Every day is Mother’s Day

 

 

A designated day to commemorate

all the wonderful mothers.

A nice thought but these women

are mothers every day of the week.

Not just for one day

that has been decided on

as “the” day.

Mothers across the world

are holding things down

taking care of their families.

Some in school and holding down a 9-5

A friend, a daughter and so much more.

Mothers get up and do their duty

consistently and without a second thought.

Countless moments of frustration

and despair, as theirs is a huge undertaking.

And not everyone is a great mother.

But at the end of the day

they do the best they can

with what they have.

After all, that’s what a mother is…

one who makes things happen

no matter what the odds are.

A thankless job, motherhood can sometimes be

But a huge “thank you” is indeed in order.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

 

 

Burning Embers of Passion

 

Burnt orange embers glow endlessly,

beneath the smokey flames

that we have created.

Our starving souls hunger for

untamed spirits to intertwine

The smoke of the flames smolder feverishly.

Our hearts searching and yearning for more.

Unquenchable and insatiable

are we, for we burn in eternity

Through hearts of fire,

driven by passion-filled

supreme love and desire.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

 

 

The Woman in the Mirror

 

A mirrored reflection holds the painful truth,

Blossoming beauty is not what I find.

My image has not changed much over time,

The years have not been kind.

Daily I struggle to ignore the reflection,

that boldly stares right back,

A constant reminder of all my flaws,

and everything else that I lack.

My skin is uneven, my hair is a mess

and my lips are much too big.

My sanctuary lies in a deep, dark hole,

that I long since started to dig.

However, I’m becoming weary of this,

while hiding from the mirror everyday.

It’s time to face the truth head on,

and view myself in a different way.

Slowly, I’m starting to realize,

God has blessed me far deeper than the eye.

For too long, I’d been kicking myself,

asking my reflection, “Why?”

But my reflection has answered me all along;

for the mirror reflects the truth.

I’ve been blessed with a beauty so profoundly deep,

and the woman in the mirror is proof.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

 

Fingertip-sation!

 

I remember that night,

when you washed my hair.

As I melted in the heat,

that your hands did share.

 

The massage was so wonderful,

your hands were a gift.

You relaxed me completely,

I was tempted to drift.

 

I received so much pleasure,

from your wonderful fingers.

My skin still tingles,

for the memory does linger.

 

Now, every time that I wash my hair,

I’ll remember that night,

when your hands were there…

 

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

 

Bittersweet Memories

 

Bittersweet memories of you

are still deep in my heart.

I wish that I could forget you,

and make a fresh new start.

 

Every time I think I’ve succeeded,

and left you in my past,

those bittersweet memories come rushing back,

like waves rolling fierce and fast.

 

Bittersweet memories make me want

to reach out and touch you again.

Curiosity is growing and I can’t help

but wonder how your life has been.

 

Bittersweet memories bring to me

happiness and sadness at the very same time.

As I reflect back on a time long ago,

when I was yours and you were mine.

 

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

When Cupid Strikes

 

This a collaborative piece by Sylvia Porter-Hall and Irfaan Ishan Jaffer

Please check out his fantastic work at: http://iithinks.wordpress.com

It was truly a treat to work with such a creative mind as that of Ishan. This is my first

collaboration and Ihsan has been great with me.  Thank you Ihsan.  After some grammatical

 flexing and intellectual banter, we blended our thoughts and individual personalities

and this is what we came up with.

Enjoy!

 

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Cupid approaches

with his perfectly sharpened arrow,

aiming straight at the invisible ‘bulls-eye’,

that which is your heart.

Beating with a carefree rhythm, unaware

it has become the unsuspecting target,

of another’s affections and charms….

Cupid always strikes out of the blue

When the lonely least expect it

The afflicted thinking

‘It’s impossible to live without you’.

As soon as the arrow pierces

The world seems alive in dance

Brimming with beauty

the love struck have eyes new

Like those of a newborn child ~ waves of naivete bubbling over

Joyful bliss springs forth from the piercing

Love anew has a fighting chance

peeking out with hope immature

Cupid is pleased

He sets his sights on a new subject,

bow expertly flexed, arrow pulled taut.

Again love rides, on a wing and a prayer

But no worries ~ Cupid is always self-assured,

confident that he will hit his mark

After all…

He always does!

 

Daydreaming

 

 

A dream-like state in the middle of the day,

the best kind.

The mind comfortably drifts away,

from the realities that plague it,

if only for a moment.

Almost euphoric in its essence,

bordering on the edge of the impossible.

There is no place off limits,

within the realm of one’s daydream.

One can be whisked away to far off places.

Money is not a necessity,

only one’s very vivid imagination.

You hold on a little longer,

as you feel the tug of the outside forces,

trying to pull you back to reality;

a place you would rather not be.

You struggle to stay in your mind’s dream,

a world that you created ~ a place that you visit often.

Eventually, the daydream must come to an end

the forces of reality too strong to push back.

But you bask in the glory of knowing

you will return again tomorrow!

 

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

 

A Space Unfilled

 

I often sit and wonder where you are now,

with whom you are with, what you’re doing and how.

You crossed my mind, that unforgettable face.

The memory is still vivid, in my heart, there’s still a place.

There is a gap in my heart, that remains open wide.

It has yet to be filled, so the pain can subside.

Maybe this space will never be filled.

When we went our separate ways, 

a part of me was forever killed.

See, the memory of you will always be there.

As I reflect on our past, with sadness, I stare.

  By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Artistic Soul

This is a beautifully written piece which I have come to find is the norm from my friend Ishan. I would like to share its beauty with my followers. Enjoy!

iiThinks

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My soul is a great artist
Born with an amazing gift
Once in a lifetime talent
Trained for many years

With the paintbrush of passion
It works its magic with hues
Each stroke is a stroke of love
Colouring the world anew

With the clay of still quiet
It works magic with my hands
Patiently with the people
It sculpts hearts with Truth

With words full of harmony
It works magic with poems
Each word an inspiration
Filling pages with peace

With music within the soul
It works magic with rhythms
Each note creates a ladder
A chance to climb higher

I’m far from being special
Your soul is an artist too
Create from the depths of your heart
You’ll be amazed at what you can do

…..

Image found at: https://www.etsy.com/listing/71388680/the-day-of-the-humming-birds

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