My Birthday Poem

photo: me and my mother (to whom I owe my strength, and my life)

(Last poem for a while - after 146 poems in 61 days, I am now on sabbatical)

My Birthday Poem

Okay, so this is it:  June 1, 1947.  Time 5:37 a.m.

It’s a girl!

I think I was supposed to be a boy…which is probably why I wanted to be one

Third girl.  No son.

Strange world, all big and everything

Too much room

I want my Womb!

Anyway, I’m stuck here now whether I like it or not

I considered the alternative, I gave it some thought

C’mon, we all have, don’t lie

I fantasized – what if I died?

What would they say at my grave?

She was a good old gal.  She gave it her all,

picked herself up when she took the fall

Instead, I forgave – every last one of them (mostly men)

C’mon, everyone has a past – you have yours,

your dad had his and your mom had hers

Last person on my list to forgive was me

Linda Del Negro.  It’s a girl! (Number three)

I tried my share of substitutes,

but eventually I found my truth

It wasn’t pretty but I made it through

So today I say to myself – to you,

Happy Birthday, Linda!

You did good

Now I love you too 

ldn

The Haul

photo: Dad aka ADN (Angelo Del Negro)

The best part about pasta Dinners with my Italian Father are - the stories: 

The Haul

Maw was a bootlegger
She traded moonshine for chocolate that Mozell and Jackie stole  -
them colored folk, yunno
They waited by the tracks for "Milwaukee", 'til it was runnin' by real slow
Hopped on the box car full, then tossed 'em down below
The Hershey Haul
The bars were 2 feet long ~ and just about 3 inches tall
She stored ‘em in a trunk with her moonshine,
hidden beneath the crawl
Then the colored boys got caught when the cops got wind of the haul,
and arrested Mozell and Jackie (who kept real quiet 'bout Maw)
Now Jackie being single ~ a friend, and an honest man,
said, I'll take the hit for Mozell, so Mo' went along with the plan
Jackie confessed to the cops (and spent a year in jail)
 No more hot chocolate for breakfast,
 . . . and the Hershey bars travelled the rail

ldn

A Spot of Light

A Spot of Light

You dropped a spot of sun
a drop of light on the sea, for me, tonight,
with your slight of hand, your one man band,
warning me, Stay away Lady June
go back to your Milky Way,
then wait for me on the Moon

ldn

Volcanoes, I Have Two

photo: vulcan.wr.usgs.gov  Mount Rainier


Volcanoes, I Have Two

Active volcanoes, I have two ~ their sister, Saint Helens, blew

Are you ready for the blast ~ the trumpets calling you?

I’ve heard it said that He will return,

peace will reign, the cities will burn,

when Rainier and Baker blow

How do we know?

It’s a prophecy of the Natives here,

passed down through The People for hundreds of years,

where it is inscribed,

on the hearts and souls of the Indian tribes,

in Washington State where eagles fly,

down rivers and streams where clear water flows,

where salmon go ~ ~ ~ then up again,

to lay their eggs ~ then waste away

Are you ready to do the same?

Accept your fate, then let it go?

Feel the joy, accept the pain?

Weather the storm in sunshine and rain?

Peak in July, sleep in the snow,

when Rainier and Baker blow?

Active volcanoes, I have two

One for me and one for you,

Are you ready?

ldn

Vietnam

photo: vietnamtravel.com

Vietnam

What about the time we bombed Vietnam, 
where were you
was the pressure on?
Did you cry at all when we took the fall, or did you look away that day?
I saw men die.
body parts.
young and old with broken hearts,
drafted into foreign wars
with slanted eyes, not like ours
and I came home with battle scars
Where were you when I tossed and turned?
flashing back to bodies burned,
name it for my sake PTPD
An acronym for post traumatic phychic distress.
It was a mess.
and we took the cake - yours and mine
except for the one I tripped on that tore my leg to smithereens
and speaking of Marines…that was me
I was just a teen, out of school - High that is; 
on pot too.  It got us through, 
now again in Afghanistan
What about the time we bombed Vietnam, 
where were you
was the pressure on?

ldn

Call me when the war is over

photo: washingtonpost.com

Call me when the war is over

Call me when the war is over ~ ring me when the fighting’s done

Let me know how many died,

then tell me that we won

Did he have a son?  Did you tell him that we won?

Did he have a wife?  Does she know who took his life?

Did you tell his mother that his sister has no brother?

How’s his Daddy takin’ it?  Oh, I’m sure the old man’s shakin’ it

Call me when the war is over ~ ring me when the fightin’s done

Let me know how many died,

then tell me that we won.

ldn

Who is this Man III

collage: ldn
images: T-L-R: guardian.com.uk: thehistoryblog.com; encoreeditions.com; unitedstatesofbrazil.worldpress.com; thegospelcoalition.com


Who is this Man III

Who is this man with no altar, who with broken tongue recites verses from God, whilst the man who proclaims to follow his Lord, sits in his sepulchre on folded hands, and prays?  Who is this man, who is cast from his homeland, who buries his wife and children passed, whilst he, who claims to be Holy, buries nothing but his own soul? Is this man who owns no land, who is forsaken, alone, any less than the man who has taken it? Is this man, who dies for his country in worlds of war any less than the man who creates it? Who is this man, he, who lies weary on broken rocks, whilst the man who rests, not caring, lies on his feather bed?  Who is this man who bled, who suffers, whilst he, who claims to be pious, rages war, and profits there, from others?  Who is this man?

ldn

I am all you know

I am all you know

I am the ink,

the pink in the rose

the paper you chose,

white

At night, your salutation,

your pen’s evaluation,

of me

I am the dead in the rose

the way the river flows,

I am all you know,

your ego

The brittle on your elbow

when you rest it on your table,

if you are able

The dew on your window,

the drip,

the grit,

in it

The ledge on the edge of your temple

Simple

Complicated

Situated

I am all you need,

and don’t

I am the dead in the rose,

the way the river flows,

I am all you know,

your ego

ldn

The Wedding

photo: ldn -  Saturday, May 26, 2012

The Wedding

It wasn’t like, just any other day ~

Two Lovers today were united as one . . . from this day forward,

Two souls, One breath

Until death do we part ~ I didn’t hear anything about that,  

I heard, We will all, verily, abide by the Will of God ~

did you notice “Will” is capped,

perhaps, because it “is” God’s will

Could be in This Day, nobody’s in charge ~ but Him

Kind of a break if you ask me,

to take one another in God’s name (the vow "does" say ~ We)

Live with each other as one,

two souls in one God until we go ~ together forever through eternity

It is a certainty ~ 
God and His Will ~ instilled in us, for us, with us

BE, for the sake of our Creator,

our Source, our Force ~ our Soul Contemplator

It’s a big job, and I don’t want it,

so today,

I pray for the Bride and the Groom,

One in His name, together, forever,

Two souls in one God ~ the same

ldn

Lois and Wally

photo: mom

Lois and Wally (a dream)

I saw my mom last night ~ in a dream.

Clear as a bell.

She was with her new friend, Wally,

nice man about her age.

She always wanted someone to love her,

cherish her,

other than her children.

He was a good man.

Her reward.

They lived next door.

I asked if I could take her picture

just to prove to myself, and to others she was really there,
to be sure.

I did.

Trouble was, it disappeared from my memory card,

gone, like her.

linda

My New Camera, and the Beautiful People

collage: ldn, photos taken today

My New Camera, and the Beautiful People

My new camera and me, walking on logs…sneaking into bogs, risking my life, parking in ditches, and in the middle of the road ~ running across yellow lines, risking everything for one shot at it, one last time, one more chance to see light falling off twigs ~ butterflies in the sky, tripping in the woods.  High on the scent, I went, back to Spirit Ridge ~ took my clippers with me this time, borrowed flowers from vacant places, lilacs, golden chains and the biggest, brightest bundle of chartreuse scotch broom you've ever seen ~ for the bride, and the groom.  Wedding tomorrow.  My God the Bride!  Persian women ~ none prettier. . . ebony hair touches her shoulders, silken skin ~ makes you want to hold her, gently.  All of them ~ Baha’is, my kin. Upright souls ~ stand together, shoulder to shoulder.  Beautiful people from the same place, as Him.  Not from Iran ~ Persia!  My Persia, my homeland ~ I go back to my people, my kin ~ in Him.       Baha’u’llah!

Ya’ Baha’u’ Abha!

ldn

Until it ran clear

image: betterphoto.com


Until it ran clear (a dream)


Tar Baby

Glued nose, closed

Abused boy with ring wormed head,

no bed

He wanted to stay

Small hope

I cleaned him with soap and water until it ran clear

He had no father, and a drunken mother

He begged to stay and play

We shared a hot dog split / one between the other

Ate

Colored with broken crayons / like him

It was a simple thing to do,

run wide toothed comb through matted hair,

then clean him again

with soap and water until it ran clear

ldn

The Gate

photo: jewishjournal.com (Baha'i World Center, Haifa Israel)*

The Bab (pronounced: Bob) Persian  for ~ The Gate 


The Gate

Born, Siyyid `Alí Muḥammad, 

The Bab ~ The Gate

Saints awaited Him

Poets contemplated Him

Altars wore thin for Him

O Promised One ~

Gift from God, returned,

Promise fulfilled, as before ~
May 23^rd 1844 

Did you see Him?

Did you hear Him?

Did you feel Him,

Do you know Him?

O Promised One returned to men,

for you,

for me,
for them ~
The Gate

Born, Siyyid `Alí Muḥammad,

The Bab

ldn

*http://www.bahai.org/

Tahirih (Arabic: طاهره‎ "The Pure One")

Image: dipiction of Tahirih. Source: Huffington Post


TAHIRIH "Taw-ha-deh"

Tahirih, I lost my way,
until in my head ~ in nineteen eighty one* 
blinded by the sun, lying on my bed ~ I heard you,
I saw you,
white flowers ~ your crown, wearing a wedding gown,
waiting to be wed,
you came through to me
in [framed photos] to a place I dare not tread, again
Flash dreams, Three
[You]  [Me]  [Them]
With scarf around my head standing at my door (with child)
in a spell --- I fell / Dead,
at the hands of men I could not see
Then at a table drinking a cup of tea (in a foreign language to me)
women chattered, bells clattered  ~ ~ ~
Translation, by confirmation ~ they said,
Is she the one? Is she the one?
Tahirih!
Tahirih!
Take me in your stead,
O Dawnbreaker of the Sun,
She, who set all women free ~
Tahirih!
Tahirih!
It’s me.

Linda  E. Del Negro ~ ldn
*shortly thereafter I found the Baha'i Faith

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/homa-sabet-tavangar/10-bahai-women-everyone-should-know_b_1371029.html

Who is this Man? II

Who is this Man? II

Who is this man who sleeps into sunshine,

has sunglasses on to circumvent light,

tears through the night, dances ‘til dawn,

high on the moon,

slumps on park benches,

at noon, toes pigeons at his feet,

chooses to eat crumbs from the street, with them

on yellow lines.

Who is this man – Him,

he who sings, makes rhymes,

paws guitar strings ~ leaps through tiger rings,

takes things from store front windows,

packs them back to vacant rooms,

in the ghetto.

Who is this man who does not care,

like air, brushes wind through your hair,

groping,

hoping someday you will feel him there,

chancing you might see him there,

dancing,

dancing,

dancing at night,

has sunglasses on to circumvent light,

sleeps into sunshine,

chooses to eat crumbs from yellow lines,

with pigeons.

Who is this man?

ldn

Severed

Severed

I miss him.

I feel like a fetus ripped from the womb of its mother.

I  -  miss  -  my  -  lover.

I accept the separation.  What else can I do?

I accept the present situation.  I have to. 

It was inevitable . . . but we were inseparable!

Where is he now, my other  -  my Lover?

What about the promise we made to be together forever?

He  -  has  -  been  -  severed  -  from  -  my  -  soul.

Cut away.

I  -  can  -  not  -  let  -  him  -  go.

May I have him back, please?

Will you change your mind, please?

He kept my secrets,

held me up in my weakness.

I have been stripped of my power,

left, alone in my darkest hour,

bereft.

Where is he now, God,

my other  -  my Lover?

ldn

I am a facet

I am a facet

I am a facet.

a chandelier,

I wear light carved clear

Trip around your iris on magnetic strips,

grip your heart,

fill the hollow part

Can you see your reflection in me

bouncing off,

renouncing your shadow,

If you want more than before, 
be me

I am the Golden rod created by God,

His hallow reed,

your soul

I am all you need

Come closer
Let go of your shadow
Go past it
Hold on
Be a facet

ldn

Have a nice day

Have a nice day

Can you look back on your life and say – I wish it would have turned out another way?

Think about it and try not to doubt it because God is not through with you yet. 

Believe what you may, but don’t be set on your way.
Pray.

Now have a nice day.

ldn

Sidewalk Post

Sidewalk Post


There once was a flower who grew too close to the sidewalk side of an old fence post.

One sunny day (as the story goes) a little boy picked it ~ or so I was told.

He gave it to a little girl.  He said ~ it’s for you.  She made it a home in a vase of blue.

The flower died ~ or so I was told, on a winter day when the wind blew cold.

And that’s the way the story goes.

Or so I was told.

ldn 

The Gingerbread Man

The Gingerbread Man

Who do you think you are making me into a cookie?
I wasn’t put on this earth to be used,

abused by moms, red hot ovens, and bratty kids, 
which goes for the slobbery smelly one too.

I was born pure.  Not meant for dro-o-o-o-o-l.

I feel like a fool.

Oooops…Mama! Waaaaa - I stepped on him! He’s bent! 

Gimmeee, waaaaa, waaaaa, waaaaa, another one like that!

No problem sweetie, says Mama.
Sweetie, my burnt backside – he’s a brat!

I’m the one who’s sweet – sugar all over my head,

turned into crumbs on Little Brat’s bed.

Here you go sweetie, a bell.  Daddy will bend him back.

Replaced by a bell?  What the hell!  I’m a man!

Back to the Torture Chamber – Daddy’s den.

Pliers again to the head.

You’re okay now, son.

Son!  Think again, Scotch Breath!

Back to the cutting board goes I
Yes!  Mr. Gingerbread Man – I'm the best!

Why, God. . . Why?

I’ll never amount to anything else.

I’m just a bloody cookie cutter - used, abused,

then thrown in a drawer with Santa and his elves,

while my sugared hot self cools on the shelf.

I am what I am – a Gingerbread Man.
Nothing more, nothing less,
than a mess.

ldn

Baby, Baby, I was born this way

photo: my mother, Lois Jean, and me

Baby, Baby, I was born this way

I’m a hoarder by trade

Baby, Baby, I was born this way

Hoarded as a kid too,

had a hole in the wall by my bed – top bunk

We had to have bunks – 4 or 5 to a room

Anyway, everyone knew – don’t mess with Linda’s hole in the wall

I kept secrets there, stuff I didn’t want to share,

Some things are private you know, or should be

Bubblegum – rabbits feet – things sweet – like candy I stole from the store

(Sometimes more)

I dreamed of a room of my own,

It didn’t happen until I was grown – and out

And I mean out!

Once you kids are 18, you either move out or pay room and board…

Oh, Lord.

She had 9 kids – 5 girls and 4 boys (raised us alone)

Back to the choice – pay up or leave home

She worked three jobs (when she was lucky – two)

I stole from her tip bag once too

The guilt was too much – I couldn't bear it,

and being a hoarder of course I didn’t share it

What a Lady, my mom – she was the best

She loved us to death – every last one of us

I can still hear her. . .

Wake up. Get dressed.  Eat your breakfast. Get on the bus!

She never made a fuss about the little stuff

My Mother.
Oh Lord.

I miss her so much

ldn

Who is this Man? I

collage: ldn
images: center:  flckr.com T-L-to-R:  badboyso.ipo.com; oldindianphotos.in; flckr.com; thelifestream.net

Who is this Man?  I

Who is this man who raises the Banner of Holiness by day, then at nightfall, in a wink of an eye, tosses it onto mud platforms, and runs away? Is this the same man who promises love, is willing to give his life for his Lover, then at the drop of a hat finds another?  Who is this man who weeps for himself, sees his brother begging on the street, but does not shed a tear? Is this the same man who wears a white cape hung over his head, to blind his eyes, to cover his ears, so as to not see or hear his brethren cry?  Why is this man, who was destitute yesterday, who ate only bread crumbs from his plate, who is wealthy today, only by the luck of the draw, wearing handtied  woolen rugs under his feet, but slipping into ashes on his hard wooden floor?  Who is this man?

ldn

For Kahlil Gibran

image: by Kahlil Gibran, the cover of, The Eye of the Prophet

For Kahlil Gibran

Page after page through the ages

of prophets, of soldiers and sages

I wrote,

not just a simple note ~ or a story,

of my trials, my worry, my fury  ~ ‘twas for glory

Kahlil Gibran warned me of this, in his book

where I look for wisdom and quotes,

a book now tattered and torn

My pen now devoted to him,

not my trickery, my charm, my whim

but my heart and my soul within

I will.

Thank you, Kahlil,

ldn

Leave them alone

image: waterytart23.blogspot.com

Leave them alone

Sometimes you want to save somebody

My advice:

Leave them alone

Growth must be trekked on it’s own

You can't push it

Wish it

Trick it

or pick it apart to the bone

Growth must be trekked on it's own

ldn 

in infinity

image: yourheartmakesadifference.com

in infinity

Where am I?

Feeling breezes on still days

Smelling roses that are not there

Only clear air here

Sunny nights stealing feathers from eagles,

who hang too low in the sky

Where am I,

flying on broken wings,

circling choruses,

hearing a million angels singing,

bent on only one ear

Drumming

Humming

Bells ringing

I will see you here on the edge,

in the wedge between space and time

I will wait by the gate with your key,
to divinity
where I am

in infinity

be still,

I will

ldn

The Blitz

image: mindingthebedside.com

The Blitz

Happens suddenly without warning

In the morning usually

Barely awake, takes your breath away

Someday you’ll get over it

The blitz

Fits one of two ways

Down your throat to the pit

The blitz

Or sworded through your heart

Starts at the breast bone,

the part that holds hope

Tears out T-4 from your spine

Thoracic pain is the worst

Either way it hurts

Comes on suddenly

But somehow you expected it, didn't you ~

this time

Love and hate are the same, if taken over the line
Kneel

Peel it away, today ~
pray

ldn

The Tupperware Party

image: theage.com.au

The Tupperware Party

Tupperware supper?

The News?

Means nothing to me

What’s so new about it anyway?

History repeating itself because we’re told it does – was

Who are you?

Do you have a mirror to gaze into, not clouded?

Are you shrouded in silk?

Milk it for all its worth – the earth?

Score more than you need – let it bleed? 

Who are you voting for?

Come on Ladies

Join the party.  Let’s go.

We’ll demo femininity, not politicians

Take your positions, please

Freedom is in the knowing

It’s all in the sowing

Whose party is this anyway?

Equality of the sexes, we cry!

Didn't we already do this - took off our bras in protest,

then the rest
Why?
Now we need implants.  Fantastic.

I hate plastic

Equality for me and you? How about for men too?

Like they have it easier than you?

Working all day (but it’s their job, you say)

Okay, I get it – you have to work too

Wear a suit – tend to other’s wishes

Go home, wear a dress, do the dishes,

ask the kids how they are

Just fine

We’re all fine

Just give it more time

We’re due me and you

Party’s over

Thank you Mrs. –  I’m glad you came

Equality, yes

Sameness – insane

ldn