Poetry Sunday: Spring’s Song

Spring’s Song

 

Light flickers at the edge of my sight

And rouses me from sleep and the dark of night.

 

 

Breaking before the warmth of a fine spring day

With fire in the sky riding the sun’s drowsy rays.

 

 

Only whispers of a cooling breeze tickling the dew

Finding open windows to gently waft through.

 

 

The birds lullaby adds to my tranquil repose

As I open my eyes and wake from this languid doze.

 

 

And sweet honey scents drift through my dreams

Waking the shadows with dancing, dappled sun beams.

 

 

©Donna Donabella 2018

 


I wrote this poem as I thought about those first true warm spring days where the light, and sounds and scents all change and add such an excitement.  And I am dreaming of those spring days now and that light, and the sounds and especially the scents.  All are gone in winter….replaced by a different canopy.

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.


I leave you with a few additional words about the Spring’s Song.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2018.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday: Our Lost Stories

 

Our Lost Stories

 

Our stories lost between the pages of time

Whispers no longer heard

Dates on gravestones never seen.

 

 

Who were these souls

Their names forgotten?

Who is remembering their sacrifices,

Their tears, their joys, that brought us here?

 

 

Their legacy is ours

Whispered from one generation to the next

Forever on the wind as the dust stirs

Part of each cell and fiber-

A family found again; our heritage.

 

©Donna Donabella 2018

 

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I found this poem that I wrote a few years ago, in an old journal.  It may have come about when I was trying to work out some of my family’s ancestry.  I thought it would a great poem in honor of my my father’s family on this Father’s Day here in the U.S.

The top picture is of my father’s family in the early 1930s.  He is pictured lower right and my Irish grandmother, Margaret, behind him.  The other’s are my aunt (grandmother’s sister Esther), uncle (Fred, Esther’s husband) and cousins (Esther and Fred’s children, Myrtle and Fred).  The bottom picture is from around 1901 and is my grandmother’s baby picture.  We are discovering many old pictures of family we do not know or cannot recognize as the only one left now is my mother who has the accumulated history of her family and my father’s.  It is sad to have lost these family stories with each relative who is gone now.

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.

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I leave you with a few additional words about Lost Stories.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2018.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday: The Wild Child

The Wild Child

 

A wild, playful child alone in her world

A digger of the earth joined in its holy sepulcher,

In solitude she finds her truth

Becomes her most vulnerable self

Belongs not to the world, but of it

Not to anyone but herself alone.

 

 

She will not sacrifice who she is.

She is everyone, everything, and no one.

She is surefooted now on her personal quest.

Believing in her most precious self.

For she lives her truth-

 

 

Willful, dogged, persistent in her accountability

Integrity flows abundantly, courageously

Loving kindness kindled and generously shared

Delivers on her word and deed knowing limitations

 

This wild child was born a thousand times and lives now, again, and will forever.

 

©Donna Donabella 2018

 

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 As I was contemplating recent readings, the term Wild Child came up and this poem poured forth.  It is autobiographical, and it is a song to all of us who are working on our inner selves.  I offer it to all who are called or feel like a ‘wild child’ as I move into my 61st year.

 

And yes those pictures are of me when I was about 8 or 9 years old.  Both pictures hold very fond memories, as I loved to swim, and go fishing.  That was the first big fish I caught, a lake perch.

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.

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I leave you with a few additional words about The Wild Child.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2018.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday: He Watches

 

He Watches

 

 

P e r c h e d

Ever alert

Ready to spring into action

Clever as he amuses himself

Youthful exuberance

all the way

          to the

                     tip of

                                        his long

                                                        tail.

 

 

This is who I met as he eyed me cautiously.

Sized me up with those pale green eyes, curious.

Not too affectionate, but willing to connect with a touch.

PERCY-of many breeds, with proud Latin name.

‘Effective Hunter’

 

© Donna Donabella 2017

 

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I wrote this poem after meeting this amazing animal.  He is a rescue cat that my nieces fell in love with.  He is thought to be part Persian and has an abnormally long tail.  A kitten when they brought him home, and 6 months old when I met him.  He made quite an impression on me, wrapping his long tail around my heart.  And this poem came leaping out of me on the trip home.

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.

 

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I leave you with a few additional words about Percy-He Watches.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2017.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday: A Most Extra-Ordinary Life

 

 

A Most Extra-Ordinary Life

 

 

Though your smile fades from this place

it shines deep inside of me and all

who have known you, loved you.

 

 

Your life’s breath, extinguished here on Earth,

now a forever light that burns brighter through me,

around me and into the ethos.

 

 

I quiet to hear the faint whispers of your voice

telling of a passion for life;

your legacy I now embrace.

 

 

And I will sing your song to capture it forever;

to share it in these words, in a smile,

or a hug or a deed most kind.

 

 

As tears splash this page, they are joyful

celebrating the ordinary life of a most extra-ordinary woman~

whose greatest gift is enduring love.

 

 

©Donna Donabella 2017

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This poem is a remembrance for my Aunt Mary who passed away July 3rd.  A dear friend said to me that dwelling on missing her would only bring sadness and depression….but celebrating her light would bring me solace and peace.  I liked that idea and this poem came to me the next day.  You can read my tribute post to my aunt here.

 

I am joining  Poets United for their Poetry Pantry linkup.  July 12th was my 3rd blog anniversary….what an amazing 3 years of creativity it has been.

 

The picture at the top is of my Aunt Mary with a few sweet peas, snapdragons and lavender.  The vase below is more of these same sweet flowers.

 

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I leave you with a another image about an extra-ordinary life.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2017.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Midweek Poem-Yesterday

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Yesterday

 

 

Some days I sit with melancholy moods.

Slipping back to yesterdays,

where memories are strongest,

yet so very far away.

 

 

 

And I long for those days,

such an absence,

aching now to regain playful flashes.

 

 

 

But they seem gone, those firsts….

riding a bike with no hands

learning to swing to the sky

eating hand churned peach ice cream we just made

Yet so many of these memories flood back almost drowning me.

 

 

 

And like an old friend I visit them,

and all the emotions they bring.

These memories relived, an old black and white movie

scratched, moments fading on the screen….some almost gone now.

 

 

 

Can we ever really relive those first times,

going back to yesterday?

Perhaps we can take up where we left off,

building new memories, no longer standing still.

 

 

 

Catching up, no time elapsed in our absence.

Senses renewed and awed, reimagined.

New flashes, forever a part of me.

 

 

 

Like watching a fawn discover a grassy meadow,

running free and wild on fresh legs for the first time.

I travel back to that first tree I climbed so high,

with views still magnificent and full of wonder~even in my absence.

 

 

©Donna Donabella 2016

 

 

 


It is the second anniversary of my blog this week…and as I start year three, I thought I would branch out a little and Innovate (my word for the year)…new starts!  And my first new start is participating in Poets United’s Midweek Motif.  This week Sumana is giving us the prompt “absence“.

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I have been kicking around the idea of a poem based on this wonderful quote….

“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass

 

I thought it would be interesting to look at the idea of going back with memories….being absent from these childhood times, can we really go back as the memories age and fade.  I hope you enjoy my take on ‘absence‘.  I used Zinnias, I grow in my garden, to illustrate the post, as they represent ‘Thinking of an absent friend’.

 

 

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2016.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday-Dear Imagination

DSCN5030

 

 

Dear Imagination:

 

 

You come to me on crayon-colored rainbows

scrawled on envelopes and walls.

You ride on the wind with swings flying high,

and bike spokes pinned with cards, clapping like hoof beats.

You roll down hills laughing so hard

you can hardly breath.

And you plunk down in a meadow plucking yellow and white petals

to the tune of, “He loves me, he loves me not!”

 

 

 

You are part of my soul.

Maybe its most important part.

You have been with me for all my life.

And you are my saving grace.

You are what makes my heart sing.

I am forever yours.

 

 

 

Now there have been times I may not

have been open enough to hear you,

But rest assured I will not let

Fear, Worry, Doubt and Self-Judgement shut you out.

Your voice will sing to me all my days,

and we can ride the clouds to new adventures!

 

 

 

As we lay under the leaves of maple and oak and ash.

And dream of forts, and pirates and princesses.

Making braids of grass and playing tunes on leaves.

Laughing until we can hardly breath.

 

 

 

© Donna Donabella 2016

 

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I am bringing you another epistolary poem from a letter I wrote in April.  This one is special, recalling my inspirational days of childhood.  I have included pictures of native purple lupines which represent ‘Imagination‘.

 

 

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.

lupines

 

 

 

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I leave you with a few additional words about Dear Imagination.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

dear imagination

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2016.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Happy Birthday to My Hero, My Dad

dad

“He didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”  

~Clarence Budington Kelland

 

 

Reblogged, and edited from an earlier post on my other blog, Gardens Eye View.

 

 

Today my dad (Eugene J. Abel, Sr.; better known as Gene) would have been 82  87 years young.  Born as the Great Depression was starting, to a mother who wanted a girl, in the city of Philadelphia, so began my dad’s life.

 

 

He was the second son of two children.  His mom, who came from a poor Irish background, stayed at home although I think she may have worked at some point. His German father was strict and worked on the railroad.  They did not have much money, and both his parents came from large families of 13 children each.  And my grandmother revealed to me later in her life, that she married at 19 to get out of the house and away from her unhappy life.  It did not turn out to be a happy adult life for her either, as she viewed it.

 

 

Isn't he the cutest baby
Isn’t he the cutest baby

My Dad graduated high school, went to work and met my mom.  He was drafted into the Korean War towards its end, but did not see any action due to drinking foul water on maneuvers in Texas.  The war ended and he came home gladly as he always said, he hated the army.  As opposed to his older brother, my Uncle, who made a career from it.

 

 

He married my mom in 1954 after she graduated from nursing school as an RN.  He was going to night school after the war to get his accounting degree.  He could only go part-time because he had to earn a living.  They started a family in 1956, and had 4 children in 5 years.  During this time, my dad continued to work during the day, and go to school at night, while my mom stayed home and raised us kids.  She would work on weekends while my dad took care of us.  To say this was non-traditional is putting it mildly.  How many fathers in the 1950s cooked and cleaned and took care of the kids?  Not many.  And how many parents really shared everything:  work, kids, household?  Not many!

 

 

We moved to Indiana, in the fall of 1962, where my dad had a new job.  From the city to the country without batting an eyelash.  Mom stayed home at this point, and dad drove an old clunker of a car, an hour each way to work, always making sure my mom had the station wagon.

 

 

So you can see my role models were very different (at least that’s what my friends always said).  And my dad was the consummate kid.  He loved to play with us.  When we were growing up in Indiana, he came home from work, and was always playing ball with us or some other game.  He even made folding the laundry fun.  We never folded laundry without having a sock fight, and he would usually start it.  My mom used to say she had 5 kids, and she was right.  But first and foremost, he was always our father.  He disciplined us, even though I think it hurt him more than us sometimes.

 

 

1949-my dad as a young man
1949-my dad as a young man

But what I remember most was the love.  The complete unconditional, non-judgmental love and acceptance of all of us with all our faults.  He never dwelt on those faults either.  He would look at the positive.  He would talk with us.  He would let us make up our minds, and make our own mistakes.   He let us live our lives even if he didn’t approve.  And you never really knew if he didn’t approve, because again he did not pass judgement.  He was the proud dad, and he always made you know just how proud he was of all of us.

 

 

My dad was loved and admired by all who met and knew him.  I used to work summers, in the same company where he worked, when I was going to college.  You could see the admiration of his co-workers and the employees he supervised.  He had many friends, and I never remember anyone ever saying an unkind thing about him.

 

 

And his sense of humor, and story telling was legendary.  It was the Irish in him, I suspect.  That dry, slightly sarcastic way he had of saying things that was so endearing.  We loved to hear him tell the same stories over and over again, or have him sing his silly songs.  Those that know me well know I inherited his sense of humor; dry and sarcastic as well.

 

 

My dad on the left with a friend
My dad on the left with a friend

And I think the garden was his solace.  It was where you would find him puttering in peaceful happiness.  He even planted cactus, at their house, when my parents moved to Arizona.  That was when the bottom dropped out though for my dad.  He had lost his job at about the age of 50, and tried a few of his own businesses that failed.

 

 

He fell in love with the weather in Arizona when he took me to graduate school there.  So they moved there in 1985.  My mom knew something was wrong…I think we all did even though we tried to believe it was just depression.  It turned out to be early onset Alzheimer’s.  My dad suffered with this disease for almost 15 years until it took his life in 1998 soon after I was married. He was only 68.

 

 

Amazingly though he never lost his sense of humor or his love for his family.  He would continue to garden until the disease took so much of him he did not know us anymore.  He suffered in silence, never wanting his family to be hurt or affected by the disease because that was the kind of person he was.  And for his sake we never showed the pain we felt, or made him feel like he was incapable of anything he wanted to do.  It was the little triumphs, like when he could walk from the car to the house or still feed himself, that sustained us and at the same time pierced our hearts with a searing pain.

 

 

So I remember the man with the song in his heart and all the things we shared:  gardening, our love of old movies, story-telling, discussing politics and the news.  He was the listener and I was a talker.  His were the huge shoulders that I cried on, and that held me up when I needed them.  His voice, the heart of my father, was silenced long before his body gave out.  I really lost him soon after the disease started.  I was 28.  To say I miss my father can’t even begin to express the love, pain, sorrow I feel daily.  I feel his presence, though, whenever I am in the garden.  In that place of peaceful solitude that sustains my soul, that puts me in touch with him and his memory.  And maybe that is why I love it so, why I feel the compulsion, the yearning to be out there.  To be with him if not on this plane of existence then in another with his spirit.  So today I am celebrating the man, and my memories of my dad, on this his birthday.  It is the least I can do after all he has done for me….I love you daddy!!!

 

 

 

“Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity.”
~John Ruskin

 

 

 

Special Note:  

Thank you to all who have read this celebration of  my dad’s life.  It seemed fitting to bring this memoir back.  I hope my siblings read this, and hopefully find some solace.  The picture at the top of the post was taken when my dad was in the middle stages of the disease.  The disease even made it hard for his brain to tell his body how to smile, but smile he did even though he had to work at it.  He is pictured with his trusty buddy, our dog, Banditt.  They were never apart until my dad was so sick he had to live in a group home.  It broke Banditt’s heart, I think, and his health declined until he died a few years before my dad.  They are together now, and I know Banditt was there to greet him.  I wonder what my father would have thought of this blogging thing, and of his daughter’s writing.  I am sure he would be proud smiling that fabulous grin beaming ear to ear…..

 

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2016.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday-Play With Abandon

Samantha

 

Play With Abandon

 

 

Play with abandon,

Fling your arms to the skies,

Fly over the waves wearing necklaces of seaweed and shells.

Skip along the lanes and the meadows

Gathering wildflowers and shiny stones.

Be free, never constrained.

Feel life as it was meant to be,

Washing in and out with the waves

As they dance through your mind.

Taking you to the fortress of your soul-

Softening your heart.

You can always be here,

To play with abandon.

As you fling your arms to the sky and fly…

 

 

 © Donna Donabella 2015

 

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This poem was written on a particularly difficult day.  These words became my voice as they poured from my heart.  They remind me to never let go of play….it is the dance of my soul.

 

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.  Visit them to read some more wonderful verse.

play collage

I am also linking in with the I Heart Macro meme hosted by Laura@Shine The Divine that happens every Saturday, and with Judith@Lavender Cottage who is hosting Mosaic Monday.  

 

I am joining in another wonderful meme at  A Spirit of Simplicity.  It is called Tuesday Afternoon where Kara celebrates a nice slow day in a busy week.  Check out her blog and the meme on Tuesday.

 

 

If you enjoy reading this blog, I welcome you to share it with others. I enjoy spreading the blog love, and I appreciate all who come and read my blogs. 

 

 

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Special Note:  The pictures here are of my niece, Samantha Abel, when she was 2 years old playing at the beach, and at home.  She will turn 16 in November…how time does fly.  They are a perfect illustration for my mantra, Play With Abandon.

 

 

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I leave you with a few additional words about Playing With Abandon.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

play with abandon

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2015.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday-Late Summer Rains

DSCN5707

Late Summer Rains

 

 

Late summer rains

renew the parched landscape.

Bringing late blooming flowers

Kissed all too often by approaching frosty stares.

 

 

Late, last minute visitors find an oasis there

Grateful for each drop of nectar.

While bees sleep on flowers waiting for the warmth of the sun.

Slowing in their quest for rich powdery snuff.

 

 

And each day I am there soaking up the riches of a late garden.

The sights, the smells and the silence.

Knowing now the days are shorter

The time for a deep sleep is upon us all too soon.

 

 

There is a grace still in these decaying blooms

Like old photos faded with memories.

Gladness mixed with melancholy lingers

As my brain etches these images upon my landscape.

 

 

 © Donna Donabella 2015

 

 

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As I wandered my garden this August, I saw the telltale signs of the seasonal change nipping at the fringes of my garden and my senses.  I do love fall, and the beauty of the tattered and faded garden blooms.  There is a very special beauty during this change as we move closer to the next season.

 

 

I enjoy celebrating the seasonal change and invite others who want to celebrate the changing of the season to join me in my quarterly meme, Seasonal Celebrations which I hold on my other blog, Gardens Eye View.  I will have the kick-off post tomorrow.  If you would like to join me in celebrating the new season, check out the post tomorrow.

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.  Visit them to read some more wonderful verse.

spent flower collage

I am also linking in with the I Heart Macro meme hosted by Laura@Shine The Divine that happens every Saturday.  

 

I am joining in another wonderful meme at  A Spirit of Simplicity.  It is called Tuesday Afternoon where Kara celebrates a nice slow day in a busy week.  Check out her blog and the meme on Tuesday.

 

 

If you enjoy reading this blog, I welcome you to share it with others. I enjoy spreading the blog love, and I appreciate all who come and read my blogs. 

 

 

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Special Note:  The photos here of the late summer rains and tattered blooms from my garden last year.

 

 

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I leave you with a few additional words about Late Summer Rains.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

Late Summer Rain

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2015.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday-Summer Memories

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Summer Memories

 

 

Lazy days beneath the leaves,

Soft rain falling, feel the warm breeze.

Shouts of joy, blooms of gold,

Dreams of childhood; tales to be told.

 

 

When finally in my older days,

These are the summer memories that never will fade.

 

 

 © Donna Donabella 2012

 

 

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I am continuing my series of summer poems.  This one I wrote in 2012 as I looked back on my childhood wishing not to be working, but enjoying the summer days again.  That feeling of ease, peace and just being in the moment.

Now in retirement, I am beginning to enjoy those days again, and trying to find that ease of summer days from my many childhood summer memories.

 

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.  Visit them to read some more wonderful verse.

 

yellow flowers

I am also linking in with the I Heart Macro meme hosted by Laura@Shine The Divine that happens every Saturday, and with Judith@Lavender Cottage who is hosting Mosaic Monday.  

 

I am also joining in another wonderful meme at  A Spirit of Simplicity.  It is called Tuesday Afternoon where Kara celebrates a nice slow day in a busy week.  Check out her blog and the meme on Tuesday.

 

 

If you enjoy reading this blog, I welcome you to share it with others. I enjoy spreading the blog love, and I appreciate all who come and read my blogs. 

 

 

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Special Note:  The pictures here are of those trees spreading a shady canopy and all the yellow blooms of summer that blaze brightly in the summer sun.

 

 

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I leave you with a few additional words about Summer Memories.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

summer memories

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2015.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday-Joyful Play

dad as boy

 

Joyful Play

 

With arms outstretched, I whirl around

Floating, spinning above the ground.

Tiny feet dance on large shiny shoes,

Piggy back rides with giants amuse.

 

 

As I ride the waves on the back of a whale,

Now thrown off, high in the air I sail!

And on the sandy beach we bury our treasure,

With squeals of delight in castles of pleasure.

 

 

These moments delight each one is immeasurable,

Through the years repeated with love unforgettable.

Time seemed endless in those blissful days,

Of fond memories in joyful play!

 

 

 

© Donna Donabella 2015

 

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My dad’s birthday is Tuesday.  He would have been 86, but died at the young age of 68 from the most horrific early onset Alzheimer’s disease.  He suffered 15 years with this awful monster.

But I remember him now as an Easter baby full of joy, kindness and always playful.  My mother called him her fifth kid.  Last week’s poem spoke of the pain of his loss, but I choose to remember his life of joyful play in this week’s poem.

Many of the memories in the poem are fun times spent with my dad, especially at the Jersey Shore growing up.

 

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.  Visit them to read some more wonderful verse.

dad collage

I am also linking in with the I Heart Macro meme hosted by Laura@Shine The Divine that happens every Saturday, and with Judith@Lavender Cottage who is hosting Mosaic Monday.  

 

 

If you enjoy reading this blog, I welcome you to share it with others. I enjoy spreading the blog love, and I appreciate all who come and read my blogs. 

 

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Special Note:  As I reminisce about playing as a child, I am showcasing pictures of my dad.  In the top photo, he is pictured on the left as a 10 yr old boy in Philadelphia, PA.  The collage shows him as a teen with his godson, his older brother’s first born.  And as a young man just newly engaged.

The last photo, below, is of us kids (my sibs) with my best friend Cindy on the right in the striped pants.  I’m in the middle (about 5 yrs old) on the left with that  head of unruly, curly, dark brown hair.  We grew up in Philadelphia until we moved about a year after this picture was taken.  My dad would take us to the park on weekends while my mom worked as a nurse.  He called us the Motley Crew.

 

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I leave you with a few words about joyful play.  I welcome you to download the photo and share it.

the crew at play

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2015.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.

Poetry Sunday-When The Light Went Out

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When The Light Went Out

 

 

The light went out of my life that day.

It was swallowed whole, trapped in a cave.

Though I try in vain to bring it back,

It alludes me now, gone to black.

 

 

And I feel somedays like the walking dead.

Nowhere am I going, nowhere have I tread.

And the sorrow that replaced those brilliant rays,

Has crushed me heavy under the weight.

 

 

Can it ever be regained?

Will I see the light of day?

Can I feel the warmth again deep inside?

Will I ever stop the tears, the cries?

Can this burden be released?

Will the darkness ever cease?

 

 

Perhaps one day as I sit in this cold,

In this place where I try to grab hold.

Of what was once my life and light,

Though I am shattered, even in my strife.

 

 

I sometimes will remember the golden days once more,

When the light glowed warm from deep in my core.

Yes, I will cling to those memories I knew.

Before I lost the light, before I lost you.

 

 

© Donna Donabella 2015

 

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As my father’s birthday approaches each year, I am drawn back to those special times, and special memories.  I lost my father in 1998, and sometimes there are only those days where all I have is much sadness.  This poem is reflective of one of those sad times I have had recently.  Next Sunday, I will post a poem that speaks of the happy memories.

 

 

I am joining in with Poets United for their weekly poetry link up for poets who blog.  Visit them to read some more wonderful verse.

lilac collage

I am also linking in with the I Heart Macro meme hosted by Laura@Shine The Divine that happens every Saturday, and with Judith@Lavender Cottage who is hosting Mosaic Monday.  

 

 

If you enjoy reading this blog, I welcome you to share it with others. I enjoy spreading the blog love, and I appreciate all who come and read my blogs. 

 

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Special Note:  The lilacs from my garden represent memory as this are all I have now of my father, and many days they just do not sustain me.

 

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I leave you with a few words about memories and loss.

lost

All other photos and original content is copyrighted and the sole property of Donna Donabella @ Living From Happiness, 2014-2015.  Any reprints or use of other photos or content is by permission only.