A Letter For Dad

A Letter to Dad,

Today’s a day for thinking, reflecting. When I remember all the times you were there, for me. Deep down inside I knew I wanted to have you be proud of me. I looked for you every day, looking up to you. I did what I was told when I was a child so long ago. Silent, I kept the special me inside. I looked to you for the paths I would take when I was growing strong. For the guidance I would need when the world would fail me. When the world was full of such dangerous creatures in the night I was in fear those days. A word or two from you was all I ever wanted.

I think back, far back, when you were young. I was so tiny against your world. Thinking back it was the day you took me to the park that stays with me every day. That day I remember thinking, “Look here’s my Dad. He’ll take good care of me.” I watched as I put my small fingers out to feed the ducks. Thinking, I must remember this day. I was daddy’s little girl that day, I was three. Bright and shinny my face was, as you held me close to you.

You gave me hope that day. And I took it with me every day as the world grew too large for me. I looked to the books on the wall the gift you gave us all. And dreamt of worlds I would conquer. Places I would go, and I was there, trapped in the pages. I knew then I would write. Finding the words was not so easy though. Time passes to quickly and now the words have all faded from view. But today the words are mine. And deep inside there are the stories I write.

So here is my gift in return. Thanks for giving me a path, a world of books, and the words, to find my way. Although our paths have never been the same, the words I write today would have the meaning of thought and love behind them. I have a great deal of respect for you, and all you could give. I’m so glad these days to spend my time with you, in your world and mine. Although the days are short, and time moves to quickly I still remember all the days you were there in my life. Greater still to be left with the knowledge you sought to share. It is your love that is in my world. And your words are in my heart! I’m proud of you dad! I’m looking forward to the days to remember, tomorrow. Happy Fathers Day,

Being A Woman

When I think about being a woman, it is that we are brave, proud, and we endure. It is the never ending task of sharing. We share our families, our lives, and ourselves. To each day we bring to life the light a in our eyes. With daily tasks we work unceasingly. Never complain. Never tire. Never question. And in the end of the day, when the family is put to bed, we stay vigilant over their bedside. We are the guardians of the spirit. We are the caretakers of our children. We are the ladies, who share our thoughts with our beloved. We are the women, who look into our parents eyes.

But who defines us. Who are we without those who keep our spirits lifted? We are one, sisters all, we are only the moms, wives, and daughters. Our demeanor is quite and mild, shy and soft. We do our best to be the most important lady of the day. All we ask is that your smile belongs to us. Your kindness leads us with tender care through the day. To describe ourselves we take all things to heart. So all we ask is to be by our side, loving us all the while.

We define who we are, by believing in our selves. It is the path we take. It is the less traveled path, but it has made all the difference. I wouldn’t have had it any other way... The trials and tribulations, life’s not easy. But we endure... Believe that we are unique in the world. Bright as a summer day, light as a rainbow. Shine stay bright! Stand now at the horizon and see yourself! Believe in who you are!

Finding My Muse

I suppose music is great. Even just to listen. But for me. I would find it to tempting to remember a verse from a song and write it into my piece. I do love to listen to music... preferably the Blues. Sometimes I may use the flavor of an old forgotten melody to post a phrase that would be noted to that memory. When I write however I like peace and quite.
To find my muse, before I write a word, a thought comes to me. Perhaps while driving, or looking at the horizon in the early morning. One word roams in my head. Then I take it to a place with a sentence. Sometimes that sentence, a subject will mull on me for weeks. Like a nag. I have to find a place for it to spill. Sometimes they are lost. But when I get to writing them down there they are. I have to have complete silence. Sometimes TV is ok. But to get interrupted is the worst. I rant and rave, in fear I will break the chain. Getting up in the middle of work. I will lose the scene of the word. Trying to find it again never seems the same. Still I make it through even with the constant irruptions. I’d write way into the wee hours of night or dusky morn. There I’d be tapping away at my Computer. Writing pen to paper. Well I never go there except to jot down a note or two for remembering that poem.
First thing is that I write for me. Something I know and love to take about.
Second I put it aside. Rewrite it.
Then read it as a third party looking into it as if the first time.
And ask myself. Does this piece mean anything to me? Or send a message to the reader?
Will the poem pass the test of time? Time meaning will all the clues to the puzzle still solve the answer in the end.
Then! Write again for you the reader. Who would be first to see a fresh page waiting to be read.
I hope that makes some sense. Find the muse. Write from the heart. Then Write again.