Poem: The Secret

July 31, 2012

**I wrote this poem for my class back in 2003 when I was a junior in high school (age 16). I can see where this needs improving, but I’m leaving it as I originally wrote it for now.**

The Secret

In New York, there lives an old woman.
To the rest of the world, she is only known as Anne;
A reputable jewelry store owner.
She’s a widow and her past is a blur;
Her husband had died many years ago
But that is all anyone knows of Poe.
Over the years, Anne has bought two manors,
She’s highly educated with manners.
Anne runs her store with determination,
For the place is a big foundation,
And her vast knowledge of diamonds and pearls
Makes true the desires of all girls.

Her fascination with Prohibition,
Caused a secret hidden from suspicion.
At night, the store transforms into a bar,
Here drinks served to underage kids are.


Just shared a photo on my facebook page that read ‘Just Pray. Tell God all the things that bother you & cry it all to Him. He hears you and He cares.’ I’m not really into religious messages, but I thought this message what quite profound. It made me go in search of some good crying quotes.

These are a mixture of the best few that I found from here! They explain the nature and importance of shedding tears.


“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”  ―    Charles Dickens,    Great Expectations

“If you’ve never eaten while crying  you don t know what life tastes like.”  ―    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Crying is one of the highest devotional songs.  One who knows crying, knows spiritual practice.  If you can cry with a pure heart, nothing else compares to such a prayer.  Crying includes all the principles of Yoga.”  ―    Kripalvanandji

“He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.”  ―    James Joyce,    A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

“When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is to comfort them. But if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you do not notice them.”  ―    Lemony Snicket,    Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can’t Avoid

“Guys always think tears are a sign of weakness.  They’re a sign of FRUSTRATION. She’s only crying so she won’t cut your throat in your sleep.  So make nice and be grateful.”  ―    Donna Barr

“Don’t be ashamed to weep; ’tis right to grieve.  Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water.  But there must be sunlight also.  A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.”  ―    Brian Jacques,    Taggerung

“Life is like an onion; you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.”  ―    Carl Sandburg

Poem: Henna

February 5, 2012


Muddy moss
Blood orange
Maroon hues
Tamarind browns
These are the colors of

It goes on your hands and feet
It also goes on your hair and nails
It signals marriage, dance
Happiness, prosperity
These festive artful occasions of

Simple or intricate
Dark or mild
Symmetric or unique
Half full or half empty
These are all the wonders of

Poem: Greased Machines

February 3, 2012

Greased Machines

A rythme of heaving bodies
concentration and pure focus
deep breathing
shoes squeaking
track pants swishing
fluid staccato motions

Clank of weights in use
a collective goal
desire, wishes
clinging to the above
deafening sounds
of the base barely registering

A time and place where
movement and relaxation all play a part
this corporeal dance
with perseverance
results manifest
the cost…perspiration

Poem: Bliss

February 2, 2012


Stolen glances
The hint of a smile
Laughter every night
A familiar presence
A conversation ever ready
Fingers intertwined
Warm friends
Best friends
Life friends

**I wrote this poem during a creative writing workshop in 2004 when I was a senior in high school (age 17). N.B. I decided not to rectify my original error about Bergen-Belsen prisoners having identifier tattoos (only Auschwitz used this methodology)… This only goes to show there is much to learn as the years pass**

My Neighbor’s Secrets

What is there to do when there’s nothing to do?
When the crows are asleep and the crickets say ‘adieu’,
Except spy on your neighbor for fun!

She’s a cheerful aged lady, not feeling blue, but wearing blue,
Filled with content and happiness, especially when the sky turns a dazzling hue,
Except for the darkness that can be seen inside her from time to time.

What is this stranger that rules from inside her?
That torments and haunts her dreams, taking her under,
Except it is not a façade but her true self.

No one seems to know, what can be wrong?
But for you and me it will be no mystery for long,
For it has to do with a mark on the surface of her skin.

An imprint, much like one’s tattoos,
Made for her and the rest of the Jews,
For being alive, the punishment – a brand.

Such excruciating pain to endure and remember,
All for the sight of her left arm, of a number,
Except you haven’t heard her story yet!

When I was twelve, she told me her secrets,
Of her confined childhood in the ghettos of Poland,
Of being forced to wear the once-holy Star of David,
And of the forbidden rituals her family performed on Sabbath,
Behind closed doors and in the mist of the dark night.

She told me her secrets,
Of the daily game of Cat and Mouse, where she was the mouse,
Of the day she lost the race and was hurled into a hell known as Bergen-Belsen,
And of the uniformed, giant beasts who held her life in their hands,
Speaking the devil’s tongue and treating the respect-worthy no better than dirt.

She told me her secrets,
Of the rank smell of human flesh and ashes that filled the air,
Of how low her people had to stoop to survive,
And of hope that all of them carried with them everyday,
That they would be free of this torture and get justice one day.

She told me everything,
Leaving her mark bare and sharing her burden with me,
And so I tell you all my neighbor’s secrets,
So that one day her dream will come true – her dream of justice.

**This poem was written in 2004 during a creative writing workshop I attended as a high school senior (age 17)**

Through the Eyes of a Ghost

I THEY the way THEY I see,
A glimpse here, a glimpse there,
This unplanned moment is all I seek.

I don’t want favors, I don’t want advice,
I just seek the look of THEIR eyes,
In order to know that what I see is true.

These PEOPLE, all strangers to ME,
Seem no less than family,
Yet, I find THEM to be more like aliens.

Though the same shape,
Though the same looks,
THEY are worse off.

THEIR lives, flowers on a stem,
Are rudely interrupted,
By OUR feelings acting as thorns.

Don’t take ME wrong,
I might be curious,
But in no way would I like to be THEM.

For WE cannot intermix,
As I am fluid, smoothly making MY way,
While THEY are solid, stuck in THEIR ways.