Skip to main content

HOPE by Kim Buskala

The interconnectedness I feel within my family unit can be so intense at times...

I ask myself to just step back and let them be individuals, let them walk their own path. The role of mother, leader of this tribe, says: "No, stay connected, feel what they feel, share the joy, the defeat, the laughter the tears. Walk in their shoes, strengthen our souls, become one: One family unit." So I do. Within all, what sometimes feels like madness, I do find time to quiet the mind, knowing the family will follow.

Hope
by Kim Buskala

Hope
I do
Love the role of Mother
I do
Honor She
I do
Feel a responsibility to nurture
I do
Take it seriously
I do
What serves this family unit
I do
Wish upon a star
I do
Find peace within nature
I do
Plan to leave no scar
I do
Is what I said when I accepted this role
I do
And will have done until my dying day
I do
Love, let live, and pray.
Photograph by Holly Ireland

Kim Buskala: I consider myself a free spirit, I fly by the seat of my pants. I have always known that I was going to be married and raise some awesome kids. That I have done. Married to a most forgiving, funny, loving man for thirty-one years and counting. I have also been privileged to stay home and raise two gorgeous daughters ages twenty-four and sixteen. I love nature and all it has to offer. To travel the seven seas from coast to coast, becoming one with culture is always a dream. Jamaica is my happy place where I feel most accepted and at home with myself and others. Africa is a place my heart longs to be, some day I will return and dance to the beat of their drums.” You may connect with Kim via Facebook here, or e-mail her: kbuskala@yahoo.com



~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without