Tag Archives: what is love

Words ©

Words by Michael Bell

wordsI spear for salmon words
That inhale wind bending the trees…
Or that dance to the conga drum in my heart.

I seek… baptized words dipped…in a lake of contemplation.
For words that wait…hoping for life in a stanza of this poem.
For a plethora of words inside a wicker basket…
For Words…words that skate upon a frozen lake in tandem with
Words that won’t stumble and don’t fall like a Californian new to Maine.

I want to dance to the music of words.
The crashing ocean wave word or lonely howl of dog word.
The colored jewel- kaleidoscope word and fat woman laughing at the beach word.
The spider’s web word.
The sparkle in the eye of a beautiful woman word.
A poem word in the sun’s reflection on a wave off the south coast sea.

I wish…to sip from the golden chalice offered on a grassy knoll in praise to the Word.
To relish the victor’s leap upon word rightly found…


The noon day tintinnabular of an epiphany of words…
In the era when I heard words I didn’t understand,
When I couldn’t speak words…when I couldn’t say…

I drove far to drill into the gusher of words in places I just couldn’t reach…
And tongue stilled… couldn’t say the love I felt for Claudia.
Nor the history of the empire of Rome
Or the image of the Marlboro man…
Or the dim memory of music tuning in my father’s circus band.
The cotton candy at the zoo in my little kid’s hand.


When wind from the lungs of God swayed the branches of the mighty oak on a hill in Salinas,
When the cold wind braced the spirit of my youth…
When the eucalyptus grove wind blew upon a Daly City hill not yet the neighborhood of today.

While not wanting to make of her the only one of my dreams…
I wrote this poem for Claudia.

photo by julie or dan scott

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Love and Happiness Recipe ©

A love story by Will Jones

loveMy wife and I celebrated our thirty-first anniversary this month. Recently, our oldest son, our daughter-in-law and our one and only granddaughter visited from Boston. The whole family gathered for four joyous days. If there is a recipe for love and happiness, from July 7th to July 11th it looked like this:

Take one beautiful wife and add three handsome, healthy loving sons. Stir in one beautiful daughter-in-law, one beautiful fiancé and one beautiful girlfriend. Season with one beautiful, heart-melting granddaughter and two loyal, affectionate grandogs. Add one proud and grateful husband-father-grandfather. Blend all together for a long weekend of food, friends and fun at the beach. Serves nine to your heart’s delight.

Feeling love and seeing it in action is a grand feast of heart and soul. The recipe isn’t the same for everyone, but it tastes so good when you get it right.

Bon appetit! 

photo by woodleywonderworks

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WISDOM Wednesday: Grand Father’s Little Girl

A Story by Malati Marlene Shinazy

My Grand Father was one of the most important people in my life.  He was the first man I loved and was my life teacher.  While other grandchildren called him Gramps or Granddaddy, I declared our loving attachment by providing him a designation of my choosing.  Only I would call him, “Grand Father.”

He had little formal education.  Instead, Grand Father had street smarts and tenacity.  He was a Merchant Marine during the war, then a Merchant Seaman.  He started from the lowest rungs of the hierarchy, bus boy, and rose to the level of Chief Stewart for international shipping companies.

When I was five years old, Grand Father taught me to read and write so we could correspond during the long months he was off to Hawaii, then Japan, then back again.  His letters were filled with encouragement and the unconditional love only a Grand Father could bestow his “Little Girl.”

Whenever I was fearful I couldn’t accomplish something, and some adult was suggesting I give up, Grand Father would gently scold me in a letter (gently, because he knew I cried easily),

             “ You don’t believe anything anyone else tells you. You are just as smart as everyone else, so you can do anything you put your mind to.”

Months at sea also meant months at home!  Grand Father and I had an exclusive four-note whistle salutation.  As I’d run through Nana’s kitchen asking where Grand Father was, I could hear his half of the greeting coming from outside.  Out I’d run to the top of the steps.  Stop.  Catch my Breath.  Then send my two notes.  We’d continue the volley of whistling until I located him.

Once found, I’d instantly help with whatever task was at hand.  When he’d be doing laundry, Grand Father would hand me an item of clothing from the washtub and I’d feed it through electric rollers which squeezed out excess water … before we hung it on the clothesline.

My habit was to push the hanky, sock, towel, etc., through the wringer too fast — which meant my fingers would be pulled in with the clothes and pinched between the rollers.  Fortunately, the dangerous hand-eating thing would suddenly pop open with a loud onerous sound, and stop.  Grand Father would patiently pat my smashed and reddened fingers, reminding me that I had to feed the beast slowly, carefully, and with attention not to get too close to the rollers.

I’m actually surprised I didn’t end up with gnarled, broken fingers, as inevitably five or six times in every wash cycle, I’d push something through without paying attention to impending danger… until:  “Owwwww!”  Pop!  Loud onerous sound!  And, stop!  Grand Father would give me the patient warning again – and hand me another sock.

Words and actions of unconditional love and encouragement … Grand Father would laugh if he knew how I continue to act as though I can achieve “anything I put my mind to,” despite my fingers getting pinched on occasion.

photo by Bob n Reneeand Molki