
With some rain and more plant feed.

I love these days of Sun
When plants emerge from the earth.
Pushing through the cold, cold ground,
Like birthing life with no noise.
Soon the season of our Spring
Will be here. Filled with growth
Of beautiful Perennials and of bulbs.
Sounds of birds, seeking food to eat.
The appearances of Bees, flitting there
At the flowered plants, a variety
Of colors, both reds and yellows.
What a feast for eyes it will be
Bringing the tranquility of natures love.
When neighbors pass and compliment
I feel good about the work
Of keeping up our floral display.

Oh the love I have for you,
Is more than I can ever say,
As I watch you slowly slip away.
While your body, has much ache and pain,
The person you are, does still remain.
One I've loved over all the years
And the beautiful face of yours, appears
The same as the one that started
My love for you. Now I am broken hearted.

There is no sound of broken glass,
Nor the sound of a branch broken,
That the heart makes, in a morass
Of painful angst, with no word spoken.
For my love remains here for thee
While you, my love, no longer remember me.