Posted in Life Musings, poetry

Tea Party

I wrote this poem during my high school days when I was in my third depression, and when I found what an incredible healing tool writing could be. The 14th stanza (I’ve put it in bold.) has become a mantra for me when life splits at the seams.

(Woab! I just had a metacognition flash typing that paragraph: The act of finding something beautiful in a terrible time reflects the poem’s message itself. I found writing in my depression. [Oh, the isometric beauty!])

Continue reading “Tea Party”
Posted in Motherhood, poetry

CaucAsian

Sometimes you are American.

Sometimes you are Japanese.

Sometimes you are somewhere in between.

And whether you are yellow, white, or a touch of cream,

You are just the way God wants you to be.

My children, you are not “half” for you are lacking nothing. You are double.

Posted in ELA, Motherhood

Homophone Horrors

The butterfly pea flower makes a lovely purplish-blue drink which turns pink if citrus is added.

Butterfly pea

Makes an excellent tea,

Unless you are three.

Then butterfly pee

Sounds rather nasty,

And will make you scream,

“No, no, mommy!”

There is hardly a taste to the tea. The color is what makes it fun. I think it would be fun to make natural “rainbow lemonades.”

What is a homophone that lead to a mishappeing to your life?

Posted in Uncategorized

My Son Who

This poem is inspired and modeled after the poem Abuelito Who by Sandra Cineros.
https://mrsbraman.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/sandra-cisneros.pdf

My son who is Japanese
My son who is American
Who is both and neither, because he is himself
Mommy`s treasure whose hair is rabbit-silk
Whose uncle nicknamed him Tater and it stuck, so now he’s my little Tater Tot and Potato too
Whose laugh is bright and sparkles
Who has his daddy’s oriental eyes and surprisingly mommy’s occidental coloring
Seeing me in the doorway, clambers over, mouth wide in endearing honest elation
And whines until I pick him up because his gums hurt
Who has one tooth
Who steals my sleep but gives me the drive to get up again and again and yet again
Who is the reason I work and the reason I want to be home
Who’s my shadow and whose snow-tread-crunch like diaper is my soundtrack
Talks with “Ba`s” and “Woo who uh`s,” but communicates with his eyes
My son who was in my body
Who will be in my arms tonight,
Is often on my mind
And always in my heart
My son who is loved