16 November 2017

“Winter”


Winter

Bleak September rain 
     washes away the end of Summer…
Damp, Barber winds bluster and 
     carry away warm Summer breezes…
The hastening dance of days
     runs ever shorter in fall of Autumn color
Brittle, dry, crackling leaves 
     fly, dance, shutter, and fall…
Fragile, crumbling refuse 
     of warmer, brighter days.

Cold winds blow,
     snaking round every corner…
Swirling, seeping, sneaking
     into every chilly nook and bower…
Breathing frigid fractals
     ‘pon the frosted windowpane…
Slithering, plundering warmth 
     and weak, dreary daylight…
From hyperboreal frozen,
     merciless, snowbound nights.

Winds howl and souls cower
     ‘neath the crawling, creeping glacial rictus…
Buried in the icy grip 
     of desolate, frozen Winter.

by D. Denise Dianaty
© 12 September 2014








Pick up your own copy of my first 
book of poetry at My Life In Poetry









Words

A poem about the power of words giving birth to poetry. Words matter. They have the power to tear down, to destroy; words can cut deeply. But, words also have the power to heal, to create, to uplift; words can be a beacon to a better future. 


The beauty in words…
Even through darkness…
Dark words seek… find light…
To carry light out of darkness.

Words to hurt
Words to heal
Words destroy
Words create

In the space between…
In the mind’s eye…
Wrenched from the void…
Forming reality of words…

Words to hurt
Words to heal
Words destroy
Words create

On flight of words…
On the precarious summit…
On the razor’s edge…
That’s where poetry is born.



by D. Denise Dianaty
© 05 September 2014

15 November 2017

Prayer: Live In Gratitude

Holy Father,
All glory and honor and praise
Belong to only you,
Master and Creator of Life
Author of all that is good in the Universe

Your kingdom is above creation
And, if we only let your will lead us,
we find your kingdom
in our heats and all of life around us,
from a child’s laugh
to an old man’s tears of remembrance

We ask Lord for what we need today.
Help us recognize and respond to need in others.
We beg forgiveness of our sins.
Help us be understanding
and forgiving of others
even when their actions have hurt us.

Teach us to be just and compassionate
When trouble or temptation arise
Let us remember Christ, our example
and to be like him
because all are your children
and the chosen stewards of your creation.

Teach us Lord to be worthy of that stewardship
Open our eyes to Your every miracle.
Help us see the smallest and the least of Your wonders.
Fill up our minds with Your Promise.
Swell to over-flowing our hearts with Your Grace.
Let our tongues forever sing Your praise.

May our hands ever work to Your Glory.
With every waking hour let us live in gratitude.
Upon our bowed heads on bended knee
Lay your perfect blessings.
Hold us always in Your Hand.
To You we give all thanks and praise.

In the name of Christ Jesus, we pray.

©D. Denise Dianaty
06 January 2015

03 November 2017

Mother Lost

An old poem from my undergrad days, of discovering buried memories in therapy – from a different time before my mother lost herself, abandoned by a patriarchy that understood nothing and cared even less.



Mother Lost
In her young heart she loved
She wanted nothing more than to give love
She wanted children, a crowd about her
A song unique for each bright star
She loved her babies, sang her joy
Gently cuddled and held them safe
Three times with ease brought to life
Blest gifts, her fair headed delights
Then came the fourth, hard fought
Ripped from her body, at last
With all  her might, the last dram of heart
At last, brought through alive

Why to look upon that face
What darkness left behind
A burden, a sorrow, each shining bright face
Take and take and take and take
Nothing more she wants now, save death
Oh no, say the doctors, the nurses, the society
Lock her away till she learns to lock down her pain
Don’t guide her back through to the light
No more songs, joyless duty and burden are hers
Her anger, her blackened soul, 
Locked behind closed doors
It’s not our concern
Send her home to her babies
No matter their plight

ABOUT MOTHER IN THIS POEM: She was so very different, so loving and attentive before all the pain, that I actually blocked out those good memories for decades -- they were just too painful to recall in light of how bad things got. The thing that always hurts me most, though, is that my two sisters who were already born, when she had the last baby, were too young to retain any of those good memories; and the baby sister never knew that loving and attentive mother at all.

Twelve years she was lost in her madness, torturing her children. The same children she'd pined for and dreamed of since adolescence; she'd only ever wanted to be a wife and mother. See, she was born blind and had to be sent off to a school for the blind, away from her family; she gained her sight later. She grew up very disconnected from them. When she was home, she was the poor little blind girl whom they all coddled and cosseted -- but never connected on a fundamental level. She wanted that closeness of family for herself and her children. That might be the most tragic thing about my childhood… the poisoning of her dream.

Still… If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything; everything that happened made the person I am, gave me this “now.” I’d suffer every indignity, every torment again not to miss out on my “now.” Embrace the Joy!


by D. Denise Dianaty
© 20 August 2014

01 November 2017

North Carolina Home Sweet Home


North Carolina images from mountain to shore
North Carolina Home Sweet Home
An homage to the North Carolina I’ve always known

Awake to a painted morning sky
Filled wscent of magnolia and Carolina pine
Reveling in a sun-drenched landscape
Of blossoming hydrangea and myrtle, crape
With azalea blossoms and fragrant rose
Wild jasmine and hyacinth perfume kiss thnose.
Climbing honeysuckle nbumblebees
‘Neath sheltering oak and towering maple trees
Mountain to coast steeped in mythic lore
Where evry native road leads to the shore
From homes of native red earthy brick.
A gentle, misty Southern wisdom flows thick
Wreathes the Grandfather’s Mountain spaces
Teaching unspoken lessons for the ages
Life is not hurrying – but savring
In this place… this home ever unwavering
God-kissed from misty mountain to roiling shore
This North Carolina home sweet home we adore.

D. Denise Dianaty

© 01 November 2015



Pick up your own copy of my first book of poetry, entitled My Life In Poetry at D. Denise Dianaty