 | ALEXSONDRA TOMASULO has been writing for a decade on her personal and intimate journeys. Her scope includes grief, depression, forgiveness, transformation and redemption. She loves poetry, short stories and essays. She is also an accomplished ceramic artist. Alexsondra now, after the loss of her beloved husband, has found a new rhythm in the art of play as it relates to each artistic endeavor. She resides on the coast of Maine. |
April 30, 2016
Poem #30
Patience
Why patience, what is it’s role?
is to comfort while we wait
for our egotistical goal?
If spending our time
in the here and now
would we not be satisfied
with the outcome anyhow?
If compassion is our heart,
then truth be told,
patience may be a thing of the old.
None of this, you say,
may actually be true,
but I’m never the less
testing it out on you.
Doesn’t it seem patience
speaks to the longing?
While compassion basks
more in the sense of belonging?
Perfection comes to mind
while patiently I think.
I decide to let go
and give up the stink.
Then compassion floods in
to ease my shortcomings
reminding me with a bit more patience
this poem might be humming
So here I am
at the end of my rant
perhaps next year,
I shall patiently recant.
—
April 29, 2016
Poem #29
Heaven
Inhale the scent
of a brand new baby.
Is there even any word
to describe it?
Gaze upon
the precious being,
memories of where
we came from
waft magically
into our souls.
Stare across the ocean
on a brilliant sunny day
do we really know
the edge we call
horizon?
Fall into your lovers arms
losing all sense of
your surroundings.
Are these not slivers of heaven?
Do you really think
the gods would
not entice us,
so that we could find
our way back home?
How magnificent
this human condition is,
to be free to get lost,
but never too lost.
Well, that is,
if one keeps an open heart.
Heaven simply is
as hell is also.
The gods have no names
for either
they offer both as gifts
we can explore
on our evolving multifaceted trip
toward enlightenment
—
April 28, 2016
Poem #28
The Gathering
I’v been given the pleasure to extend an invite
her gatherings are rare, as she cherishes solitude
we will share her fine meal and stories through the night
on religion, philosophy, but not politics that is tabooed
she relishes in creating a new world view
while savoring her risotto extraordinaire
we’ll problem solve, and indulge in mind play up the wazoo
then forward to the entree, and dessert she did prepare
her famous pot’d chocolat , dolloped with whipped cream
sated with our full bellies and giddy with wine
we regale in our new sense of self esteem
bidding her adieu , and vowing never to decline.
—
April 27, 2016
Poem # 27
The Artist
To discover self is at the core,
of each artistic endeavor.
No need to embellish what is beautiful and true,
the heart which is pure forever shines through.
Yet there are skills and techniques learned along the way,
that we twist and toss about in our creative play.
We can inspire and teach and even offend,
we can excite and provoke and assuredly pretend.
But the highest of joys is to free the soul,
Surrendering one’s will and the desire to control.
—
April 26,2016
Poem # 26
It’s All In A Dream
Life’s little choices
between this and that
Shall I wear green or blue
buy a dog or a cat
But make no mistake
the choice is yours
to explore in wonder
or get bogged down in chores
Now I’ll share a secret
if you listen real close
and perhaps you’ll forgive me
should I become verbose
I lost a loved one
knew not where he was
so he sent me a dream
for no reason, just cause
The landscape was muted
as something started to grow
I recognized the mighty oak
bursting forth in time lapse not adagio
It’s trunk was aging and yet ever so strong
as it reached for the sky
that did not conform
I stood there in shock
at this wonder before me
and could not have guessed
what then followed so effortlessly
when out of it’s branches
came fuzzy green stems
twisting and turning
producing enormous red poppy gems
It might sound silly
to consider a poppy oak
But I tell you it was serious
and far from a joke
So why did he pick the image of this tree
to tell me he’s in everything and all that I see
It is neither this nor is it that
but the grand sum total of love explicitly.
—
April 25, 2016
Poem # 25
A Good Friend
Restless without, rage within, potters wheel begins to spin, centering
Determined porcelain hands, pull from within, centering
the earth speaks back, as it’s truth must be told
the girl’s will becomes now her sin, centering
Applying more force, her hands squeeze tightly
until the clay has it’s way to her chagrin, centering
the clay becomes master, demonstrating godly grace
I surrender finally as ego becomes thin, centering
I am the potter, the clay, my spirit guide
Mirroring each other as a beloved twin, centering
—
April 24, 2016
Poem #24
Wondering
There are days when I am certain
that should I be called home
I am ready.
Today was not such a day.
I asked the Great Spirit
How will I be able to say
goodbye to this beauty?
Will you test me by
calling me home in the spring
when winter’s skin
peels away
and we all burst forth with
passionate possibilities?
Could you be gentle
calling me home
in the fall, when letting go
seems as natural
as a new born baby’s cry?
Or perhaps the call
will come in the winter
when I’m hopeful for the warmth
of your Love
I beg you, no calls in the summer
I’ll be swimming,
but You already know this.
Do you also know
my daily practicing
of preparedness
for the great day?
I see my self running
in a field of daffodils
toward my next adventure.
And I’m overflowing
with gratitude
that it was not
today.
—
April 23, 2016
Poem # 23
Some Say
There are rumors
of wild dancing
beneath
the opulent moon
.where the two leggeds
surrender
to ecstatic laughter
open mouthed
they twirl about
becoming intoxicated
with moon wine
delivered
by shooting stars~
It must be
a most wondrous sight~
But I will never know
for I sleep.
—
April 22, 2016
Poem #22
Now
Thinking
I am thinking
of nothing
my breath
betrays me
not boldly, barely
perceptible
pausing
at the finishing note
of inhalation
and again ever so slightly
as it escapes.
the shift begins~
holy, holy, holy
ocean of my mind
salted nostrils
cleanse the pathways
of this vessel
I call self~
high, low, high, low,
holy, holy, holy
breath~
this moment
exists alone
cloaking
the effervescent expanse
of all realities
past, present and beyond
a single word~
it could be any,
Holy, Jesus,
or even
red.
Let it rest
on your tongue-
tasting the truth
of your choice.
change the word,
keep the rhythm~
the tides come and go
each wave
existing
in
the
moment.~
—
April 21, 2016
Poem # 21
The Chair
It was a sturdy, ladder back chair,
but neither narrow nor prudish.
This throne, carried a stature
of broad nobility
It had travelled to America
from the hills of Italy.
The arms were well worn
by four generations of solid
storytellers.
Not the kind to spin a yarn,
nor the romantic bards
with embellished enticements,
these were the keepers
of the history of the hills
these were the captains of
truth and justice.
And though I was but
a small child, I was
well aware of the gifts
passing from his lips
to my ears.
We would all sit round that
Sacred Sunday Dinner
and we were full aware of his leadership.
His hands caressing the arms as
the one before him had done.
And though the stories and,
yes, lectures captivated us,
it was his tone that gave to our sense of security
our sense of belief that one day,
would, in fact, follow the other.
And when he was taken from us
a day so black and dismal
I knew I would have to find my own way.
But not without
the beliefs he instilled in me
while sitting in the chair.
—
April 20,2016
Poem #20
Grief Be Gone For Now
Grief be gone for now
I am dancing lightly in the hot summer’s sun
carrying with me the spirit of my most beloved one
remembering that perfect spring day we shared our vow
on his family farm, home to the finest of any Jersey cow.
kissed by the gods, our love would not be outdone
Grief be gone for now
We would go the distance winning the eternal home run.
Physically alone, yet his guidance I still allow
Soon I will be with him, but today I sing and have fun
He would have it no other way and nothing would he shun
I will take the earth’s moments leaving with a grateful bow.
Grief be gone for now.
—
April 19,2016
Poem #19
REBIRTH
The polish had worn off the deck
It’s sails a bit tattered
Yet there was a certain beauty
that had stayed her lifetime
I stood alone
looking into the mirky water
seaweed afloat
Neither air nor water
moved but a slight ripple
All surrounding colors were neutral,
dead center bland, void of emotion.
I have always jumped at the opportunity
for a swim,
especially in the ocean.
That was not the case today.
Standing at the edge, uncertain
of my next move
It all seemed so different.
I hesitated, though I knew what I had to do.
fear remnants of the unknown
laced through my confidence
“JUMP !”
it was audibly loud
though I know not where it came from.
I had been on this vessel
alone for many days
“JUMP !”
one more time. and I jumped
for the voice I heard was
one I knew
and the trust was stronger
than any possible fear.
I plunged down deep.
it only lasted seconds
before my ascension
The water was unlike any other,
mirky, yes, but tinged slightly red
It was ribboned with plant life of many colors
though not bright.
I worked hard so as to reach the surface
before my breath ran out.
a good swimmer, I thought, I am a good swimmer.
I kept that mantra in my chest.
yet there was a doubt, though small
that I would reach air
Had I gone too deep?
Had my arms grown weak?
I now could see the surface
Light shining through
guiding me
My fingers possibly four to six inches
from safety.
Terror~
“I’m drowning”
the thought pierced me sharply
as did the awareness of choice.
“PUSH!”
the voice commanding one more time.
It was strong trustworthy and authoritatively
loving
“PUSH!”
with all my might,
and, I believe, some super human might,
I broke through the final skin of the
mighty ocean
a new life surged through my veins,
Joy and clarity
sparkled brilliantly about
no intellectual nor scientific reasoning
could explain this new awareness
only the unshakable knowingness
that I had given birth to myself
and the world was made new.
—
April 18, 2016
Poem # 18
The Crescendo Of The Dedicated Meliorist And His Dulcified Speech
He assumes position on center stage
intoxicatingly confident.
while reaching for humility.
His euphonious baritone bellowing
through out the gilded grand palace.
All doubts are quelled as
layer upon layer
of sequined truths
crescendo in a single hand gesture.
He demands a refill of his Pinot Noir
—
April 17, 2016
Poem #17
My Joy
I took my precious bundle into the February night sky
whispering love secrets as snow flakes fell from high
My miracle baby, the one that could not be
and yet, from far away he came to me
I would teach him of snows and winter’s rest
And in spring we would pick the dandelions leaving the rest
Summer would come and toe tickling in the sand
castles of seaweed and shells in the hand
Fall would follow with colors galore
and we hiked and picnicked on the forest’s floor
Winter swung round with sleds and snowshoes
Once we were lucky and caught sight of a moose.
Now the cycle continued as he played among the trees
Making forts and planting gardens with flowers for the bees
He loved to go bushwhacking or rock hopping at the shore
learning to build bonfires better than before
Now he is grown and much he has gained
But his love of nature in his heart has remained.
—
April 16, 2016
Poem #16
Expectation
Why don’t you answer me?
My knees are bloodied
My throat parched
I am empty, confused and aimless
Are you not the Supreme One?
He that knows the right path?
Now that I’m silent
Now that I’m broken
I hear your voice within.
—
April 15, 2016
Poem #15
Words
I sat down
with a feeling
in my belly.
Soon after,
thoughts spewed
upon the white paper
words, coming and going.
chopping some out,
painting others in
different hues.
My palette knife
would strike again
textures too subtle
not to enjoy
The sound of a perfect
A, as my bow slid across
the fiddle
It’s far too solid
expose the skeleton
open spaces are always
inviting
formless forms
in the eyes of the beholder
perhaps there was
never meant to be a poem
only the longing for one.
—
April 14,2016
Poem #14
The Tree
I studied the tree
in the center yard.
His undulating branches
were exceptionally strong,
now weathered
having grown some twenty years.
And each spring
he yields to his purpose,
giving forth life once more.
Together, bud and tree
exist in divine union,
no polarity struggles
nor superficial competitions.
It’s all in a days breath.
Secretly I believed tree
was grateful for my
constant stare.
I surrendered then, to
my own tree-ness
as I danced on the wind,
celebrating the divine union
of my own nature,
grateful, in kind, for His example.
~
April 14,2016
Poem #14
What Do We Know
Does our world move
too fast
or is it our own
unsettled thoughts
are we really ever
separated from our
own nature
or do we simply put the blinders on
out of fear
of becoming unglued
unbalanced
never again able to work
for a living
sabbaticals, retreats, workshops
and camping
all in hope of re-centering
we plunge into nature
so in the silence, we can
be introduced
to our original voice.
Pour your tears
upon the forest ferns
let the morning dew
ignite your bare toes
Leave the cement city
behind for a moment
And revel in your own nobility
—
April 13,2016
Poem# 13
The Gift
Incense and Latin
on Easter Sunday
my prayers were answered
Mitzvot and challah
on the holy sabbath
certainly grounded me
Saffron robes and no more dogma
on a crisp Monday morning
this might be the path
Ganesha and the ever resonating OM
in the sanctity of my bedroom
offered weightless serenity
May I please ingest a tidbit from each
only the most
mouth watering
heart soothing
mind blowing
ego dissolving
tidbits will do
The fever breaks
Visions dissolve
Rose scented mysteries
encircle my bed
—
April 12, 2016
Poem #12
Tribute
The formica table was piled high
with an assortment
of unrelated projects .
Kombucha in the making,
lay between yesterday’s laundry
and this month’s spreadsheets.
It was four in the afternoon
and she was just washing
the breakfast dishes.
None of this mattered
because she moved
with confidence in her own time.
She was a queen in tattered clothes
never too busy to hear your thoughts
as she prepared a perfect cup of tea.
Her Irish, peasant, nobility
which truthfully holds no contradiction
would always heal the most weary of souls.
—
April 11, 2016
Poem #11
Haiku
Butterfly Angels!
Tickle my underbelly
grief gone, song blossoms~
—
April 10, 2016
Poem #10
The Dreamer
It was a clear day
more than just sunny,
the lightness of the air
was palpable
even from inside my kitchen
as I dutifully put a fresh coat
of white paint on the cabinets
now speaking to me of yesterdays
that will never return
do I stay with the task
at hand
or do I abandon the shoulds
of my own making.
why not surrender to the pleasure
of a meandering walk
in the woods
and speaking of shoulds,
the completion of a chore should never override
the spirit in which one performs it.
hesitate no more
lest the shoulds win out
and I remain spinning my wheels
doing neither.
gratefully I accidentally took the wrong road
as the scenery is more
salty this way
I parked the car and in seconds
I entered the holy
sanctuary of solitude.
No decisions out here
this is the place where
love and acceptance
wraps me in warmth
allowing all worries or doubts
to be laid bare
for the forest spirits to carefully iron out
And funny thing,
I’m not even aware it’s happening.
now reaching the earth’s edge
where the mighty granite slants
down into the sea
the dreamer inside me
is set free,
it trembles but not with fear.
This dreamer is tickled
from the inside out
like a wood nymph dancing
sprightly on the sun soaked
rivulets.
And I told that dreamer
just how much I love her
—
Poem #9
An Attempt at a Glosa
Taken from the first stanza of Emily Dickinson’s
Wild nights – Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Your face was hidden
From a tradition
that was forbidden
But we danced through the midden
Wild nights-Wild nights
I wander in fright
under the starless night
Remembering the delight
Were I with thee
A trick of the gods, this can’t be fair
I shall not give in to senseless despair
We have been christened as the sacred pair
Wild nights should be our
luxury
—
Poem #8
The Apology
Did I ever tell you
the importance of daydreaming?
Please forgive me
It’s one of G-d’s great gifts
It can be done anywhere
of course I prefer sitting
in my wing backed chair
by the front window
so grateful for the stretch of lawn
between me and my tall pines
it’s where my daydreams dance
and the terrors of my past
have space to sort themselves out
It’s where I delight in every godly color
not one can be perfectly matched
by human hands
but what a joy there is in trying
Yes, my darling daughter
I’m telling you
to find your window
and when you do,
accept it’s invitation
to destructuralization
experiencing
worlds without boxes,
flowers yet to be created,
inventions that
just may change the world,
and a singular recipe
to the best pot de chocolat.
your daydream space
is between you and your creator
my darling daughter
whether silly or serious~
you will both be blessed
for the time together.
—
The Gift
The Light
was too bright
to comprehend with the eyes,
greater
than the high noon sun
on a cloudless day
succumbing
to the golden heat
I passed
into the inner room
which was not a room,
lined with pillows of silk
that gently moved me
about
there was a soft scent
of sweetened
smoke
and the resonance of
ancient chants infused
the air
there was no above nor below
and I was granted buoyancy
by these weightless
pillows,
I do not recall a sense of time,
yet there was a certainty in my waiting
but for what or whom
I did not know.
And then they spoke,
but not with words
Jesus, Mary, Ganesha,and Shakti
thoughts flooded into
my exposed heart
while I was anointed
with the perfumed nectar
of the gods
though my travels
were far from over
I would take up my staff
braced with new confidence
and equipped with
holy provisions.
—
Poem #6
The old vase stands in dignity and grace
Her voluptuous bottom
anchoring, as she surrenders
to gravity
While her slender neck stretches
to the higher worlds
her mouth opens with the certainty
of a well seasoned opera diva
Yes, she has come into
her own
no longer concerned
with the many repaired cracks
that now are gilded
Yesterday’s stories have been recycled, repurposed
bringing a new blush of innocence
across her slightly stained
covering
whether she presents
with flowers
or stands silently empty
she pleasures in
her purpose
which is known only to her
—
Poem #5
April5~
Clay Speaks
Push me
do it
squeeze me
as if you mean it
feel me as I feel you
deeper, go deeper
there is no betrayal here
you are the giver
and the receiver
we’re in this dance together
punch me
if you must
tear me apart
as you have been torn
recycle, recycle
start the mud mess
again
the veils are lifted
volcanic rage
bloody wounds
I am the mud mirror
and you, my friend
are only a thousand
cups away
from being
healed
—
In The Beginning
I forgot where I came from. But I do remember being ambivalent to the coming. I remember saying yes in that point in time. There was a sense of duty and obedience to that duty. There was also a sense of resentment. I surrendered, though not whole heartedly. I left my mother’s womb not wanting to breathe. They promptly delivered me to an oxygen tent. I am certain the first chant I heard was BREATHE! Reluctantly, I obeyed. And that was when I was given my name, as Warrior. “You have one tough little girl here. She’s sure to be a warrior.” My mother would retell that story every year on my birthday, until the day she died, forty five years later.
—
Knowing My Home
I took a walk
one day
a kind of meandering
meditative walk
releasing
all the unnecessary
tidbits
spinning in my mind
leaving
the hard pavement
and sounds of human nature
behind
an earth beat enters
through
my soft soled shoes
lush green moss
blankets
the well worn rocks
each seemingly
grateful
for the other
suddenly a stream
and then no more
shades of greens
tinged
with ochres and crimson
no birds chirping
as winter approaches
I am alone
and not alone
no more mind
clutter
heart thinking
guides me inward
privileged to hear the
secret dance of the
forest
I am drenched in
swirling energies
of the masterful
whirling dervishes
Continuing on through
cathedral pines
their intense fragrance
intoxicating
but then
another scent
one I know well
humbled by the tenuous balance
of opposites
my green canopy yields to the
blue sky
lowering its curtain to the
horizon
far off across the ocean
standing perfectly still
so as not to move this
gift
too soon from my presence
Nature’s incense
forest pine
strong like an honorable
warrior
and ocean salt
gentle like the elixir
of holy mermaids
nasal follicles
blending these trustworthy
ingredients
And I know
I am in the place of
love I call
home
—
The Return
I was beckoned
not by a voice
nor sound of any kind
more like the magnetic pull
of the ancient tides
or like the gentle elastic tugs
on the silk cord
the divine umbilical
bringing me home
for rejuvenation
to where splendid colors
have no names
and healing music is
known only by the gods
and all that is, simply is.
I am home
forgiven and anointed
sacred pools of redness
ripple never ending secrets
into my new self
which I will take on my
journey back to humanity
—
Poem #1
His tattered Irish tweed cap
hangs over the edge
of her simple crucifix
set against a piece of faded green velvet,
also somewhat tattered.
Hat, frame and crucifix
collect a fine layer of dust
before I dare touch them again.
I awake to this precious still life
each day
grateful that I have been loved
and more so,
knowing that love continues on.