Tread lightly


Shadows – Prose


The depth which some survive is beyond my understanding. I was speaking to a man sitting on a park bench I asked him why he was homeless?

He said: “Walls are too confining.”

I asked: “How are they too confining.”

He said: “They do not allow me to run.”

As our conversation continued I learned he is a Veteran. He wants to be able to move quickly when the shadows chase him. He still hears the cries of those trapped. He still hears the shadows of the past which confined him to hell.

Christine Swiderski

Change- Prose

Ice is melting and pulling away from shore.jpg


Many things in life change. Some slowly such as age. Yet as the seasons of life and environment evolve we realize many things stay the same. We may be getting older some wiser some not. Wrinkles and weight play a factor. The physician says guard your heart. Eat a heart wise diet. I believe that should be done for the physical and emotional health. As a ponds ice recedes from the shoreline thus a heart when it is broken. The gap left needs to be guarded until the fullness has returned. Reflection plays a roll in the healing. Allowing the sun to heat its surface. Life will soon become abundant. Another season has passed.

It is in the Hearing

It is in the hearing

While I walk this earth I am reminded not all see what I see.

The sun may be beating down on my shoulders sending beads of sweat on my skin.

Yet the man across from me on the bus is chilled to the bone.

Not mere medical issue it is in the hearing.

Those who have ears let them hear, old rendition many do not see the words.

Nor understand.

How shall I call to a heart never loved or touch the lip of one never kissed.

My prayer is silent.

It is in the hearing.

Christine Writes along

Tick Tick Tick

Tick Tick

Tick Tick it comes on quick.

The time has hands which slip by each second coming closer to the end.

Attention should be paid with each tick that escapes a moment in each breath we take.

This life is a gift let us not be remiss in listening to each tick of the day.

The sound it makes whispers away a moment lost.

No turning back the ticking clock.

Winding up the day with choices we make creates waste of time.

Tick Tick it comes quick.

Kiss the loved one each day.

The time has hands which slip by each second coming closer to the end.

Leave no apologies unsaid

Attention should be paid with each tick that escapes a moment in each breath we take.

The breath may be taken away like a thief in the night.

This life is a gift let us not be remiss in listening to each tick of the day.

Accidents happen no chance to say goodbye.

The sound it makes whispers away a moment lost.

Moments lost in anger, give remorse and love.

No turning back the ticking clock.

Put heart and soul on ones sleeve.

Set the timer to go off the rails.

Enjoy each moment with sails of freedom to create.

No time wasted only tasted.

Torrential – Prose


Impeded by chaos my mind funnels what information is supplied.

How to turn the swirl of thoughts into calm meditation.

Unless a grip is attached to this chaos there will be more loss of value to supplication for help. How does one help when the funnel churns thoughts into a myriad of abyss.

A tornadoes funnel sweeps these choices away from minds grip.

When relationships core is not secure the rift will cause a chasm.

It will no longer be a squabble instead a breach will be made.

Take a breath within ones mind.

Hold the tongue secure with love.

Lest prides passion takes the will power to a level beyond the hearts reach.

Within minds gasping for control and meaning.

Use the moments pause to chronicle the meaning of love.

Love is gold more precious then prides passion.

Take stock in the bonds tender.

At the end of the torrential moment the importance of this stock shares a life time of annuity granted in intervals that life brings your way.

Hold to the option of worth rather than what corrodes the hearts health and meaning of life. Which is love.

Sculpture or welded poem

Sculpture or Welded (Poem)

Being one of firsts sculpted his stature

First president born in United States

Focused on farming not power

Laid foundations for role of President

Yet this does not tell us of the man

Who welded in our patriotic hearts!

Still reminiscing of the gifts he left behind

Selling his property not his citizens

He would only sell to industry

Who willingly would hire freed slaves;

Yet to this day we still beckon this same song

Where have we gone wrong?

Could it be as a Man our first President?

Determined right from wrong

This was welded firmly in his heart

Heart of flesh not of steal or might

No fabrication does this entail

Only that of truth will avail

To this country not a mere sculpture

But tenants of heart built on

A true foundation of faith

Where power and truth arise,

His missives were lengthy to ensure

His heart was shown with clarity,

Has this been the pattern of many:

Who follow in this office?

Our lives would show the clarity

Not welded promises which corrode.

Let us bring back the majesty

Of this persons sculpture

Not of man but of his soul

So we all may be free.

Pieces of us left

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Seasons wear on

Wearing down the color

Yet if we stop

Take another look

There are reflection’s

Of seasons past

Little remnants

Of what was

Deliberately left

To identify

It’s existence

Never letting us

Forget a piece

Of us will be left

Once our season

Has ended

Be aware of

The piece of yourself

Left behind


Lost in the shuffle (Prose)



Dragging my feet

Sliding the cards quickly

Trying to make a sound

So much hustle and bustle

I am lost in the shuffle

Where is everyone going?

Holiday’s cheer is coming near

Set adrift planning gifts

Consigned to oblivion

Lost in the shuffle

Traditions migrated

Mingled with haste

Bring back the sweet meander

Gently through loving hearts

These are the gifts wrapped in joy