And the World Held its Breath

The world watched and

held its breath

as two previous enemies

agreed to lay the past to rest

for once and always.

We who have grown up as

children of one war or another

prayed that this would be the

greatest miracle of all…

            a sign

            a beginning

            an omen.

 That maybe in our lifetime

            the world would know…

                      …Shalom!

And each of us who

so cherish this fragile planet

could continue

with the important job

of making this place

            more special

            than we found it.

*signing of the Peace Accord July 1993

Courage is Writing a Resume, Again

I’ve lost my job… 

As if somehow

I’ve misplaced a part of my life

I now have to find

Just around the next corner.

So I become still, quiet

Trying to remember

Writing accomplishments

About what I’ve done

For so many years

I could do it with my eyes closed.

What am I afraid of?

Feelings, I guess…

Here I am ten or eleven years old

Again, and yet another grown-up

Telling me that I’m not worthy enough

Or talented enough

Or courageous enough.                              

I’ll show them, those that doubt.

The ones that don’t understand

The incredible painting that is me!

This time I’ll paint a picture on paper.

I’ll use a typewriter instead of crayons

A computer instead of paints.

But in my heart I’ll know

That I’m a rainbow after a storm

A bright shinning star

On a crisp winter night.

And I’ll begin again

To share with strangers

The wondrous story that is me.

Frankie

Seven is too young to die…

http://www.haemoblues.com/about_you.asp

You were too little to be so sick.

I watched you lying in a tent,

Helpless

Nothing to give you

Only hugs.

Band-Aids didn’t work anymore

Round face, sad eyes

Pain that could be seen through

The plastic that helped you breathe.

Seven is too young to die…

So little in size, big in spirit

Hospital food, ordinary, boring…

Would sneak you burritos in my purse.

Even without hair

With marks on your head

Your were the most beautiful boy

I’ve ever known

So brave till the end.

Seven is too young to die…

Your parents stopped coming

There were other little ones to care for.

You would have been twenty-eight this year.

Could have gone to your graduation

Or sat in the front row at your wedding.

We shared a lifetime, you and I

In two short years.

Your face will live beside my heart

We will meet again

Seven is too young to die…

And twenty-one years

Is a long time, to wait to cry…

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

Hope Arrives at Daylight

I walked alone upon a road beside a hill

Where I saw an open grave lying still

All alone beneath a tree, when I came near

The darkness grew, took my sight, left the fear

For there, right there, in front of me

There was my name, inscribed on stone,

          beneath the tree.

Unsure, I tripped, I grasped for land

I grabbed at air, I brushed her hand

Then face to face I came with her, I couldn’t see

I knew not buried yet, the her was me.

She hugged me long, whispered, “Please

don’t cry.  I’ve come to talk, to say good bye.

It’s time for me to go, I’ve done my best.

You’ve grown so much, passed every test.

You’re wiser now, courageous, strong.

I’m tired, it’s time for me to move along. 

I know the journey left in front of you,

Is full of love and stories, too.”

I hugged her back, she felt so warm.

She said, “It’s time to go, you’re on your own.

I have to go, I’ve done my thing.

Lay me to rest next to the spring.

Go on your way and never fear.
The world is warm, your path is clear.”

I turned to face where she had gone,

And saw instead a glowing dawn.

The night had passed, the world was new.

I’d lost myself and found me too.

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

Longing

   Though I’ve worn my heart

Upon my sleeve (and around my knees)

More times than I care to remember

Or talk about in mixed company.

There is that special place I keep for you

Like the bag that’s packed

With brandy colored lipstick, ginger cologne

A little black dress, and pink lingerie

That ignites fire in those knowing eyes.

             In case…

                       Just in case…

The wind ever whispers your name

On a crisp October evening

When I answer a knock at the door

And a stranger with your face

Requests to come in.

San Juan Windows

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deserted windows

Empty now

         no one looking out.

No sounds of children playing.

No birds resting

          waiting for a crumb of bread.

No poets

          sitting on your ledge,

          watching goings on

          on streets below.

Reporting to the world beyond

          passionate fantasies.

Dreams…

          as yet untold.

Why do your fading colors,

          your falling

                    c

                            h

                                      i

                                               p

                                                         s

          of sea green paint

Illicit such emotion in me?

The amateur photographer 

              more poet

than lens or eye.

Who stumbled

          upon your timeless beauty

Yesterday…

Walking a deserted street

    one warm November afternoon…                                      

                 …alone.

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

Photography & Poetry by Sara Fryd*

*The photographs were taken November 1990.  If you took below the first photograph there is a piece of paper with the words “me poeme” (my poem) in Spanish.  I started writing March 1991.  Four months before I started writing, God left me a note on a wall in San Jan, Puerto Rico to pursue something I had never done.

Southwest Calling

 

 

I was lost once…

without a compass

without hope

without faith

without God

without Me.

Lost in the forest

of my creation

knowing not the path

for the trees

knowing not where the sky left off

and I began.

Believed the self delusion

others knew more

who I should be

than me.

I asked God, “Who am I?”

He answered gently,

“Who do you want to be?”

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd