A Blanket of Stars

There are dreams
embedded deep within
the petal of a rose;
they do not fade with time
they grow.

There are wishes carried
on the wings of doves
to secret places
in our hearts.

There are souls that are
crotchet with loves
sweet threads;
they live as one although
miles away.

There are moonlit nights
when two hearts torn apart by fate
find comfort and rest
under a warm blanket of stars.


Original poetry by Lucy Tamajon

Goldilocks & The Three Bears

Kids are not easy. I don't care how many of these deranged "perfect" moms go on The View or anywhere else and tell us, "how easy it is to parent when you have a plan." You know the crazy-ass soccer moms I'm talking about. With their cute little hair cuts, driving a neat and tidy mini-van, chit chatting about "play dates", and "time outs" as if it was all so perfectly packaged. They sit there and organize their 5-year old lives in perfect little sections and talk about creative scheduling while they squeeze in their semi-annual "me time" collagen injections with their local plastic quack.

We all know them. I personally know a couple of these deranged moms. I hear them talk about the ease of parenthood and how fabulous being a mom is as long as "you've the got a planned schedule". Planned schedule, my ass! I think they've had one botox injection too many and it's gone straight to their brain and killed whatever brain cells they had left to begin with.

Being a mom has got to be the most difficult job in the world and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You bring home this little life that by the way comes without any training manuals whatsoever. It's a learn as you go project and a life sentence. You are never officially off the job. You get puked on, shitted on, cried at, yelled at, food thrown at, smacked in the head with waffle blocks, and scared out of your wits end on an ongoing basis just because. You lose whatever shred of sanity you have left and all capacities of ever sleeping a full night again. Ever.

I was blessed with the Drama Queen. There was drama about everything. "I'm thirsty. I'm hungry. I want a coloring book" Everything was done whining and with dramatics, a full show was to be had so take a seat and relax.

Then there was the Interrogator. The interrogator needed to know the "why" to everything. Questioned it all. Curiosity made this child take everything apart and leave it in pieces. The answering machine, the VCR, the computers. For awhile I thought he would grow up to be a pathologist. Oh, yes and he loved to put "hats" on his head, usually a pot or a pan from the cub bard.

And, lastly the Fearless Explorer. The Fearless Explorer crawled and climbed over everything. At ten months old, he knocked over the play pen and broke out of the joint. I was not aware of this escape plan as there were a house full other little monsters running in and out wanting snacks, water, and screaming at the top of their lungs. Suddenly, I tripped over what I thought was another toy but was horrified to see it was my ten-month youngest terror sitting in the middle of the living room with a wicked smile on his face. "Yeah, I broke out of that joint lady. You can't keep me in."

My mother called once in the middle of one of these fabulous "planned scheduled" play days, and I was out on the couch. The Interrogator answered the phone. I can only guess she asked where I was like maybe she thought I was down at SoBe with a hot guy and a mojito. Where else would I be! I heard the Interrogator say, "She's dead on the couch. We killed her." Enter the Drama Queen, "Dead! Oh my God! No!" To which the Fearless Explorer proceeded to poke me in the eye with his finger to make sure I was still alive. "Na. Na. Mommy is still alive."

I crack up when I see all of these crazy silly women reading books on how to be a "mom" and setting up schedules and planning these "perfect" play dates and such. Maybe it's me. I'm so screwed up in the head that I just couldn't even do that right.


Lucy Tamajon
Writer

Eternal Souls

A silent scream echoes the endless night;
in the darkness,
your flesh burns mine.

I hide deep inside your heart
immersed within eternal souls.

Your body crushes me,
a gasp for air.

Your mouth consumes
the life within,
breathing a silent prayer.

And, when it's over,
I'm cold and bare.

I search,
I reach,
there is no life,
you are just not there.




Original Poetry by Lucy Tamajon

Only a Carry-On is Needed

I recently traveled and like most travelers, I pack a bag. Of course, we do. We need to get away, "detach" ourselves from the routine, leave the world behind, but we must take with us everything we own. I have to admit, I'm a horrible packer. I wait to the last minute and stuff, stuff, stuff my bag.
Once at my destination, I don't use have the stuff I brought. It just sits there in the suitcase a reminder of what I wanted to leave behind in the first place.

When we travel through this incredible journey of life, we seem to do the same thing. We not only carry baggage with us, the load is so heavy we drag baggage with us. We stop often and unpack all our baggage, look at it, and continue to take it with us. We really do not need any of it, but yet, we choose to keep the load heavy, open it up, look at, talk about it, re-pack it, and continue with the heavy load.

It is impossible to enjoy our stay with all this baggage. Impossible. Cannot be done. Today, we need to go through our suitcase of life and do some major unpacking. We will unpack, anger, resentment, fear, neglect, worries, anticipation. You name it. We will unpack all of the past as needed. However, we will not repack any of it. We do not need envy, jealousy, and the dreaded ego. Get rid of it all and dump it. Lighten your load.

Who the heck wants to go through this beautiful life with all that crap. The past is gone. Done. Does not exist. It is an illusion. It is not real. Forgive and move on. We make it real when we continue to bring it up. When we continue to carry it with us. This is a difficult task, some loads are heavy, and we've had them for a long, long time. They've become a part of us. But, it must be done.

I'm tossing out my big suitcase and getting a small, small carry-on. And, the next time I travel when the lovely attendant asks me, "Baggage to check in?" I will flash my big smile and say, "Nope, just a carry on and it's a Gucci."


Lucy Tamajon
Writer

Free to Love

We are trapped within a prison fabricated by the mind not realizing that the soul has been free to love. You can only experience true love when you set the soul free; yours and theirs. Souls are not meant to be confined by expectations and boundaries set in the material world. Set them free and love beyond belief will be yours.

Have absolutely no expectations of the person you are with. Just live the moment for what it is. Accept all that is given to you at this moment; this minute without questions because that is all that is real. Cease questions; questions are mere obstacles; live the questions because the answers will come in time.

We cannot own a person, they do not belong to us. We cannot set expectations or rules. Souls are part of the universe, they are not ours. Souls are the sunset and the sunrise; the ocean and the sand; the mountains and valleys. They are the air that we breath; the roses that bloom in summer; the smile of a child. Souls are eternal, they are not meant to be confined.

Say to the person you love, "you are free". Free to be what you want to be. Free to do what you want to do. Free to love as you want to love and set them free. Let them be. In doing so, you set yourself free. You will achieve the most incredible peace within that you have ever experienced.

If this soul is meant for you, they will give all that they are to you. Willingly without your demands, without rules, without judgment. They will return on their own to you to find comfort in your heart, to share your existence.

They will look into your eyes and right to your heart. Words will not be necessary. Not one word will be spoken. Time will stand still and be non-existing. The world will cease and you will melt into one another. As if notes in a beautiful symphony composed at the Master's hand without your understanding, you will come together in perfect harmony. You will be free to love through the ages and for all eternity.


Lucy Tamajon
Writer

this is the original writing of the author, Lucy Tamajon, it cannot be copied, distributed or published without her consent or authorization. <3

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

"Take me out to the ball game. Take me out to the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks, I don't care if I ever get back."

"Hey! I think the ump needs glasses!" A fan yells out. The Blue turns around, smiles, and shouts back, "probably!"

You got to love it. There's nothing better than a good old fashion game of "softball" to bring the masses together. But then again, I'm an old fashion kind of girl.

Friends of all ages gathered in what probably may have been one of the hottest days of August here in Miami. Yet, there were nothing but smiles and good times to be had. This weekend Hudson County came together at Tropical Park in Miami for what was to be, and was, a great reunion.

In my humble opinion, the hi-light of the reunion was the B-Line Boys bringing everyone together for America's favorite pass-time. No frills, no special effects, nothing but a bunch of guys swinging the bat, running the bases, and scoring some runs.

From the days of old West New York Little League to present day Tropical Park, these guys still got it. This hometown girl was impressed by the quick moves, speed around the bases, and even a home run. The game had it all, action-packed from the first pitch to the last out.

In our old home-town where some of the relics of our youth no longer exists, Roosevelt Stadium, gone; the Hillers and the Bulldogs, gone; it took a bunch of great Tigers to bring us together. Hats off to the B-Line Boys for keeping the spirits of America's favorite pass-time alive across state lines reminding us decades later that we are all still one.

"Cause it's root, root, root for the home team! If they don't win it's a shame. Cause it's one, two, three strikes you're out! At the old ball game!"

Copyright ©Lucy Tamajon 2009

I Do Not Remember You

I do not remember you at all;
nor the way you looked at me,
nor the comfort of your smile
I'm sorry.

I do not recall at all,
the way you kissed my lips;
nor the way you held me
on those hot summer afternoons
so long ago.

I do not have a shred of memory
of your flesh burning mine;
nor the sound of your voice
as it whispered in the night.

I do not remember you at all;
I am sorry;
nor, do I recall
your heart melting into mine
when you loved me
through those bitter winter nights.

And, now you stand before me
once again,
but, I do not remember you at all
not your eyes, nor your smile,
nor the way you loved me.
I'm sorry.
I don't recall at all.

Lucy Tamajon