[My Daughter, Dream...]

I held you to my heart
And called to you.
In night as your name,...
and the misting in your eyes,
my daughter,
caressed my already
tear-stained face.

You smelled so sweetly innocent,
As you kicked playfully on my lap.
You asked me,
when can i come home?
in a voice only we shared.

With my mother serene beside me,
Glowing with your presence, you radiated
your hope
to our eager, aching souls.

I placed a trust of energy
in your soft, reaching hands.
Your tiny palm so fragile,
nestled within my weathered own.
I vowed with my whole being,
to forever protect our bond.

And I held you to me,
as your radiating face
smiled. And you -
my little precious gift,
sent healing coursing
in me, tiny waves of
peals of your
Iridescent laugh.

I placed you in a bed of feathers,
and watched as
you drifted towards your dream,
knocking softly on
welcoming portal doors.
My hands,
for your protection,
my heart for your
heart, always.

This morning, as my eyes
creased open to greet
this waking sun,
My mind felt your presence,
awake within my being.

And yet,
My heart so crumbled
When I knew that
in this glowing morning,
I could hold you to me,
No more.

See More

Looking at my poetry for a new submission.... #diggingthroughdarkness

[Another November]

The stars cower in shame.
They cover themselves -
lest the wind strip them bare....
I stare into their blackened eyes,
as I would at the wall,
when my body knew violence.

In the distance -
car alarms howling.
They are the silent screams
of another night disturbed.

I hear them in my bones,
the memories of that November.
Yet here they lay with me tonight,
pounding me with their fists full of lies.

In lotus position,
I stare at my feet.
I cry in meditation and
beg myself for forgiveness.

My body replies,
With spasms from my head to my fingers.
My nerves have become
a lightning storm of confusion.

Every November,
I count sleepless nights.
I remember the ones
where I could do nothing right.

And where is she now?
God only knows -
but in my body she lives,
as every year the nightmares,
once again,

I live in the flashbacks,
and in the fear that my shame
will be discovered.
How can I tell you why
I'm afraid of your touch?

It's not yours.
It's her nails that I feel -
they cut me through my own hand.
Your kindness is stolen from me
by the monsters in my memory.
Yet even today,
my bruises are real.

When will I know
that I've finally grown stronger?
Perhaps when my heart,
in November,
is in anguish no longer.

See More
Yali Szulanski - Writing added a new photo.
Image may contain: text and nature
Every year at this time, I - along with many others of Jewish spirituality - find ourselves contemplating the notion of forgiveness. According to the Jewish year and tradition, Yom Kippur, which is upon us tonight, is a time of reflection - it is the time where we are to make amends for any wrongs w
Nuances of Normal

When you looked at me,
I saw our emptiness.
In my dream-less sleep,
I pulled -
at the knife in my heart.


A face like yours -
a mirror for the lines on mine.
hands held together,
one cleans another -
twist me until I am barren.

I am filled -
ash ersatz as thoughts,
I watch the sun rise,
and my dreams fade.

You wring your hands,
and in them -
my soul.

And I say - NO.
If I don't dream,
worry grows as vines
on my innocence.

One more day -
and I don't choke
on what I feel.
My hands -
have not so aged.

In my dreams,
the tears that fall
are on faces,
that have never splashed -
with acid.

In my writing,
my caresses fall on arms,
that have never bled -
with shame.

In my voice,
my cadence dances on feet,
that have never run -
with terror.

In my life,
My hands hold a heart,
that has known pain,
but teaches,
with healing.


#ForToday #DreamOneMoreDay #KeepGoing

See More

"Words are the bricks with which we build a home for our spirit in our lives. The words that others say to us have the power to uplift us, just as they have the power to disarm us. Our emotions do not speak on their own, they rely on us to give them a voice through our words..."

No automatic alt text available.

Speaking in tones of twitching fingers -
My skin crackles in fires of broken shells.
I want to wash my soul of your tortured yolk.
Yoked to your anonymous beauty - addicted...
to your fear.

---I... but..I...
I have begged you to leave me be.

Will you dry your tears on my soaking
shirt-sleeves? Leaving you behind
tears a shard. Shrapnel falls as
I wonder where you are? Where
will you go?

---Who are you?
Your one and only voice,
has been my one and only noise.

Shapes take control of my inner universe.
I see the world in circles,
You are a triangle - You just don't

---I am sickened of this story.
All your talk - of forms and sizes:
has left me wanting,
a life of aiming to disappear.

I meant not -
A shapeless life of hated shapes -

---Every morning,
I hated waking up to you.
Your gift:
A life of hiding behind curtains,
shattering mirrors until my fingers bleed.

Long and fruitless -
has been the battle we have fought,
you must surrender.

----Wherefore then -
your noise against my pleas -
to just let me live ...
one more damn day?

Forgive yourself.

--- Why?
I have done nothing wrong. I have bared
before you: the scars on my arms.
I have fed you: the scars on my soul.
When, for help I pleaded:
You, silent. I, alone.

I forgive you for your fear. I
forgive you for your not knowing.

---And you? - Who are you, so to do?
You have been but
chains of chastising ...chew, chew, chew!

May I remove the spears through your feet?
I have impaled you -
I taught you to measure worth -
in pounds of flesh.

-- You,
have stolen from my life,
with your stories of unworthiness.
I work forevermore
to banish your hating words.

Forgive me.
I am sorry for having been so mean.


See More
Dearest,Speaking in tones of twitching fingers -My skin crackles in fires of broken shells.I want to wash my soul of your tortured yolk.Yoked to your anonymous beauty - addictedto your fear. ---I... but..I... I have begged you to leave me be.Dearest,Will you
Soul Bird Poetry
Brave?I don't know the meaning of the word.Even though it hangs on me, Like the last of morning dew.In every tear stained red,there swims a memory.For all that you been through-You must be so brave.Brave?I am not a hero.I am simply one of many -We have fought, year in and out.We know how to take ano
Soul Bird Poetry
Anchored voices quiver;the memories still rawof gurgling metaland a hush of grey snow.and...
Soul Bird Poetry

Some writing from last year - a blog I kept while tracking 9 months of recovery using Zumba Fitness, and Sacred Warrior Training. The page was unpublished for awhile, but I've decided to let the writing breathe again...

The Struggle is Okay's photo.
The Struggle is Okay

It was meant to be,
A quiet night in summer's end
Magic manifested in the moonlight.
A cloudy sky,
and bursts of rolling light.


From a single rooftop,
across the street.
there are notes of laughter,
So they tease us -
As they flitter through our open window.

A staccato drumroll,
and in the distance,
someone claps.

The music dances -
freely flying o'er these
mellowed New York City streets.

They don't know that
we can hear them too.

And here we lay.
In an acquiesced embrace.
Our stormy waters -
momentarily stilled.

Our hearts are beating -
together caressed.
We silently thank:
the harmony brought to us
by our neighbors' jazzy eve.


See More

The star you're reaching for -
it's not so far away -
it's not as big, not as scary -
it's not as impossible -
as your mind might say.


That star you're reaching for -
maybe you have to stretch a little -
maybe, on unsteady feet, you sway -
maybe, even on a darker night,
you can't see it anyway.

That star you're reaching for -
its light blazes through a thousand nights,
its warmth nurtures through a million tears,
its power burns and fills the world -
with your endless, boundless passion.

That star you're reaching for?
It's already inside you.
So lay your hand upon your heart -
and close your eyes -
let yourself truly see...

That star you're reaching for?
Keep reaching for it.
So you can share your light, too.


See More
Last night, I heard a woman share how she sees herself through recovery, and how she maintains her commitment despite life's challenges and adversity. She spoke for about 20minutes. I think she spoke of spiritual awakenings and creativity, and abstinence from harmful behavior. I say, "I think" becau
Nuances of Normal

My poems are how my soul flaps its

#100WritingDays #Day5 inspired by flying over New York City.[SHE]July 25, 2014Here she is -in all her glory.She's begging you;Look at me!Her heart beats-as thunder, shakes her soul.Each footprint left as a scar,is a shadow of her history.She pulls us in,we are jesters in her majesty.Her power is....…